So, I kinda sorta have a huge boner for Lokane. Like, it started out as a guilty pleasure because of the story "World Under Siege" (which you should totally check out), and now it has basically become my OTP. Therefore, I present to you my collection of Lokane drabbles, one shots and short stories. They will mostly be AU, with varying degrees of ratings and plot, or lack thereof. As well, there will be varying degrees of updates. I can't promise how often or how quickly this will be updated since I am both lazy and fickle by nature. I will take prompts, but I cannot guarantee everyone's will be used, only the ones that give me Lokane boners. Oh, and can't guarantee the editing, I try my best, but if you see anything super obvious, please let me know.

Alrighty, without further ado, I present the first of hopefully many:

In which Jane gets sick and Thor gets some help. AU from the end of Thor.

Rated: PG-13ish to be safe, mostly for a fatalistic Jane

Jane wonders when someone will ask her if it was worth it. Finding magic, exploring new worlds.

Meeting Thor.

She also wonders why she didn't think this would happen in the first place. When you have a relationship with a powerful man, of course he is going to piss off powerful people.

And finally, she wonders if real life is really this cliché.

Going after the good guy's girlfriend? Psh.

Of course, if it had been radiation poisoning or some new plague, SHIELD's best scientists and medical experts could deal with it. And had it been a curse or an enchantment, Frigga could deal with it. But, it was both. What Doom had created was an unholy blending of science and magick, deadly and strange and nothing anyone has ever had to deal with.

And damn genius. Jane is almost impressed.

You can't heal something that shouldn't exist. Magic and science were never meant to be mixed, despite what Thor believes. No, science and magic is not the same thing, but they do overlap sometimes. They twist and curl around each other, almost touching, chasing. But they never blend.

Well, yeah, until now. Inside Jane. And her body cannot handle it. Like, literally. It is killing her.

She is dying.

No one can really explain how it is killing her, or how exactly she is going to die. And her symptoms are erratic and strange.

Like random bouts of anti-gravity to blood lined vomit kind of erratic. Both of which exhaust her. She had hoped to at least do some more work on her theories before she died, get published again post-mortem, but she finds herself in her bed most days, strapped down just in case she floats up to the ceiling again.

She can't sleep— night terrors that result in moving furniture, like a damn horror movie— and she can't eat— it turns bloody in her mouth. She can't read or watch TV because it gives her awful migraines, which usually sets things on fire. Darcy had joked about calling a priest and had given her pea soup after the first time her cactus had burst into flame. Jane had laughed, because really, what else can you do?

Erik of course is frantic. He is contacting all his friends and colleagues, trying to find someone who can find a cure. But no one on Earth can know how to fix this. And Jane hates to admit this, but she is tired of Erik's plans to help her and his insistence that someone will find a cure. It just makes her more exhausted, having to fake hope.

Thor isn't much better. Gallivanting through all the Realms, trying to find any warlock or sorceress, or whatever the hell you call them, to come up with some potion or enchantment to help heal her. His heroism, something she had once upon a time admired, is just as bad as Erik's useless optimism.

Of the people in her life (and yes, there are few) the only one who Jane can really stand to be around right now is, surprisingly, Darcy.

Darcy can still make Jane laugh. Darcy is still casual with her. Darcy is still silly and selfish and doesn't treat Jane like a victim or a patient. Darcy doesn't have any useless hopes for her recovery.

Darcy is better at calming down Thor. Darcy is better at getting Erik to stop badgering Jane.

Jane thinks now that she really should have paid her or something. Or at least given her some iTunes cards. She may be useless at physics, but she is good people. And she will miss her.

And of course she will miss Erik, her almost-father.

Thor. How to describe how she feels about Thor.

Well, Jane has never deluded herself into thinking she would be marrying him, or having a long life with him. She is mortal, he is an immortal prince. Odin hates her, and no matter how much Frigga adores Jane, she will never be allowed to be Queen. And that's okay; she has always known this, even if Thor hadn't. That's what makes her sad. Thor has never really lost anyone, has never really thought he would because he and everyone on Asgard are practically immortal. It's probably never occurred to him that Jane would live through her mortal life and eventually die. He is a good man in every sense, but sometimes he has issues seeing past the next sunrise. Jane, though, has always been good at seeing past tomorrow.

