Author's Note: I'm so pleased with the positive responses I've had on the prologue. Thank you so much! Lots of favorites and watches soon after posting, which always gives me the warmest of fuzzies. You guys are awesome!

EDIT: Reread through this to get myself in a groove again, and realized a paragraph was missing. OOPS. All fixed now.

Changed

Chapter One: From the Sky

The cool evening air was welcome after a hot day in New York, the sweltering heat causing tensions to run high and rather strong words to be exchanged. There was still some signs of the destruction that had happened a few months ago with the whole alien attack thing, but aside from some fine-tuning work, the major buildings were repaired and everything was more or less in working order again. As per usual, there was a huge amount of traffic in the streets, the car engines giving off a low hum with the not-so-occasional honk thrown in here and there from an angry driver. The sidewalks were busy and bustling with people of all kids; buskers playing music, street vendors trying to sell their shitty knock-off crap or their disgusting hot dogs, tourists who were taking in the sights, and natives who just kept their heads low as they wove their way in and out of people. Among the last category was a woman named Michelle Taylor.

For a woman of 25 years, she was of average height, perhaps a little shorter, and of average weight; not skinny, but slender and fit. She was dressed casually in jeans and combat boots with a lose-fitting blue shirt that hung low on her shoulders, her long, dark bouncy curls tied back in a ponytail. Her blue eyes were hidden behind sunglasses that she had just rummaged through her purse for before answering her cell phone, walking with a sense of purpose.

"Jeremy that deal was supposed to be signed last week." Michelle was saying into her phone, scratching at the back of her head in frustration. "No, you weren't supposed to cancel it, Eileen loves him, she wants him on board. Daniel's contract is up in three weeks, there should have been a replacement actor lined up weeks ago. Look, just call them back and tell them there was a mix up; send that contract out today. Today, Jeremy. Okay. All right. Bye."

Exhaling deeply, she poked her fingers under the lenses of her glasses to rub at her eyes, following the crowd of people that crossed the street. It had been a long day at work and now she was doing everyone else's job for them. Michelle was a Stage Manager for Broadway, a gig she happened to fall into due to her good organizational skills, and had since managed to keep this one job with the same production for a few months now. She was incredibly happy that she jumped in when the production was already established on Broadway and not just being work shopped; she didn't think she could handle the erratic hours. Over the course of her time at the theatre, however, she found herself doing more than just stage managing, and was now helping the Production Assistant with all of his paperwork; Jeremy was a good kid, but he was naïve and a little simple in the common sense department. How he ever managed to score that job was beyond her… She just had to wait a month for the replacement actor to come in, and then she wouldn't have Jeremy running to her for help every ten minutes.

She stifled a yawn as she turned down the street that took her to her usual shortcut, an alleyway that put her in close proximity to her apartment. As she rounded the corner, making sure to keep her bag close to her, she noticed a group of men dressed in baggy clothing standing around, chatting, smoking, whatever it is they did. Michelle was used to seeing shady looking characters; this was New York, after all, and down-on-their-luck people seemed to be more in common now since that alien attack. Fortunately, she had been out of town for that one, visiting her parents in the Canadian Maritimes, but she'd seen enough footage of Captain America being thrown out of windows to know that it hadn't been pretty.

Thunder cracked, lighting forking across the sky.

She ignored the group of men as she passed them, confidently strolling down the long alleyway like she had many times before. It wasn't until she was fairly far from the main street that she heard a few extra sets of footsteps, and she glanced back out of the corner of her eye, only to have someone grab her arm and shove her up against the wall. She let out a small squeak of alarm before she opened her mouth to yell, only to have a gun shoved in her face. Michelle winced before looking into the face the thug that had her pinned, his two flunkies on either side to make sure she didn't take off. Sure enough, it was the guys she'd passed only minutes ago.

The thunder rumbled again, the lighting flashing a little brighter this time.

"What's in the bag, sweetheart?" the thug asked, brushing a finger down her cheek. She wrenched her head away, giving him a dirty look.

"Nothing for you," she shot back.

The thug snickered. "Huh. Is that so? Why don't we have a look?"

He started to reach for her purse just as something heavy suddenly dropped from the sky and landed on one of the flunkies. Michelle screamed in alarm, startled by the sickening crunching sound and realizing that the thing that dropped from the sky was a man. The thug must have had a few broken bones after that… but what the hell was a man doing, falling from the sky? Then thug pinning her to the wall pulled the gun out of her face and turned around to observe what was going on, his friend that was standing doing the same. While they were distracted, Michelle slowly and quietly reached into her bag for something.

