Loki stood on the roof of the compound and watched the Midgard sun climb its way into the sky, bathing the world in warmth and light. He hadn't slept, didn't really have a need to, and assumed it helped the mortals inside sleep better knowing he wasn't nearby. In truth, and surprising to even himself, he found their unconcious minds tempting to his mischievious side. What entertainment he could have with their dreams, if he so chose, as mortals tended to have much more vivid and malleable dreams than those in other realms. He shook his head, finding it childish to have believed that his nature could be beaten from him completely. He was who he was and, it seemed, there was no changing that. Loki didn't know whether to be relieved or angry or worried at the realization. Beyond his love of mischief, did he even know who he was? Was he Thor's brother and Odin's son, a mostly benign and loyal man who craved acceptance? Was he Laufey's offspring, a hated frost giant bastard, a relic stolen and stored by Odin to be used when needed? Or was he Loki of Asgard, burdened with glorious purpose, tyrant and murderer?

He refocused on the rising sun, staring straight into it, trying to push his troubling thoughts away. Unbidden, the image of him holding the girl last night came to him, the feeling of arms wrapped around his waist and the scent of strawberry shampoo and the sound of soft feminine weeping and the lightness of his heart in those moments. After she cried herself to exhaustion, she had pulled back and tried to look up at him. He had known she couldn't see his features in the darkness, but he drew his fingers down in front of her face anyway and put her in a light trance. No point in her recognizing him, though they'd never actually met. Carefully, he'd lowered her back down to the floor where she'd been and left as silently as he had come. He had continued his wandering, picking up on Thor's voice occasionally, sounding as though he was pleading. His brother's little mortal must have been quite upset at Thor's sudden reappearance after so long, with none other than Loki in tow and the revelation that the visit to Midgard was not for her but to thwart yet another attack. Loki actually felt sorry for Thor, as his brother's strength was certainly not in his pursuasive abilities, and particularly not with women. Of course, Thor had never had to coerce a woman before. He would dazzle them with a smile and the flex of a well-muscled arm and women would literally throw themselves at his feet, eager for him. Loki didn't know how things had ended between them last night, but he wished his brother luck with Jane Foster. Thor definitely needed it.

So lost in his thoughts, Loki didn't notice the girl from last night approaching until she was standing right behind him. And to think, he'd once bragged to Agent Romanov that not many could sneak up on him. He stood still, waiting for her to do something. Perhaps she just wanted to watch the sunrise and would ignore him. A few moment passed, silent and awkward, the proverbial elephant in the room hanging over both of them. Finally, his curiousity about her overshadowed his self-preservation and he turned. She appeared to have been staring at his back and now focused somewhere over his left shoulder, her face full of uncomfortable knowledge but strangly, no animosity. So she must remember last night after all. He'd hoped she wouldn't, for both of their sakes, or at least to have thought it all a dream. She still didn't say anything, seeming to be gathering her thoughts, and he took the opportunity to study her features. She had an unusually lovely face, with large eyes and a full wide mouth, her long chestnut hair painted with reddish streaks in the early morning light. She was petite, the top of her head only reaching his chest. He shifted uneasily at the memory and, as if she were remembering the same thing, her eyes snapped to his. He waited, his face impassive, wondering if she was going to yell at him, call him a monster for what he had done before, slap him for decieving her last night. He waited, and knew he wouldn't stop her if she tried.

"I'm Darcy." Her voice was as unusual as her face, and no less lovely, except he couldn't help but wonder how much of that huskiness was from crying, if the low tone was as much from embarrassment as natural pitch. He didn't reply, assuming she knew who he was from her body language and the distance she kept. "I just wanted to thank you for last night. You know, the um, the filing cabinet and all that. I probably would've hurt myself." She paused, looking down at her feet, then glancing back up at him. "And since no one is wigging on me this morning, I'm guessing you didn't tell anyone, which is actually pretty awesome." Another pause, another glance at his face, and she cleared her throat. "So, um, thanks."

Loki knew it was rude not to answer, and that his silence was probably making her nervous, but he honsetly didn't know what to do with her gratitude. It was the last thing he'd expected from her, from anybody. Any time he'd helped Thor and his friends by fighting in battle or by weaving a convincing lie to keep them all out of trouble, he'd never once been thanked. Invitations to get drunk on mead and share women with Fandrel certainly did not equal appreciation, at least not in his eyes.

The girl, Darcy, looked nervously around, as though she just realized she was alone with the madman who had sent the Destroyer to kill Thor and, by default, had nearly killed her and her friends, then had tried to take over her world and had destroyed much of New York City in the attempt. He needed to set her at ease, to assure her that he was no longer that madman, even though he wasn't sure that was true. He cleared his suddenly dry throat and she jumped back faster than he would have thought possible for her. He stepped back, dipping his head and hunching his shoulders and holding his hands slightly out from his body, palms up, to appear as non-threatening as possible. He would have laughed at himself, at how ridiculous a notion it was not only for someone to be so threatened by only his physical presence but also that he was trying so hard not to be imposing, if it hadn't been so pathetic. All he'd ever wanted was to see the respect and yes, even fear, in the eyes of those acquainted with his hulking warrior brother and father, so much so that he had lost his mind to it, had done unspeakable things to achieve it. Now, though, with her, with Darcy, he only wanted her to be at ease with him. How beautifully ironic.

"You are most welcome."

Darcy's eyes became even larger at the sound of his voice, comically so, even though he'd kept his tone soft. She blinked a few times and shook her head, then met his gaze with a bravado he knew was false, but respected in her anyway.

"Okay." She turned on her heel and walked away. Loki returned to watching the sun and absently rubbed the spot on his chest above his heart, where Darcy had cried the night before.