5.

The seventies had crashed into the eighties in an explosion of music and sequins. Terminal Deafness had run with the era, crashing through walls of noise and sound and expectation and coming out dirtier, tighter and with the new name of Hammerthrow that seemed to be working for them better. Thor Odinson was the rock star of the era, adorning many a teenager's bedroom in leather pants and dripping oil, glaring moodily out from every pose with those bright blue eyes all the fans agreed should not be as dark and brooding as they were.

It seemed that Thor's appeal had come to largely reside in an air of sadness and loss. He read it over and over again in the reviews and commentaries. His fucking Rolling Stone Interview had asked "What is the Thunder god of Rock missing? What tragedy hides in those eyes? Whatever it is it has fuelled the bands shrieking rush to the stars, and we can only hope to see more of it."

Great, he thought, every fucker out there wants a piece of my tragedy. What fucking tragedy? He looked in the mirror longer every day than a man ought, peering closely for a hint to his own trauma, convinced he had no idea. He was so convinced that in truth he had no idea, no idea of what he had lost or any conception that there had ever been anything to lose.

When he took to drinking somewhat heavily in the face of all this bullshit, his adoring fans just took it as another great move on the part of their hero. Further evidence that Thor Odinson was growing into the perfect star.

And now then a story could be glimpsed behind the words of his songs. Even though he growled and argued with anyone who came to him with interpretations and suggestions as to the meanings of his words there was a coherent theme that could not be denied. Only those who knew him knew better than to ask. The one time Fandral had come to him asking if they could cut his song Silver Tongue out of the night's set, he had gone away afraid that the rock star was actually going to kill him. As it was he had downed half a bottle of Jack in one and then thrown the bottle at the wall near his head.

"We don't cut out Silver Tongue. Ever," was all he had said and in tones of utter finality – "Anything else you would like us to cut?" he had added, dangerously. Fandral had squeaked out a row of negatives and exited fast, relieved he had not also suggested Green Eyes as well, as he had previously been considering.

He did not answer questions about the identity of the girl in Green Eyes. Or Wildfire. Or Lie to me. Once some smart arse fan had actually asked him if they were all the same person and he had answered his standard which was no answer at all.

But he was fine. He was good. Fucking good. Didn't give a crap about the bullshit. Thor Odinson was loving his success, loving fame, loving being in the spotlight. When nobody asked anything too awkward it was agreed that he was the number one person in the country to have at your party. Everybody wanted to hang with him and he was a great guy to hang with. The whole rocking world knew that. Only –

Only you never saw a man get moody so fast. You never saw anybody go from being the shining sun in the centre of the room to falling in on themselves like a black hole. It could happen without warning, just a change in the music could trigger it; there were songs that sent him imploding inwards, lost to the rest of the world.

Sif had noticed. She was the only one to have seen the pattern. It was not just any song that did it. It wasn't a whim or the kind of chord that made a person cry. It was Lokasenna. It was only ever Lokasenna. She did not mention it to him ever, any more than she would have said that she knew damn well all of his songs were about the same girl and it was no girl.

She had kept track of Illusion's Destiny just as she knew that Thor had when they returned to America, becoming Loki's Flyting and finally Lokasenna. She saw his face every time one of their songs came on and she wished every time that she had banged a couple of idiot heads together when she still had the chance.

Loki was completely and utterly adored over there. Well she had seen that coming if not the extent of it. His fans were insane. Young girls would reference him in suicide notes for suicides that never actually took place, young girls and boys would camp out for days in wait for a ticket and then for days before a concert. He was sent death threats and marriage proposals daily. Young people would run at him naked in the street for a chance of his autograph across their chest, they would all but live outside a house they believed to be his and never was. Loki had become a master of subterfuge, putting out fake contact details and addresses every few weeks in the hope of putting off his more ardent fans. It worked for the most part, though he still had an unflushable array of persistent groupies every time he went on tour.

"You've no right getting jealous, you know," Sif had said, the one time she had actually talked to Thor about this.

"I'm not fucking jealous" he had growled.

"Oh spare me." She rolled her eyes – "You may be able to put one over on the rest of the world but you'll not work that on me". She was sprawled on a sofa in the midst of party debris, streamers caught in the black fringe of her skirt – "Look around you, Thor. You have groupies of your own. You could have anyone you damn well wanted and you know it. You can't spend your whole life mourning the one that got away."

"Watch me," he had snarled, the closest to admitting anything he had ever come. She had watched him. She had watched his eyes slide back to the television playing in the background where the music video for Bring on the thunder slid by in sickening silver detail as Loki itemised himself for all to see, pimped himself out in his glitter and satin, emerald framed eyes, black lips, silver pointed fingernails tracing along a wall. She watched him stare at it all furiously before she hauled herself up and flounced off in disgust. Five years, she thought, five fucking years.

And then, on the back of his '83 Lightning Bolt tour a new burst of enthusiasm hit. All of a sudden a great meeting of the band and all involved therein was called and Fandral was asking him who he would most like to meet in America.

"This a trick?"

"No trick." Fandral was grinning like this was all one hundred percent his own doing – "It's time. We're gonna hit America and you –" pointing at Thor – "Get to do a promo with any American star of your choosing."

The band whooped and yelled and chucked out suggestions. All except Sif; all the thought was fuck and Thor – don't. But he did.

"Loki Laufeyson," he said, intent glittering golden in his eyes for the first time anyone had seen in five years – "I want Loki Laufeyson."

_x_

Well, my beta and beloved summed this up in the words "They're such big stupid babies". They are. Sorry about the lack of Loki in this chapter, but of course he will be with us again in the next! *Drum roll* :-)