"What the fuck?" The flunky asked. He glanced over at the ringleader. "What the hell happened?"

The thug with the gun looked up at the sky, where the dark thunderclouds were beginning to disperse. "I dunno… maybe he's a jumper?"

"You okay, Tony?" The flunky said, bending down to push the body of the man off of his friend. Tony groaned.

"I think I broke something…"

"Hang on, I'll get him off of you," the flunky answered. When he put his hands on the fallen man, however, his eyes snapped open, and he suddenly grabbed the flunky by the throat before slowly getting to his feet.

"Do…" the man huffed. "Not… touch me…"

"Okay, okay, dude," the flunky gasped, beginning to look nervous. "Let me go, I'll back down."

Michelle was still pressed against the wall, trying to decide what to do. Did she make a break for it, or should she help the man who had fallen from the sky? For having fallen pretty far, he looked fine, but she couldn't be too sure… that is, until he suddenly shoved the thug he was holding by throat into the opposite wall of the alley.

"Hey!" The head thug said, raising his gun at the man, but before he had an opportunity to do anything, Michelle had come up behind him and kicked him hard in the crotch. He shouted in pain before he crumpled, hands clutching himself as his eyes watered. Through his tears, he blindly raised his gun and looked like he was about to shoot in her general direction, but she held up the small can of mace and sprayed him right in the eyes, causing him to drop the gun and cover his face with a yell. Tony, who'd just gotten up off the ground and was cradling a broken arm, looked around at the predicament his friends were in.

"Fuck this shit," he said before taking off. While the mysterious man was distracted by Michelle's actions, his captive managed to break free, pushing the ring leader out of the way as he stumbled from the alley. Eventually, all the thugs were gone, and it was just her and the fallen man alone. Suddenly realizing this, Michelle whipped around again, holding the can of mace spray ready, but she faltered slightly when she looked at him.

He was dressed so strangely; all leather with a kind of trench coat lined with green, chipped bits of metal hanging off of it here and there. His face was pale and thin with the most intense green eyes she'd ever seen, and his hair was black as night, most of it slicked back off his face, but there were a few pieces out of place. He was leaning against the alley wall, panting heavily, looking weak. She just noticed the small cuts and bruises on his skin, along with the dark circles around his eyes. She was about to step forward to help him when he looked around at her with an almost crazed look, causing her to withdraw.

"Where is this place?" he asked her softly, but his voice was so low and intense, it almost felt like an order.

"Manhattan," Michelle replied after a moment, trying to decide what to do. Should she run away? He was clearly a bit unstable…

"Manhattan," he repeated in a low voice, resting his forehead against the brick wall. Then he started to laugh, a manic sound. Pushing himself off the wall, he stumbled back a few steps before looking up at the sky. "You're really sending me here again, Father? I thought you were joking!"

"Okay, you know what?" Michelle started, slowly backing out of the alley. "I'm just going to-"

A loud thud caused her to look at the man again, only to realize that he'd crumpled on the ground. He groaned softly, trying to push himself up, but he was clearly weak and out of it, possibly even seriously injured. She had half a mind to just leave him there, to take the long way home, but when she moved to do so, her body froze. She couldn't do it. Michelle wasn't a malicious person; she was programmed to help people when they were clearly in trouble. Even if their sanity was up for debate.

"Shit," she cursed turning back around to help the fallen man. She kept the can of pepper spray in her hand, just in case, but she hitched her back higher on her shoulder before bending down and taking hold of the man's arm. "Come on, buddy, get up."

He looked up at her with a furious stare than caused her to flinch, but she wasn't about to back down. Michelle tugged at his arm again with a little more force this time.

"On your feet, man," she said. "I'm trying to help you."

"I do not need your help," he spat. She raised a brow and gestured to the alleyway.

"You're… kind of in an alley," she told him. "And you've clearly hit your head a little too hard. You can either stay here, or let me help you."

He exhaled hard through his teeth before he held his arm out to her again, allowing her to help him. She hoisted him to his feet, grunting with the effort, before slinging his arm around her shoulders. As he slumped against her, head lolling onto his chest, she drew her arm around his waist, supporting him a little more, and she poked him gently in the ribs to move.

