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CHAPTER TWO

It was several seconds before Loki was able to breathe in the clouds of dust that filled the aircraft. He gasped for air the minute the dust began to settle, and inhaled a mouthful of dry, air full of strange-tasting molecules of debris. He grimaced. Even though the dust was beginning to settle, he could barely see anything except for the flash of a red and blue light somewhere in the distance. He stumbled forward blindly, stretching his hands out before him to feel his surroundings. As he turned around to avoid a dead end at the back of the plane, he wondered to himself why there would be dust in the air. The plane was made of metal; surely Midgardian craftsmanship had not deteriorated to the point where metal crumbled to dust on impact.

After two long, frustrating minutes, Loki found a tear in the wall. He tried to squeeze through; it was a few centimeters too small. He let out a growl at the wall.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before stepping forth into the breach. His skin flared pale silver as he became immaterial, but returned to his usual pallor the moment he was free of the metal skin of the plane.

He looked around. He was able to see a little bit now; most of the dust had fallen into small heaps upon the floor. He was also able to explain the source of all the dust, for it seemed that the plane had somehow managed to crash into the side of its destination. He was in a brick room painted an ugly orange-beige color…or at least, three-quarters of an ugly beige brick room, since the plane had completely demolished one of the walls.

Something small and chestnut-colored flitted across his peripheral vision. He spun about to fend off the newcomer, but his reflexes were not fast enough. The chestnut-colored person collided with his chest…not that their attack was effective. They bounced right off Loki's torso and fell to the ground.

Loki peered down at his attacker, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed. He could see now that the person was not, in fact, a faceless blur of color but a sprite of a woman with wispy hair and wide eyes that were both the same peculiar shade of reddish brown, wearing what appeared to be cadet blue pajamas. She scowled up at him, her gaze skimming across his bare chest for a second before falling upon his pants. She narrowed her eyes.

"You're not one of the suits. What the hell are you," she snapped, "some kind of live action role-player?"

He sneered. "I haven't the foggiest idea what you just said, but I can assure you that I am not it." He drew himself up to his full height and stared down the bridge of his nose at the woman. "I am—" He stopped speaking abruptly as a dog began barking down the hallway.

The woman jumped to her feet. "Now's probably not a good time to chat," she said hurriedly. "Let's get out of here. We can talk in the car."

"And why, pray tell, would I want to go with you in your puny horseless carriage?"

The woman glowered at him. "Well, for one thing, I have a getaway vehicle and you don't. And since I'm guessing you want to escape, I don't think you're really in a position to bargain here."

Loki considered. On one hand, he could probably kill this woman with his bare hands, and every guard in this prison building—at least, he assumed it was a prison based on the strange silver bracelets hanging off one of the woman's wrists…they had put something similar on Thor—and vanish into the night. On the other hand, this chestnut-haired woman had not so much as flinched when he glared at her. She could prove interesting. And the people who brought him on the plane seemed to know who he was, who Thor was. Perhaps they had some means of detecting magic…

"Very well," he said. "Take me to your 'getaway vehicle,' and then we shall talk."

The woman grimaced. "Come on." Without another word, she raced from the room, sprinting down the hallway and over the piles of rubble as though she had choreographed her escape in advance.

Loki was struck by a strange thought as he followed the woman out of the building. Perhaps she had choreographed her escape in advance. He smiled to himself. He was very lucky. This little mortal could prove to be very interesting indeed.

Fury paced slowly along the length of the twisted plane wreckage, watching as the firefighters' hoses doused the last of the flames that had turned the cockpit into something resembling charcoal. He stopped in front of Coulson, who was seated upon a large chunk of concrete that had fallen from what had once been the ceiling.

"What are the casualties?" Fury asked.

Coulson sighed. "Between the prison and the plane combined? Four dead. One comatose. Two unaccounted for. The rest injured." He removed a wad of gauze from his forehead, revealing a sizeable gash. "Myself included."

Fury paused. "Agent Bernes?"

"Dead," Coulson said flatly. "So are the pilot, co-pilot, and one of the med staff, Dr. Lucia Hernandez."

Fury grimaced. "I'm sorry to hear that. This was his first field assignment. And Dr. Hernandez was a fine doctor." He crossed his arms. "What about Dr. Selvig?"

"In a coma."

"And the subject known as Loki?"

Coulson swallowed. "Unaccounted for, sir. He must have fled the scene immediately after the crash."

"He escaped?" Fury said angrily. "I was led to believe that Loki was in mortal danger, that he would die imminently if we didn't airlift him to a hospital."

"So was I, sir. So was everyone. He fooled us all." Coulson winced as he pressed the gauze too tightly against the cut on his forehead. "He's better than we gave him credit for."

"In that case, I'd better start looking." Fury stormed off.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to see Jane Foster. If we're going to track down Loki, we're going to need all the help we can get."

"Sir, she has no military training whatsoever. What help could she be?"

Fury forced a smile. "It's not Foster that I want. It's Thor."

Loki had been expecting the woman to spend most of the ride home shooting furtive glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking, but he was sorely mistaken. The woman spent the entire time staring straight ahead, never moving her foot from the pedal as she sped down the strip of gray road labeled "580."

Instead, he examined her face and probed her mind, trying to determine whether it was uncannily good luck or grave misfortune that had caused the two of them to collide. Her face was not hideous to look at—it was pretty enough to file away as a possible tool later on—but it was nothing that would capture his personal interest: freckled, slightly tan skin with a nebula of dark blotches across one cheek, thin, nearly straight eyebrows frozen in an expression of skepticism and mild surprise, full lips whose size was partially concealed by the line the woman pressed them in, and wide brown eyes laced with a strange reddish hue. Unfortunately, her facial features gave him no clue as to her personality. He began to reach inside her mind…

"Agh…" He instinctively hissed under his breath and yanked away from the woman's mind as though he had been scalded. Her mind was pure pain. If the Bifrost were still standing, he would swear upon it that this woman's brain must have been made of an agony concentrate, a cocktail of every self-destructive impulse that had ever been known to Aesir or mankind.

The woman finally turned to look at him. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly; she had forgotten that Loki was in the car with her until he hissed.

Before Loki had a chance to recover from the pain and say something suitably condescending to her, she was looking at the road again and saying something.

"I'm Dev," she said, completely out of the blue.

"Are you?" Loki said mildly. He didn't say anything further.

Dev's brow furrowed. "Aren't you going to tell me your name?"

"Possibly, if I think I can trust you."

Dev snorted. "If you can trust me? What does either of us have to lose? I just escaped from a federal prison, and I'm guessing you were doing something similar, albeit without a shirt on." Loki glanced down reflexively.

He cursed himself; why hadn't he remembered to magic some clothing into existence before there was a mortal around to see it? There was nothing to do about it now. As long as the mortal could see him, he would have to refrain from magic…and remain shirtless.

Dev didn't seem to notice his retreat into thought. "What were they taking you in for, anyway? Fraud or something?"

Loki smiled faintly. She had no idea. "Or something," he repeated noncommittally.

The mortal looked at him quizzically. She shook her head as she focused on the road ahead. "Well, I don't know if you're a drug dealer or a homicidal maniac or what, but I will say one thing." Loki raised an eyebrow. "You're chatty."

Loki chuckled under his breath. He was beginning to be rather glad he had decided against killing this particular mortal. Fragile and pathetic as she might be, her sharp tongue and complete disregard for tact might prove entertaining.

It was two long hours before either of them said another word. When Dev did speak again, it was to read a sign under her breath.

"Berkeley," she mumbled. "We're almost there."

Loki peered out the window skeptically; he didn't see anything but trees and hills. "This is your home village?"

Dev gave him a strange look. "You mean city?" She rolled her eyes. "Depends on how you define home. Strictly speaking, I was born in Orinda."

"I mean, do you currently reside in this Berkeley?"

"After a fashion." Dev pushed a button. Her vehicle began ticking as she turned off the road they had been driving along. Once she was on the other road, she turned the ticking device off. "It'll probably take them a couple of days to notice I'm gone in the chaos of the plane crash, but even so, it's a bad idea for a wanted felon to return to their apartment if they don't want to go back to prison." She made another turn. "But yes, we are staying in Berkeley. A friend and I have a second loft apartment under false names."

"We?" Loki repeated, barely suppressing a laugh.

Dev raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you have a better hideout?"

"No." I could. But he couldn't tell her that. She didn't know about magic.

"Alright then. We are staying with a friend of mine."

They drove in silence after that. Fifteen minutes later, Dev abruptly turned into a small asphalt lot surrounded by darkened buildings. She stopped the car.

Loki squinted out the window. "Is this where your friend resides?"

"No." She began rummaging through the debris under her seat. After a few seconds of frantic digging, she straightened up, a wad of black fabric clenched in her fist. "I'm just stopping for supplies."

Loki frowned. The last time he was on Midgard, the mortals obtained supplies from stores that were lit. "All of the buildings are dark," he pointed out.

Dev tugged the wad of black fabric over her head. It slipped into place, hiding all of her facial features except for her eyes, which looked out at Loki brightly through small holes in the fabric. "Felon," she replied, pointing to the mask. With that, she opened the door and got out of the car.

Loki hesitated. He wasn't entirely sure that this was a good idea. It wasn't that he had never stolen anything before. He had, many times in fact. But he had magic. When he stole things, he took the object he wanted and vanished without a trace: no mess, no witnesses, no repercussions. Admittedly, the mortal was probably quite good at theft for a human, based upon her criminal status and blasé attitude towards stealing in general. Then again…she must have gotten caught at some point.

Loki sighed and opened his door, his lip curling in distaste as he watched Dev stride into the darkness. Ridiculous, he thought to himself. Stooping so low as to help a mortal. But in truth, he had little alternative. Conscious though he might be, his fall from Asgard and subsequent plane crash left him feeling weak. The mortal offered him an easy refuge until he could rest and recover his magic…but that refuge was only useful if they both remained invisible. Getting caught in the midst of a criminal act would exponentially increase their visibility.

So Loki followed her into the night. And as he crept behind her, he couldn't help but wonder what supplies were so terribly important that this Dev woman couldn't wait until morning to buy them legally.