Now that her tomorrows are limited, she is unsure how to feel. Tired, yes, sick, yes but is she afra—

"Jane," Thor. Voice soft, almost trembling. His voice always does that when he is with her. It drives Jane nuts, but she keeps her face neutral.

"Hi," her voice is a thin, pathetic thing, as is the rest of her. She had always been petite, but now she emancipated. Sharp clavicles, sunken cheeks, and trembling twigs for limbs. From tanned, smooth skin to a shade somewhere between yellow and grey, and rough from dehydration. Limp hair, glazed eyes. Maybe some time ago she would have cared what she looks like to Thor, and maybe she would have shrunk into herself to see the pity and slightly sickened look in his eyes every time he looks at her.

But, she finds she has little time to care for such things. Damn the yellow scabs around her mouth, the bursting veins in her eyes, or the strange rippling in her skin that kind of makes her think of worms tunneling under her flesh.

"How do you feel?" Thor asks, trying not to look anywhere but her eyes.

Dead already, she thinks.

"Better," she says instead, and she knows he knows it is a lie. He smiles, but it's a flimsy thing.

"I have news."

Of course he does.

"Oh?" But she plays along like a good little patient.

Thor pulls up a chair beside her bed, and takes her small, admittedly trembling hand in his. His hand is too hot against her already boiling from the inside skin, but she doesn't complain. She would feel awful if tomorrow she dies and hadn't let him hold her hand one more time. Besides, she wants to remember what it had been like to feel his skin against hers.

Before of all this, when life had been crazy but good, strange but filled with warmth and discovery, Jane had thought that Thor felt like a mixture of sunlight and grass. Like summer. Sweet and warm. And maybe it makes her sad that all she can feel is fire and stinging when she touches him. She thinks that Thor might kill Doom if he knew that the science-magic made it almost unbearable for her to let him touch her. She thinks that maybe she wouldn't mind, because how can someone be so cruel?

But she doesn't say anything because she is too tired to hate Doom or pity herself.

"I have found him at last Jane," Thor is saying, and something new vibrates in his voice. It is more than hope, because that is always there. This time it sounds like sureness. Like miracles.

Jane doesn't believe in those.

"I have searched long and far, and had nearly lost all hope, " oh his eyes are the ocean and the sky and expectant love, "But I finally found him, and convinced him to see you." His smile is broad and white and too much for her. She feels a migraine coming on.

However, she has her part to play, so she sighs, "Who now, Thor?"

He makes a face, like he can't believe she has forgotten, or like he can't understand why she isn't as happy as him. And oh, is that a flicker of disappointment? The women on Asgard would fight this, wouldn't they? Sif, with her slick black hair and her lupine face (ravenous, aggressive but so beautiful) would hardly let a little sickness keep her down. Even fair Frigga is far too brave to let herself fall victim to something so frail as hopelessness.

But what is Jane but mortal?

"My brother, Jane," Thor says, "I have found Loki, and he has agreed to see you, to find a way to help you."

Well, now this is interesting. Jane finds herself strong enough to feel curious. She has never met him, face-to-face at least. After he fell from the Asbru Bridge, Frigga had been sure he was still alive, and Thor had been searching for him on and off ever since.

"Really? Loki wants to help me?"

Now Thor looks slightly uncomfortable.

"I have never known what my brother truly wants, or what his motives are. I cannot be sure this is not some trick," and then he looks her in the eye, and she is glad the tunneling in her skin is distracting her from the pain his eyes might have caused, "But what can I do, Jane? He is our last hope. If he cannot help you, I believe that no one else can."

He really does have a flair for the dramatic. Darcy told her that she thinks it's an alien thing.

"But what can he possibly do?" Jane wonders, mostly to herself but out loud so Thor can answer for her.

"My brother's magicks are boundless, Jane—"

"Oh, now, you flatter me, brother." Smooth sibilance; softly sardonic, and impeccably eloquent. She has never heard a voice like that.

Jesus, she has never seen a face like that either.

Sharp angles and pale skin, and hair like black feathers. Beautiful, ethereal, devastating and cruel. Jane cannot help but feel like his face wasn't always so ruthless, or his eyes so ravenous. She thinks he might have been something softer and very strange, but fascinating.