"Come on, buddy, work with me," She grunted, taking a step forward. Slowly and lethargically, he complied, and they began to the trek to her apartment.

He was clearly trying to hang on to consciousness. Every now and then, Michelle would have to poke him hard in the ribs or hoist him up a little more and his head would snap up in alarm as if being startled out of sleep. Thankfully, her building came into view, like a beautiful, blissful beacon of sanctuary, and she sighed in relief that they were almost there. Now she just had to worry about getting him inside.

"Thank Christ there's an elevator…" she murmured to herself as she used her swipe key to unlock the door, trying to balance him at the same time. "Just a little further, okay? We're almost there."

The building was nice and clean, not too overly swanky that people would mistake it as a place for the rich and famous, but this was not the building where the poor, starving vagabonds lived, either. A modest chandelier hung on the high ceiling, the cream-colored tiled lobby big and spacious with an oak reception desk to the right when you first walked in the doors. To the left were the steel elevators, and Michelle instantly made her way over to them, pressing the up arrow to call the elevator while the man on her shoulder fought to stay standing.

"Just a few more minutes," she coaxed, adjusting his arm around her shoulders so that she could keep a better grip on him. The doors finally opened and she quickly ushered the man inside, noticing at the last second that there was an elderly woman already standing there, eyeing him suspiciously. Michelle suddenly realized that people may start to ask questions about him, especially his choice of clothing; leather and broken pieces of metal that she assumed had been armor once. Who would be wearing stuff like that on hot days like today? Oh, well; the sooner she got him in her apartment, the sooner she wouldn't have to be seen with him. With a sheepish smile, Michelle leaned over and pressed the button labeled '5' and then stood awkwardly with this strange man she was supporting, dressed in leather. As she waited for the elevator to go up, she glanced over at the woman, and saw out of the corner of her eye that she was staring at them. Michelle gave her an embarrassed smile again.

"My… cousin," she explained, gesturing to the man. She hoped the lie she was spinning was believable; Michelle was a terrible liar. "He was… out drinking last night. Had a bit too much, crashed at a friend's place, but he… he really can't deal with hangovers very well."

"Oh," the woman said, still looking a little wary. "I was just wondering about his strange clothing."

Michelle nodded, cursing mentally. Of course that's what she's be wondering about.

"He's, uh…" she said, lowering her voice slightly as she leaned as close to the woman as possible without disturbing the man. "He's… kind of the black sheep of the family. He's kind of like… Goth, or something, you know? He's one of those costume nerds, makes his own outfits for the New York Comic Con; we just let him do his thing."

"Oh, I see," the woman said, nodding with a smile, clearly pleased that she now understood the strange outfit. Thankfully, the elevator finally opened on Michelle's floor, and she nudged the man in the ribs, saying in a rather theatrical voice, "Come on, cuz, let's get you into bed."

She gave the woman a smile and a nod as she guided the guy out into the hallway. He managed to make it out of the elevator, but the moment his feet touched the carpet, he positively collapsed, nearly taking Michelle with him. She let out a small squeal as she tried to stay upright, adjusting his weight as much as she could, but damn, he was heavy.

"Half of this weight is probably that stupid ass costume of yours," she grumbled, proceeding to drag him down the hallway to her apartment. With great difficulty, she managed to rescue her keys from her purse while still keeping him upright, and the sound that was heard when the door clicked open was the most satisfying and glorious sound she had heard all day. Kicking the door open, she dragged him over the threshold, and tried to decide where she was going to put him. She didn't take long with her decision, however, as he seemed to get heavier by the second. Her bedroom was closest, so she made a beeline for that.

She huffed as she dragged him over onto the bed, allowing him to fall unceremoniously onto the mattress, face first. She panted slightly, trying to catch her breath as she just looked at him, laying there, and decided that she may as well put some effort into putting him to bed. With a lot of tugging and pulling and huffing and puffing, she finally managed to get him on the bed properly, lying on his back. It was during her breather that she finally took a moment to look at him.

He was surprisingly beautiful; aside from the cuts and bruises she noticed earlier, his alabaster skin was flawless, his features sharp and angular. Despite being beautiful, however, he also looked rather ill; pale lips, dark circles around his eyes, and small beads of sweat sitting on his brow. There were tiny wrinkles in the corners of his eyes that she assumed were laugh lines, but judging by the first impression she had of him, she doubted he was a very happy person.

