A/N: Heeeeeeyyyes, I´m a horrible human being. I am terribly sorry, but I´m having a hard time finding free time. So so sorry. AAnyway, I want to thank SetPhasersToFun, Nira, Leila, jrr, citylights, OswynneLeighAldren, and MarinasDiamond for all the lovely reviews 3 Enjoy!

"Tess… we´re here."

You open your eyes drowsily. You are standing before the entrance to the sewers. You shoot Loki a questioning look.

"It's safe. And kind of nice," he promises. "Couple of rats, human wastes… a palace worthy of a king."

You giggle soundlessly and, with a jump, get off the truck. Your feet make squishing noises as you take a few steps into the sewers. You look down at your bare feet and wiggle your toes.

"Unacceptable," the man with the raven hair mutters. He suddenly slips his arm under your armpit and lifts you up, your feet resting on his other arm.

You roll your eyes and he laughs.

"I was joking." He carefully puts you down. With a flick of his hand and a halo of green light, a pair of black leather boots materialize on your feet.

You pat the pockets of your coverall until you find your notepad and pen. "Thank you," you write.

He bows in a medieval fashion and you blush.

Clint Barton, among other kidnapped agents, leads your team deeper into the sewers. They all stop and start unpacking in an empty cave marked by a single steel table.

Once more, a shiver runs down your spine as you imagine all that they could do to you.

Loki´s voice breathes into your ear. "Relax, my lady. This is not meant for you." A hand is wrapped around your wrist and you are gently led towards another cave.

If someone had blindfolded you and showed you this room, you wouldn't have believed it was within the sewers. The cave lacks the humidity and stench that marks human waste deposits. Instead, you smell… is that lavender? It is furnished beautifully: a huge, comfortable bed, a mirror with a thousand little drawers around it and a cute little bench before it, a bookcase packed with several different volumes; the list goes on and on forever.

"All mine?" you write on your notepad.

"All yours," Loki answers with a smile.

You dash forward and shrink the space between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his thin frame. He hesitates for a moment, as if he has forgotten how to hug.

After a second, he pushes you away softly. You notice the flush creeping up his cheeks. The man clears his throat, "What do you want to do now?"

"Something…" you pause, tapping your chin with the back of the pencil, "…human."

Loki reads what you have written and frowns. "Really? Aren't they… you know, boring?"

You ponder for a moment over the information you got while squeezing S.H.I.E.L.D.´s monitors dry.

"They sometimes order food using a phone-thingy. Thai food. Yummy food."

"Alright… do you know how to use a telephone?"

You frown. You were not expecting that question. You open and close your mouth stupidly (nothing would come out anyway) and grumpily scribble No.

Loki laughs encouragingly, "We can learn, don't worry yourself." He opens the beautifully carved wooden door and calls, "Barton!"

In a matter of seconds, the summoned agent has arrived. "Yes, sir?"

"Phone," the man replies, holding out an open hand. Hawkeye frowns in confusion. "Pho-one," Loki repeats with a sing-song voice as he nods towards his palm.

"Oh!" the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent searches through his pockets until he retrieves a thin piece of glass. "Stark tech," he announces proudly.

"Good for you," your rescuer mutters. He (awkwardly) taps the glass, and shapes and colors appear. You silently gasp in admiration. Clint Barton is still standing next to you, waiting for gods-know-what. Loki stares at him for a moment before, annoyed, ordering, "Shoo." The Hawk flusteredly bows and dashes back towards the other cave.

"Now," the emerald-eyed man clears his throat, "phones. I believe you need a special numbered code."

You cock your head to the side. "You are different around them," you write in your precious notepad insistently.

"You can't show any type of weakness before your soldiers, dear Tess," he explains. He smiles warmly and looks at the phone once more. "It says 'search' here." He taps the box and an alphabet emerges. You hold up your notebook so he can copy the name.

"T-H-A-I food. 'No results. Search the Net?' it says." Loki turns to you and you shrug for an answer. "Search the Net," he instructs decidedly.

The "Net" apparently knows everything. It is probably an earthly Oracle. Soon enough, you know the code to contact the Thai food provider and what (s)he has to offer.

A question suddenly worries you. "Won´t they track us down and tell Fury?"

"Lucky for us," he says and adds in a hushed whisper. "I am the God of Mischief."

You gape at the man. You have met heroes and scholars and priests and priestesses but never a god.

"Really?" you scribble before crossing it out, realizing how rude it sounded. "I did not know," you correct.

"Yes. God of Mischief and Lies… and Prince of Asgard." Loki pauses, sadness and uncertainty clouding his beautiful eyes. "I think."

The tiny part of your brain that hasn't taken the task of idolatrizing Loki screams that you cannot trust a god of lies, but you ignore it completely and smile up at the man who is currently contacting Thai food providers.