Now he is transfixing and sad to look at. And when his eyes sweep over her, eyes the colour of magicks, the corner of smile twitches for just a moment, almost droops, but then quickly recovers. Jane knows then that he cannot help her. Or won't, she isn't sure which yet. She won't say anything though, for two reasons.

One, she would rather not create another fight for the not-brothers.

And two, she wants to speak with this impossible and captivating creature.

Thor stands, and clasps Loki on the shoulder. Loki doesn't flinch, but his disdain is palpable.

"Thank you for coming," Thor murmurs, looking into his adopted brothers eyes, searching them for some sign of deception, but Loki has long mastered the art of revealing nothing.

"It's nothing," Loki waves him off, pulling back enough so Thor's hand falls off his shoulder.

"No, Loki, it is not. You do me a great kindness in agreeing to see my Jane," Thor insists. Loki's eyebrows quirk up slightly when Thor says 'my', but settle back down before Thor can see. Jane saw, though, and she finds still has enough strength to wonder.

But Loki is already walking around Thor and to the side of her bed, and Jane notes that his stride is as smooth as his voice. He is effortless in his grace.

"Ah yes, the little patient. I do find myself feeling curious about the mixture of science and magick that courses through her veins. Perhaps after I am done here, I shall ask this Doom fellow how he managed to accomplish such a feat."

At the mention of Doctor Doom, Thor growls, his face becoming leonine with his anger. Jane thinks that the anger is two sided; one side is at Doom for daring to hurt Jane, and the other side is at himself for not being able to protect her. Early on in her sickness, Jane had felt that same anger. Anger for being used as a pawn, and anger at Thor for breaking his promise to always protect her. She knows her anger was unfair, but emotions never are, and besides, she is past those kinds of feelings.

"That viper, " Thor says, "Is locked up and will never feel sunlight on his skin again for what he has done. He will receive no outside contact again. He will rot in shadows and solitude."

Loki puts his hands up, "I meant no disrespect," but his smirk says differently. Thor stares at Loki for a moment, still fuming, but then his eyes are on Jane again, and the anger dissipates into a pitiful sort of desperation.

"Loki," his voice is so soft for such a big man, "Please. Look my Jane over. Try to find something— a way to help her."

Loki manages to sober, putting away his smirk for now, and he nods solemnly.

"Leave us," Loki is still imperious, for a fallen prince. Thor makes a face and opens his mouth to argue, but Loki beats him to it, "I can hardly concentrate with you breathing down my neck, brother." Thor nods, but before he leaves, he comes to Jane side and presses his mouth to her forehead.

It scorches so hot it makes her stomach churn, but she still she smiles and promises to see him soon. Thor walks out the room, and both mortal and god watch him go. The silence after is loud. After a couple beats, Loki looks down at Jane, his face unreadable. Jane sits up slightly on her bed, and she stares up at him, and feels no useless embarrassment for giving him a thorough once over.

He is wearing some weird leather- armor thing, and its gold black and green, and holy hell does it suit him. He is nearly as tall, if not more so, as Thor. But unlike Thor who is all animal brawn, there is a sculpted quality to Loki. He is lean, sinuous as a snake and graceful as a fox. And just as clever. Intelligence radiates from him, accompanied with sharp wit. He is strong, but not in a savage way, like his brother, but lithe and stealthy. It occurs to Jane that were she healthy, she would be grudgingly attracted to this man-god-thing. As it were, her libido has all but fizzled.

But she can admire.

Loki takes her in just a thoroughly, but his perusal of her physical entity is short; he takes longer in studying that internal part of her that cannot be viewed with something as simple as ultrasounds or the like. No one has ever seen this part of Jane, and she would blush if she could. It's like being naked.

Neither of them speak for a while, but in the end, it is of course Loki who breaks and all out crumbles the silence.

"You know, don't you." A statement, and even though she thinks he knows what he is talking about, she asks what anyway. Loki sits down in the chair, reclines rather, and steeples his fingers under his chin.

"You know that there is no cure," he is blunt when he tells the truth, apparently, "And that you are already more than half way dead."

"Yes." But she is blunt too. He inclines his head, his overlong hair falling to one side. He regards her in a way that a child watches spider. Fascinated but wary, and ultimately in control. Oh how easy it would be for him to squish her.