It was as if she suddenly realized what she'd done in a matter of seconds.

"What the hell am I doing?"

She turned around and left the room, closing the door behind her so quickly, it was as if she thought he might jump up and follow her. She glanced around hastily for a moment before taking a few chairs and a small end table and stacking them in front of the door to barricade him in. She knew it was stupid, but it made her feel a little better. As soon as she was certain the chairs weren't about to fall off the end table, Michelle began to pace, putting her face in her hands and smoothed them back through her disheveled ponytail, trying to decide what to do. She brought her hands to her mouth again, tapping her fingers on her lips thoughtfully before she went into the kitchen and grabbed the phone, dialing the number of her best friend.

"Hello?" A low voice said on the other line.

"Dylan," Michelle breathed, thankful to hear his voice.

"Hi, love, how are you?" Dylan said pleasantly.

"Um… well…" she answered uncertainly, glancing at her bedroom door. "I need your help?"

"What do you need?"

"I have a strange man in my apartment."

There was a long pause. And then:

"You big slut, good for you!" Dylan said with a cheer. "Oh my god, finally! Wait… why do you need help? Woman, I will never, ever be drunk enou-"

"No, not like that," Michelle hissed. "Just… come over and I'll explain everything to you."

"Okay," he said. "Let me just put some pants on, and I'll be right over."

About twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Dylan lived in the same building as she did, a few floors up, and he and Michelle spent a lot of time together. He was good for her because they had a lot in common (he worked in theatre, too) and always had things to say to each other. However, she was convinced that the main reason they got along so well was because he was as gay as a pride parade. As soon as she heard his arrival she bounded over to the door, throwing it wide open as if that would make him come in faster.

"So where's this man?" He asked, giving her a hug as he came into the house. Dylan was an attractive man, about six feet tall with light brown hair and brown eyes, and he always dressed very well; today he wore a pair of dark wash denim jeans, black dress shoes, a white button-down dress shirt, complete with tie and vest, along with his signature flat cap.

"He, uh… he's in my room," Michelle answered, rubbing her temples. Man, how had today become such a clusterfuck? All she'd wanted to do after work was come home and veg on the couch.

Dylan made his way over to her bedroom door, eying the make shift barricade skeptically before he turned and looked at her. "You built a barricade?"

"I don't know who he is, Dylan, what if he tries to kill me?" She yelled.

"Then why'd you bring him into your apartment?"

"I couldn't just leave him on the pavement…" she mumbled lamely.

"You're such a Canadian," he said, beginning to take the chairs down from the side table.

"What are you doing?" Michelle fretted.

"I'm getting a look at him," Dylan replied without turning to her. Moving the side table out of the way, he quietly opened the door to glance at the man lying on her bed. He was still passed out, but the steady rise and fall of his chest was a good indication that he was alive. "Wow. He's attractive."

"For someone who fell twenty feet from the sky," Michelle answered. Dylan looked around at her in confusion and she beckoned for him to close the door. "I was walking home from work after dealing with Jeremy, and I got mugged in that alleyway I always use as a short cut."

"Oh my god," Dylan said in alarm. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she waved his concern away. "Thanks to him, anyway; before they could do anything, he dropped right out of the sky and landed on one of them. You should have seen him, Dylan; as soon as one of the other guys touched him, he jumped right up, grabbed him by the throat and just went a bit… crazy."

"Crazy how?"

"He scared the guys off after I got in a few hits, and then started yelling up at the sky to his father."

Dylan raised his brow. "Some kind of religious freak?"

"I don't know," Michelle said shrugging. "Probably; did you see his clothes? At least twenty pounds of leather and metal; he's probably a cultist."

"A hot cultist."

She swatted him on the arm in annoyance. "So what do I do?"

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well… when the thugs touched him, he flipped out, right? How did you get him here?"

"I basically carried him."

"But he didn't freak out when you touched him?"

Michelle paused for a moment. "Well… no. But he was barely conscious by that point."

"I'd keep him," Dylan said. "Rather, I'd let him stay here. He obviously needs someone's help. If he starts getting weird, I'm only a few floors above you, and you have your mace."

"You really think it's a good idea?" Michelle asked, worrying her lip between her teeth.

"I think any hot man in my bedroom is a good idea, Michelle," he answered with a coy smile. "And to be honest, you desperately need to get laid."

"Right," She said with a hollow laugh. "Lay the mysterious crazy guy…"

Dylan hung out for a few hours, so he and Michelle made dinner together. They even made some for the crazy guy, who Dylan had christened Hottie McHothot, but when Michelle went to go check on him to see if he wanted any food, she still found him completely passed out, even when she poked him warily in the shoulder a few times.

"He sleeps like a rock," she murmured, taking the opportunity to pull some pajamas from her drawers, because she sure as hell wasn't sleeping in her bedroom tonight.

"An attractive rock," Dylan quipped.

"Would you shut up?" Michelle said, slapping him in the arm with her pajamas as she ushered him from the room with a giggle.

Eventually, Dylan went home, and it was just Michelle and Hottie McHothot. She had changed into her pajamas in the bathroom, just in case he came out and saw her naked, but as soon as she'd done it, she felt silly. Now dressed in a pair of white and pale blue striped flannel pajama pants with a large baggy white t-shirt, her hair still tied back in a ponytail, she stood staring at her bedroom door, chewing on her thumb and trying to decide what to do. On one hand, she could sleep; on the other hand, she could stay awake and make sure he didn't try to kill her. Eventually, she opted for the latter.

She found her purse in the kitchen, going through it to find her can of mace before she crept back to the living room. Her bedroom was right across the hallway, in perfect view from her couch, so she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders ad curled into a ball on the cushions, peering over the arm at her bedroom door, her can of mace at the ready. She would be ready if that door opened. Her eyes slowly started to droop, however, and she slowly let the can of mace fall from her hand as she drifted off to sleep.

Michelle startled awake the next morning, glancing around in a panic. She realized that nothing had changed since the night before; her bedroom door was still closed, there was no one in the living room with her, and she couldn't hear any sounds coming from the bathroom. She flung her blanket away and stumbled off the couch, searching around for her can of mace before she crept to her bedroom door, quietly turning the handle and peering inside. Hottie McHothot still lay sleeping on the bed. She decided then that if he didn't wake up by this evening, she'd take him to the hospital for fear of him being in a coma. For now, her stomach demanded breakfast, so she tromped off to the kitchen.

Loki woke slowly, his eyes drifting in and out of focus as he became aware of his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was dealing with some irritating humans in an alleyway, followed by a woman demanding that he get to his feet. His eyes snapped open at that and he bolted upright, though he regretted the action immediately. His head was pounding, a strange wave of sickness coming over him. Ah, yes; he'd forgotten about his new mortal form. He simply sat on the bed for a moment, taking slow, deep breaths as he willed the sick, dizzy feeling away. The headache, he realized, would not be going anywhere anytime soon. Once he didn't feel quite so dizzy, he looked around at his surroundings carefully.

It was a bedroom, obviously a woman's; the walls were a pale blue color with white lace curtains and Venetian blinds on the single window. The queen-sized bed had a large quilt on top, different shades of pale blue, green and white all stitched together in a series of floral patterns, complete with matching pillowcases. The head and footboards were white metal bars, the tops curving ornately with leaves and vines. There was only one bedside table closest to him, where a simple lamp sat, along with an electrical music device, a book that read "The Fellowship of the Ring" on the cover, and a few picture frames. The subjects of the frames were clearly a family; in one, a couple in their fifties had their arms around each other. The woman was shorter with a curvy, matronly figure and short, curly brown hair. The man was large and tall, his hair a dark gray and his eyes disappeared when he smiled. In the other frame, three young people; one Loki recognized as the woman from the alleyway, her arms around a small girl that looked like her, but her dark hair was bone straight. With his arms around both of the girls was a tall, athletic-looking man whose eyes also disappeared when he smiled, his dark brown hair spiked and artfully disheveled. There was also a dresser full of clothes, as well as a closet, and the whole room smelled faintly of lavender.

He was pulled out of his observations by some noises coming from outside of the room, along with the faint smell of cooked food, and he realized then how hungry he was. Slowly pushing himself to his feet, he walked over to the door and pulled it open slowly, cautiously, thought he wasn't sure why. As soon as the door opened, the smell of food hit him full force, and he followed it without question. As he cautiously made his way down the hallway, he could hear the faint sound of humming and dishes being moved about. Soon enough, the source of the noise came into view; a woman with long , dark curly hair, pulled back off her face, dressed in simple clothes that did nothing to flatter her shape. Her back was turned to him as she busied herself with piling food on plates, still humming to herself, and when she turned back to get something she noticed him and gave a small yelp of surprise.