Glory, glory, what a helluva way to die. She wonders if death by Loki is considered a warriors death, and if there is a Valhalla, will she enter its gates.

But while she wonders, she also knows that Loki won't kill her. For how much crueler will it be to simply let her fade away before his not-brothers eyes? And he is a cruel creature, oh he is.

"You haven't told Thor," he observes, "Do you really believe that is kinder?"

"Dunno, but it's easier. I'd rather not have to say goodbye to him everyday, or have him pledge his never ending devotion to me for all time or whatever."

When did she become this cynical thing?

Loki seems muse over the same thing, because there's that eyebrow goes again. She wishes she could do that. For such a smooth face, he is very good at expressing himself with it.

"There is no hope in you then? Has the fire I have long heard of finally winked out?"

Jane shrugs, distracted by this so-called "fire" of hers, and who told him of it. Certainly not Thor. Thor has never seen her as fiery; warm, sure, but mostly sweet and soft and welcoming. Never hot or fierce. And how could he, when the women of his home world are the literal representation of female ferocity and passion.

"I just don't really see the point in fooling myself. I'm gonna die whether I fight it or not."

Loki watches her face for a moment, and then he leans toward her, so she can feel the subtle waves of coolness coming from his skin, and oh it feels good against her stinging skin.

His voice is velvet and silk when he says, "Oh Jane Foster. What has this world done to you, for you to give up so easily?"

It is the first time he has said her name, and maybe it is his temperature, but she shivers. And maybe that is why she decides to get into an argument with the God of Mischief.

"You've got it wrong Loki," he said her name and owns it, so she does the same, not that she will keep it long anyway, "I haven't had a hard life or anything like that. It's just— Look," she looks into his magick eyes, a small smile on her used-to-be pretty mouth,

"All my life, all I've ever wanted was to have my own lab with a giant telescope. To have a couple books published. To prove that my theories aren't stupid or childish. To be right, and I like being right about everything," she thinks maybe Loki would have smiled at that if he hadn't been trying so hard to school his features.

"And I did that, I have all of that. So it's not like I have regrets or whatever, or a bucket list to complete," Loki frowns, so she explains, "A list of things I want to do before I die. Most people have them." he nods his understanding so she goes on,

"It's not like I'm not sad, o-or afraid, because I am," don't cry, don't cry, "It's just— What am I leaving behind anyway? Someone will continue my research. Darcy will find someone else to pester. Erik will— Well Erik will be devastated, but he is resilient."

"And what of my brother?" Loki asks quietly, "What of Thor? Does the idea of him pining for you until the end of his days not bring you sorrow?" Is that— resentment?

Oh, he thinks she is heartless.

Sometimes, she thinks so too.

"That's a little melodramatic, don't you think?" She almost laughs when Loki looks personally affronted, "I mean, I was always going to die way before him anyway. He'll live like, what, another five thousand years-ish? And me, I would have lived another sixty or so. We were never gonna be together forever."

Then, something changes in Loki's eyes. Jane can't be sure what, but his causal curiosity sharpens into something else. And the intensity may have frightened Jane in another time. Now, it only intrigues the still analytical part of her. What could possibly make him look at her like that?

He attempts to hide his change with biting sarcasm.

"What, no dreams of wedding bells or crowns of gold and magick for fair Jane Foster?"

It takes great skill to make an insult sound like a poem, and Jane is almost impressed.

"Nope. Never."

"Never? And why is that? Is Thor, God Thunder, Champion of the Realm Eternal and Lightning King—" that's one she has never heard before— "Not good enough for you?"

She laughs, and his eyes narrow at her tenacity, "Not at all. You really have it all wrong, don't you? I never ever thought about things like marriage or anything like that because I am not cut out to be queen of anything, least of all Asgard. And, truth be told, I don't want it."

"It?"

"A throne, a husband, children. I am too dedicated to my work, and too selfish for anyone else to be first priority. I would make a pretty crappy ruler," and then she smiles at him, and whispers, "And don't tell Thor this, but I'm pretty sure Odin hates my guts."

Then Loki smiles, and when that smile turns into a soft chuckle, Jane feels her veins quicken. This is not a cruel laugh, there is nothing mocking in it. It is gentle and true, and it makes her wish she knew him before he fell.

"Yet another thing we have in common, Jane Foster," and when he says her name, it is polite, and maybe, if it's not just delirium, affectionate.

"Another?" she plays along because this is the most carefree she has felt in a long time.

He leans back into the chair slowly, all languid ease, and replies, "Well now, let me see. You and I both are driven by curiosity and the urge to prove others wrong. People have doubted us all our lives, have underestimated us. Undermined us because we are smaller, or weaker, or different," his voice changes slowly; it grows husky with something, a feeling or a memory, his eyes distant, "We are both too clever for own good, and we set impossible standards for ourselves. We are selfish in all our pursuits for enlightenment. And, both of us will have died before our time," his eyes refocus, intent on her, his wistfulness contagious.

"Both of us dead? But you're immor—"

"Believe me, Jane Foster, I am not. I will die, and it will be violent and it will be too soon, and it will be after betraying everyone I ever cared for," Loki's eyes flare, and his long fingers tremble, so he clenches his fists, "Gods are no more able to escape Fate than mortals are."

Jane is quiet, because honestly, how the hell do you respond to that? Loki himself seems unsure of himself for a moment, like he has no idea why he has just told her all that, and she shares the same feeling. They don't know each other, so why is she more honest with him than she is with Thor or Erik? She watches Loki swallow, the pale column of his throat bobbing as he gathers his wits about him again.

"I believe we should return to the task at hand," his voice has no colour, so Jane returns just as blandly,

"And what's that, my death? How you won't save me?

"Won't?"

"Can't"

"Do you truly believe that?" he tilts his head, regarding her closely. She stops. Everything stops.

"Or is it simply… easier to believe that you will die?" he goes on, and Jane opens her mouth, then closes it, and his smile is sharp.

"Come now, Jane," no Foster this time, "Did you really think I, the most powerful sorcerer in all the Realms, could not heal you?" he tsks at her, enjoying her flabbergasted expression. Boy, this guy is mercurial. Sharing some feels with her one second, then lording his power over her the next.

Issues.

"Why— why would I think it's easier to die?" Jane asks, her voice cracking. His smile is a knife covered in honey; sweet and sharp and deceptive.

"Oh Jane. Lovely, clever Jane," he breathes, suddenly kneeling beside her bed, his hand in her hair, not tugging but holding, possessing, "You are too smart to be so naive. You must know that if I were to heal you, there would be a price to pay," he leans toward her, all menace and amusement, his mouth beside her ear, "And what a heavy, heavy price it would be."

She is panting, and that is painful, because her chest feels like it is being crushed, and her heart feels like it is leaking. She thinks, fleetingly, that perhaps she is not too tired to feel fear after all. But she won't ask him, she won't, she won't—

"Jane," he whispers, moans, "Lovely, lovely Jane. Won't you ask me? Won't you ask what the price is?"

No, no, no, no—

"What's the price?" Dammit.

She feels him smile, and then he pulls back so he can look her in the face. One of his pale, pale hands reaches out and cups her cheek. If she leans into the touch, it is only because his skin is blessedly cold against her own stingingly hot flesh.

"The type of magick that I would need to perform to heal you is deep, and it is dark. I would be granting you a part of my own life force. Only a small amount, hardly a flicker, but because of how quickly you mortals blink out, it will have a strong effect on your own life force," he pauses, for dramatic effect, and because he is an evil bastard who wants her to ask.

Aesir are so dramatic.

"What effect?"

If his smile was a knife before, it is now goddamn machete, splitting his whole face into a picture of delight and a strange kind of savagery. His fingers trail over her cheek, softly, but there is a possessiveness to it. No one has ever touched her like before. Donald touched her casually, like he had to. Thor used to touch her like she was everything he needed and that he needed to keep her glowing and real. But Loki touches her like she is already his, that she has always been his, and like he won't let her go.

And maybe that is true, because next he says, "Your life force will be mine, Jane. I will control it as long as I am alive. You will live as long as I will, will be as healthy as I am, and will die when I do. I will have the power to keep you alive or let you die. You will not so much be healed, because I cannot truly take the sickness away, but rather, as long as you are with me, you will be healthy and strong."

Jane processes, and processes and processes this information like the good little scientist she is. She cannot profess to know much about magick, nor does she necessarily wish to, for science is her truest love, so she turns around the information into something she will understand.

So, basically, Loki will be like chemotherapy; he will keep her alive and well as long as she is with him, but the moment she stops being near him, or he stops supplying her with health, she will grow sick again and die.

So, basically, Loki is like a drug, and she will go through withdrawal without him.

So, basically, she is screwed. Die, possibly horrifically, or live, but belong to a sometimes madman.

Rock and a hard place indeed.

He sees her apprehension, and he would not be called Silvertongue if he weren't persuasive.

"It would not be so bad, clever Jane. I would show you other worlds; take you farther than any Midgardian has ever been. Think of it, Jane. The things you would see, the people you would meet. Is this not what you've always wanted? Discovering new worlds, learning all there is to know? Oh, Jane, imagine the sights."

Both hands take her face, and he leans into her until he is inches from her, and his eyes close as he imagines the worlds he will take her to. He is more serene than she has ever seen, and he is breathtaking.

In a husky, almost breathless whisper, "I will take you to Alfheim, to the rivers and waterfalls of liquid starlight; to Mullspellheim to find and tame the dragons and the fire pixies; to Vanaheim and the courts of sorcerers and mages, and the fields of blue flowers that will send you into the sweetest of dreams…"

As he goes on, Jane is transported with him as he tells her about all the marvels of the nine realms, and longing blooms into her heart, stopping the leaks.

It sounds wonderful, it sounds like dreams and fairy tales. It is everything Jane has wished for but has been too afraid to hope to find. And it sounds far too good to be true.

"That can't be it," she says, and Loki opens his green, green eyes, "There has to be more."

"There is," Loki agrees, pulling his face away, but keeping his hands on her face, "You will not be permitted to see Thor again, or return to Midgard. Your friends will know you chose me over them, a life with me over death, which, to Thor especially, will seem a very craven thing to do. You will be deemed selfish, unwise, and perhaps evil to choose the wicked Loki over the possibility of Valhalla."

"Is there even a Valhalla?" she has to ask, because he will know. Loki looks at with an expression that could be sadness, but not quite.

"Not for people like you and I, Jane Foster. You are lovely and brave and clever, but a warrior you are not."

She nods her understanding, but somewhere in her disease wracked self, it still hurts. To be craven, to be driven by selfish wishes and desires.

But she doesn't have to be. She could choose to face her death with a brave face; to be surrounded by loved ones in her last moments. To say goodbye to Erik, to hug Darcy, kiss Thor.

Tell him she loves him, because if they had more time, it might have been true.

"Will you… give me some time to think it over?" Jane asks, even though she thinks she knows the answer. Loki lips thin and he shakes his head.

"You have very little time, and I have very little patience. You must make your choice now. A life belonging to me, filled with adventures, but with scorn from your loved ones. Or, enter Hel as true and virtuous and good."

What a choice.

"How do I know you won't just grow bored with me, and decide to let me die? Cut off my supply of life? "Jane demands, and her anger fuels another bout of tunneling in her skin, setting her veins on fire, and it feels like dying. She feels her strength, what little she has, slip from her, and she hunches into herself, unable to fight against the waves of awful hybrid power in her.

"You don't know Jane, I doubt you ever will. You will live a life on edge, at the mercy of my many whims. However, I would not offer this kind of magicks to someone who will easily bore me. You are clever, quick and inquisitive. And," now he smirks, and lets his eyes peruse the shaking, thin flesh and brittle bones body under the covers, "You are rather fair, for a mortal. I'm sure you and I will come up with many diversions, sweet Jane."

If she were strong enough, she would feel a flare of anger. And if her libido was working, mostly likely a wave of desire, because as established, Loki is fair beyond measure. But just because he has a beautiful face and body, does it mean she could survive spending the rest of her life with him? Especially since they now both know he is fated to die violently, and Loki himself is mercurial and ruthless by nature. Would she really be saving herself, or putting herself into the hands of simply another Death?

"What is your decision, Jane Foster? Life, or Hel?"

And Jane wonders what the worth of her own life is, if she were to choose the selfish route.

And wonders what the worth of her death is, if she were to meet it with bravery and truth.

And as she looks into the face of the man who will either save her, or damn her, Jane Fosters wonders.

END

If you have the time or inspiration, please drop a review, criticism or prompt. Have a lovely day and thanks for reading!

linnie