"Jeez…" she breathed with a hand over her heart. "You startled me. I was just about to try and come wake you up. You must be hungry."

She gestured to a seat at a small table nearby and Loki eyed her warily as he slowly sat down. She brought a plate of sausage, bacon and scrambled eggs to him, along with eating utensils wrapped up in a glanced down at it before looking back up at her, and he saw that she was chewing on her bottom lip before she smiled at him.

"I… hope you like it," she said awkwardly as she turned away to get her own food.

The smell was so overpowering that Loki couldn't stop himself from picking up his fork and beginning to indulge in his offered meal. His first impression of this woman was that she was a good cook. She had opted to say near the counter to eat, eyeing him apprehensively as she slowly pushed a small piece of sausage into her mouth. After chewing thoughtfully and swallowing it down, she watched him for a moment before speaking.

"If you wanted to change out of those heavy clothes of yours," she said, gesturing to his outfit. "I'm pretty sure I have something for you. Wait right here."

She hurried from the kitchen then, passing him as she disappeared down the hallway. While she was gone, he had finished his food and simply sat there awkwardly, waiting for her to return. When she did, she looked a little flustered, her hair slightly a mess, but she gave him another awkward but sincere smile and said, "I left some jeans and a t-shirt for you on the bed; they're my brothers, so they're probably a bit big, but I figured they'd be fine for now."

Loki glanced around at her kitchen briefly before he gave her a slight nod of the head, saying, "You have my thanks."

An awkward silence ensued.

The woman ruffled her hair with her hand, exhaling deeply as Loki observed her politely. She was trying to look at anywhere but him, but her eyes kept floating over to him, which amused him slightly. After a few tense moments of her drumming her fingers on the counter, she said, "So. What's your name?"

"Loki," he replied after a pause. "Of Asgard."

"Loki of Asgard," she repeated, sounding a little dubious. But she nodded, humoring him. "Okay; nice to meet you."

"And you are?"

"Oh," she said, embarrassed that she forgot to introduce herself. "Michelle. Of… Sydney."

"Sydney?" Loki questioned. "Is this not Manhattan?"

"Yes," Michelle answered. "But I'm not from here."

"I see," he replied. "Is this not the same Manhattan that had been, uh…" he cleared his throat slightly.

"Invaded?" Michelle offered. "Yes. I don't know the details, though; I was out of town visiting my parents. I really dodged a bullet with that one…"

He stood then, slowly approaching her, but he stopped when he was a few feet away. He was sure he knew the answer, but he wanted to double check. "You are the woman from the alleyway, yes?"

"I didn't think you'd be conscious enough to remember," Michelle replied, leaning back against the counter, her hands gripping the edge gently.

"Why did you help me?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. She closed is slowly, still looking at him before she shrugged a shoulder and replied, "I… don't know. You… you were hurt, and passed out on the concrete, I couldn't just… leave you there."

"You would help a stranger?"

"Well… yes," Michelle replied with conviction.

He chuckled, a quiet but almost cruel sound. "You don't know who I am, do you?"

"Loki," she answered warily, repeating his earlier words. "Of Asgard."

"Do you believe that to be true?"

She swallowed thickly. Her hands began to clutch the counter behind her harder. She was afraid of him. Good. She should be.

"I'm starting to."

"Then you'll know that I am a god," Loki said in a soft but menacing voice. "And one should always kneel before a god."

All of Michelle's fear seemed to vanish instantly, her expression replaced with a look of profound annoyance and outraged disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"I said kneel," Loki ordered.

She shot him a defiant glare, arms crossing over her chest. "I am not kneeling for anyone, especially not some powerless whacko in a Matrix costume."

"I am a god, you mewling quim!" He yelled at her. "I may be powerless, but I am still a god! Now KNEEL!"

"Let me put something into perspective for you," Michelle yelled back. She gestured out the window. "People out there aren't nice! Okay? If it had been anyone else that had seen you fall from the sky, they would have left you there to rot in the alleyway, not carry you and all twenty pounds of your fetish leather to their personal apartment! If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't be sitting here, right now, safe and warm with food. I am the only person on your side right now willing to give you some sort of sanctuary. If you want to keep that, then I suggest you drop the god act and start being civil."

Loki simply started at her, his expression a mix of being surprised and impressed. No one, aside from Thor and Odin, had ever yelled at him like that before. Especially not someone of lower was staring him down defiantly, just daring him to even try and tell her that she was out of line. But he knew that she was right. He may have been proud, but he wasn't stupid; he hadn't exactly hid his face when he was trying to rule the humans. Any other person who would have found him would probably have killed him right then and there. He was lucky enough that a person who clearly didn't know he'd been involved in the whole invasion found him; she was literally his only ally in all of Midgard right now. He wasn't sure if he liked that too much, but he couldn't exactly be choosy.

"You're quite right," he said in a soft voice. He bowed his head apologetically to her, though it was as if he was forcing himself to comply. "Forgive me."

"Right," Michelle answered skeptically. She walked passed him to grab his plate from the table before turning back to dump everything in the sink, rinsing the dishes briefly. She worked quickly, as if she were trying to get away from him, and Loki couldn't help but watch her. She was definitely unlike any human he'd ever met before. Perhaps not as clever as the Black Widow, but still very interesting. Once she was done cleaning, she met his gaze, still looking slightly annoyed.

"I have to go to work," she told him. "You're welcome to stay here for the day. There's plenty of food, TV, books in the spare bedroom where I've put your clothes, and until we figure out what you're doing with yourself, you can stay as long as you'd like."

"You are very kind," Loki told her, but it was more of a surprised observation than a compliment.

"Yeah, well," Michelle glanced away, her hand coming up to rumple her ponytail again. A nervous habit, Loki noted. "Sometimes I think I'm too kind."

She walked passed him again and headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind her. As he heard the sound of water running, Loki decided he might as well change his clothes, so he ventured down the short hallway to the spare bedroom. Just as she'd promised, Michelle had placed a set of simple human clothes on the single bed, and he began the rather lengthy process of removing his Asgardian attire, all heavy leather and metal with lots of buckles and closures.

By the time Michelle emerged from the bathroom, Loki had pulled on the jeans, observing the black t-shirt curiously. She was only wrapped in a towel, her hair slightly damp as she clutched her pajamas in her arms. She leaned forward slightly to peer around the door frame, to see what he was doing, and was met with the sight of him standing there shirtless, back to her as he messed with the shirt. He was wiry and lean, the muscles in his back flexing slightly as he moved. One thing she noticed was that his skin was flawless; she didn't see a freckle anywhere, other than a few scars here and there. She had to admit that Dylan was right; he was definitely Hottie McHothot.

Loki pulled the t-shirt over his head and torso, which snapped Michelle from her thoughts. She hurried to her room without a sound, closing the door behind her, and quickly changing into a pair of jeans and a casual purple button-down shirt. She rolled her sleeves up to her elbows before setting to work on her hair, expertly tying up her damp curls into a French braid. After pulling on some socks, she went into the living room to retrieve her purse, checking to make sure her keys were there, and then decided to check on her house guest.

"Uh," she said softly, making her way to the spare bedroom. She rapped her knuckled on the door frame. "Loki?"

He was in the middle of inspecting her large bookshelf, running his finger along the spines when he met her gaze. Michelle was chewing on her lip again, her blue eyes filled with uncertainty as she shifted from one foot to the other. It was weird, she thought, calling him by his name.

"I'm leaving now," she told him. "Like I said, help yourself to anything; TV, food, the shower… and I'll be back as soon as I can. Oh! And if the phone or door rings – it shouldn't, but if it does – just… just leave it."

Loki gave a simple nod. "I understand."

"Okay," Michelle said, as she turned to leave. "Have a nice day."

As she left the apartment, she couldn't shake the nervous feeling sitting in her stomach. She just hoped he wouldn't go anywhere. She was still a little dubious about his whole 'I am a god' speech, but she was definitely under the impression that he wasn't from this time, and the last thing she needed was Loki getting into trouble. A small pain started up above her eye and she rubbed at the stress headache wearily.

It was going to be a very long day…

Author's Note: I know, I know, OC's, right? I just wanted to frolic in the Land of What Ifs a play with the idea of someone learning to eventually love Loki, something he believes to be impossible. I'm trying SO HARD not to make her a Sue. Really, really hard. It's difficult, because Michelle is meant to be completely and utterly good, as a way to make Loki go through a change later in the story. You can all hit me if she gets Sue-ish. Promise.

Shout out to my wonderful BETA. :hearts: