I apologize for this chapter in advance; it's a filler chapter with slight development. After this, things are going to speed up and the plot is going to become heavier, so just bear with me with this. Aside that, though, thank you all for reading/reviewing!

"Am I more than you bargained for yet? I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear, 'cause that's just who I am this week..." Sugar, We're Going Down, Fall Out Boy.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Thor; if I did, there'd be a Tasertricks movie.

It's snowing.

Loki looks out the window of his apartment, watching as the delicate flakes consume the tops of cars, buildings, and sidewalks, dotting the hair of hurried people in the street. They must be rushing to get to their families; that is what most do on Christmas, after all. Loki places a hand against the cold glass and imagines, just briefly, that he is among them, rushing to get to his loved ones.

The chill of the glass, after quite a while, doesn't sting his palm as it ought to; he is, after all, partial to the cold. That is why he is not brought back to Earth— back to the real world— when he becomes lost in thought, watching as the snowflakes dance and twist in the cold winter air and reminding him too much of the notion of a "white" Christmas and henceforth reminding him of just that: Christmas.

He used to love Christmas, both as a child and in previous years. He used to love the warm feeling he would get to sit beside his mother, to laugh and talk to Thor, to exchange kind words with his father. Loki never loved the holiday; he tolerated it at most (the day was bad for business), but the memories he has of the day never cease to remind him of what it felt like to be loved. To be wanted. To be part of a family.

He blinks himself back to reality at this, feeling as though his chest has become to feel much too tight and his throat too raw. He leaves the window and heads into his kitchen, where he sets to making himself a cup of coffee; perhaps that will help clear his mind, for there is no part of his being that wishes to be part of their family anymore.

There is no part of him that should.

The coffee, as it goes down his raw throat, is scalding; it burns his tongue and the inside of his mouth, and welcomingly so, for the pain reminds Loki that he cannot be weak, that he cannot be like them. Like the other fools who go around praising family as if family doesn't stab each other in the back when push comes to shove. Like his so-called family.

Leaning against the kitchen counter and reducing to sipping from his cup slowly, he stares at his phone on the kitchen table and wonders if he ought to call Thor. Loki is supposed to meet the oaf and their...parents for Christmas, after all. Perhaps he should just wait for their call; if they really want him to be there, they will call. Then again, Loki cannot consider what they want if he is to get what he wants; it is not in his nature.

Emotion will be his downfall.

He tells himself this, repeating it in his mind and scarring his mouth again with the hot liquid of his coffee, as though the action will burn the words into memory. These words are what he must live by, for emotions equal pain, and hurt, and maybe even attachment; Loki cannot have any of that. He only needs one thing: Asgard Industries. It is that simple, isn't it? What more could he want? What more could satisfy him? What more is rightfully his?

He sighs to himself and sets aside his cup, going over to the kitchen table and picking up his phone. He checks the time— 9:27 A.M.— and begins to scroll through his contacts. Because so few have his phone number, the first name Loki gets happens to be "Badass Lewis," accompanied by a silly picture. Upon seeing this, Loki remembers that he still has not changed his ringtone since she changed it, and had forgotten to mention it. He would make sure to do that, but for now, he scrolls down and finds Thor's name.

The call goes straight to voicemail. That is strange.

Loki frowns at the screen and sets the phone aside. Perhaps Thor forgot to turn on his phone, or forgot to pay the bill; that would seem like something the thick-headed oaf would do. Either way, Loki knows that he won't be able to call just yet.

So instead, he does something he has not in a while: sketch.

Loki always had loved art, as a child. While Thor had the loud, physical traits to him that compelled him to sports and being as dumb as he is, Loki had the quiet, artistic ones that drew him to sketching, writing, and reading. He does not write as often anymore, but he still enjoys reading and occasionally drawing, such as today.

Sketching softly and lazily, Loki finds himself making the soft curves of a woman. This isn't uncommon; Loki enjoys sketching human anatomy and finds the practice actually quite soothing, though time-consuming. Just drawing out the body takes a while; at least a good hour or so, if he's kept a subconscious count.

The actions mesmerize him. He's never been this inspired to sketch before; he finds that each pencil stroke comes easily and eagerly, as if the pencil is drawing the picture itself. Moving on to the face of the woman, he is unsure how to proceed. Human features are something he has not grasped the concept of yet; most often he models his drawings after someone else. Before, his mother's face was the one he would model each woman's face after.

Gripping his pencil lightly, Loki sets to work, but finds that he does not sketch his mother's high cheekbones; instead, the cheeks are softer, though still a little high. Working on the nose, the feature is once again not as sharp as his mother's; it is softer around the edges and not as defined. The lips come next, and they're softer and thicker than Loki remembers his mother's to be. Loki gazes at the picture in confusion now; this looks very unlike his mother.

Loki, even knowing this, confusedly begins to sketch the eyes of the woman. As each definite stroke becomes clearer, Loki finds himself confronted with the mental image of blue eyes. The eyes are not light, clear blue eyes like Frigga's; the blue is slightly more vivid.

Almost...endearingly more vivid.

That is when Loki's sense snap to attention. Darcy Lewis. He is literally sketching Darcy Lewis. He throws his pencil aside in alarm, eyes widening at the prospect. Blasted woman; she has bewitched him to think of her, even right now. Loki sighs to himself and studies the picture carefully anyway; he just blames this happening because he has had to spend so much time with the woman.

Carefully, he places a hand on the paper. The sketch is, admittedly, some of his best work. Perhaps he ought to keep it, he muses as he admires his handiwork. Yes, as a possible reference for later work...

A second later, everything dissolves into chaos.

Loki's door bangs open, which makes Loki twist his head sharply in the direction of the doorway. Before he is even on his feet, Thor enters Loki's apartment with a huge grin on his face. "Merry Christmas, brother!" he exclaims, crossing Loki's carpeted floor eagerly to get to Loki.

Loki, in a panic, crams the drawing into his suit jacket pocket as Thor pulls Loki into the bone-crushing hug. As Loki is being smushed to nothing, he sees his parents entering the room as well over Thor's bulky shoulder.

"You found my spare key, I see," notes Loki dryly, trying to move out of Thor's grip while also trying to express his disdain for his family breaking into his house.

Thor finally releases him, but unfortunately keeps grinning. "Yes," he answers.

Loki would've made a quip of how Thor couldn't have possibly found such a well-hidden object, but a look to his mother reminds him that she was probably the one to find it; she was the one who taught Loki many tricks, after all.

"I was expecting a call, not a visit," Loki then tells his family pointedly.

"We figured we ought to surprise you," Frigga says, and she smiles fondly at Loki, crossing the room to touch her son's face. "How are you, my dear?"

"I am well, mother," Loki says curtly. "And you?"

"Better, now that my son is back," she says, and when she envelops Loki into a hug, Loki gingerly hugs back; everything he had thought of last week involving her and her deceit comes rushing back at the sight of her, and he is unsure as to what he ought to feel.

Odin steps forward when Frigga releases Loki. "Son," he says curtly.

Loki looks to Odin and, after a pregnant pause, utters, "Father."

Frigga beams at the two of them; Thor even manages to smile wider. Odin doesn't smile or look relieved in any sense; Loki can see the distrust lingering in his eyes. Odin will be the hardest to persuade, it seems. Well, no matter, for that will all be solved soon.

For the next few hours, the family sets to trying to make this Christmas feel normal again. They begin with trying to make Loki's apartment festive ("A tree, Loki, that is all you needed to have gotten," complains Frigga before she sets to digging through Loki's scarce decarations), making hot chocolate ("I will make it," Loki interjects before Thor can, knowing Thor will somehow mess it up), and starting a fire in the fireplace ("A task," Thor notes, "for a man-" This he says before he almost sets Loki's carpet on fire).

Around midday, the four of them are still seated around the fire, exchanging information of what is going on in their lives. This is normal for the Odison family, for they celebrate early in the morning and possibly through lunchtime every Christmas because of Odin's constant responsibilities with Asgard Industries; it's been that way since Loki and Thor were kids in that sense.

Thor and Odin now discuss Asgard Industries. Odin is explaining something and Thor listens intently, so Loki is left to speak to his mother (not that Frigga appears to mind).

"How are you, Loki?" she asks him softly.

"I can ask you the same thing, mother," replies Loki charmingly. "Please don't tell me you've been at peace, handling all the business transactions that come with giving away the rights to Asgard Industries."

Frigga laughs. "You know me so well, Loki," she agrees. "I do wish your father would be a bigger man sometimes and do most of his work himself; he doesn't trust me with big things, and yet, I'm stuck doing them every time."

"A true gentleman," Loki notes dryly.

Frigga smiles. "You'd be surprised," she says fondly, glancing towards her husband. "I know he's not a perfect man; he's always so cold and stiff, for heaven's sake, but...love surpasses that. Love surpasses everything."

She looks at Loki with unwavering blue eyes and takes his hand when she says this. Loki curls his fingers around her hand and matches her gaze quietly.

"I am glad you are happy, mother, even when stuck with work," he relays gently.

Frigga laughs again. "Now don't be talking to me about work," she says amusedly. "How often are you taking a break from working? Don't lie to me, either."

Truth be told, Loki has spent far too much time taking a break from working. Whenever he is not going over work or working, he spends his time with Darcy Lewis; that alone is not work, but it is just as grueling. This requires too much of his time now, for Loki has to immerse himself in this task too much. Before, he would immerse himself in his work only.

"I am working in moderation, I assure you," says Loki.

Frigga doesn't seem to believe him. "Of course you are, Loki," she says good-naturedly before she leans closer and adds, "Now I know this is out of the blue, but, I wanted to ask if you remembered the Christmas tree lighting they do every year?"

Loki nods. "I remember," he assents.

"Would you like to go?" she asks him quietly. "We...haven't gone in quite a while."

Since he was a child, actually, but Loki does not dwell on that.

"No, thank you, mother," he replies politely. "I am too old for such an event." And, might he add, so is Darcy Lewis; yet, somehow she managed to be the one to drag him to such an event. In a way, that almost makes Loki feel wrong, to be denying his mother something he allowed Darcy to take him to.

The look Frigga dons then is one that gives Loki almost pleasing satisfaction, for she looks disappointed and perhaps a little hurt that he has refused. Frigga, Loki reasons, needs to be hurt as much as he was these past weeks.

"I see," says Frigga quietly. "Well, of course you've outgrown it; you are so grown, my son. Twenty-seven years old already. Where have the years gone?"

To lies. That is where the years have gone. But Loki does not say this.

"Years are fleeting," Loki says in agreement.

Frigga nods and is about to say something else, but suddenly a phone goes off.

Loki's phone, to be precise.

"I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world..."

Every eye in the room immediately begins to look around, trying to find the source of the annoying pop song that fills the room. Loki sighs upon hearing the song; he forgot to change his ringtone in his haste to entertain his family.

"Excuse me, mother," Loki says as he rises to get his phone.

Frigga stares after her son blankly. "Is that...your phone?"

"Unfortunately," Loki breathes to himself as he seizes the device, sliding the lock screen at the name "Badass Lewis," paired with the picture the foolish woman took of herself on his phone. "Hello?" he says into the receiver.

"Hey, Loki! This is you, right?"

Loki rolls his eyes. "Yes, it is I. Hold on for just a moment." He pulls his phone away and tells his mother apologetically, "I must take this. Please excuse me." He then steps outside onto a balcony that sides his apartment, shutting the door behind him before he says, "What is your reason of calling?"

"Merry Christmas," is Darcy's flat reply. "No, but, seriously— it's Christmas."

"I hate to disappoint you, but I am afraid I already knew that."

"Ass," huffs Darcy, and even when she's not there, Loki can imagine the fake way she must be acting hurt. "So are you with your family right now, or-?"

"I am, yes," Loki affirms. "They will be leaving soon, though."

"Really? Why?"

"We celebrate Christmas early," Loki answers curtly.

"That's cool." A beat. "Okay, thing is, do you feel like meeting me somewhere?"

He doesn't, actually. "Of course," he lies. "Where?"

"Wait, you actually do?"

Loki hears the disbelief and maybe even panic in her voice. "Yes," he repeats slowly. "Is there something going on? Do you not want me to meet you?"

"Er, well...there's, uh, something going on over here. A party of sorts."

"And-?"

"Aaaand my cousin dared me to call you to do this for a drinking game, because he thinks we're dating and whatever and tried to embarrass me by pretending he wanted to meet you. Sorry about all of this, but you can just hang up if you want to—"

"Darcy," Loki cuts her off.

"—What?"

"I'll come," he says, annoyed. "Where shall I meet you?"

A beat. "But...why?"

"Well, for one, we are dating," Loki tells her matter-of-factly. "If you wish for me to meet your cousin, then I would be delighted to." His lies come out smoothly; he truly has gotten good.

Laughter comes from the other line. "Oh, you're hilarious."

Loki frowns seriously. "In what aspect?" he asks.

"Wait- what? Are you...serious?" comes the disbelieving question.

Loki continues to frown. "Yes, of course," he says. "I do not partake in joke telling, sarcasm, or any other form of not being serious; I'm not very good at either."

"Don't be an asshole. I'm confused, okay? Where did you even get the idea that we were dating? I mean, okay, we've been on a few dates, but isn't it a little early to label whatever it is we have?"

Loki sighs, leaning against the sliding door of the balcony. "You said that our relationship should progress so long as we became friends first," he reminds her, recalling their second date. "And we became friends, did we not? Therefore, we are dating."

"So you just...decided this because of that? Who does that?!"

"Me, aparently," Loki huffs in annoyance. "Is there a reason you are so put off by this idea and find it so unbelievable? Do you not wish to pursue a romantic relationship with me?"

"To be honest, dude, I really don't know what to think about any relationship with you," comes the woman's unapologetic reply. "I'm not trying to say we should do some weird-ass friends with benefits thing, but maybe we shouldn't...I dunno, be more than friends right now."

Loki sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I am attempting to pursue a relationship with you, Darcy— I do not wish to be just friends," he says pointedly. "Have I not been clear of my affections?"

"Your...affections? Look, I—" Darcy's voice becomes lower as she speaks away from the phone. "Jane? Jane, no, I'm not upset, I'm just talking to Loki. Yeah, he's— no, he's not coming, Tony, so get your face out of your ass and-! Keep talking and I swear to God I'll— wait, Loki. Loki, are you still there?"

"Yes," says Loki, exasperated.

"Oh. Sorry about that. Um...maybe we should not talk about this right now," Darcy says, and her voice is oddly soft. "Maybe we can, er, talk about this later when we meet up? I do still owe you that present."

"I can meet you now," Loki reminds her, his patience running thin.

Darcy sighs; Loki can hear the motion from his line. "I don't know about that. Jane and Erik are with me right now, remember? And my annoying cousin decided to show his ugly face— yes, Tony, I am well aware that you can hear me—"

Loki remembers the name Erik. That must be her male friend. Well, that makes him frown at the idea; if he is to use Darcy Lewis, then she should not be having this Erik over when she will not even let Loki come by.

"I would like to meet your friends, Darcy," Loki says, trying to sound as sincere as possible (and, might he add, doing so very well at the task). "I truly mean that I would like to become involved with you. Please, spare me the agony and say you will accept me as well."

Darcy does not respond, because a second later, the phone is snatched from her hands; Loki can hear the sound of protest she makes and the rushing air that comes from the other line.

"Hello?"

Loki sighs; he does not even know why he is still doing this. "Yes?"

"So you're 'Tall, Pale, and Brooding'," notes the voice on the other end.

Loki raises his eyebrows at this, because he recognizes the voice.

It belongs to none other than Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist— or so the magazines call him; Loki has not known the man to be very smart or, for that matter, a philanthropist.

"Stark," says Loki coldly. "It's been a while."

For a minute, the line was silent. Then, "Loki. You're that Loki? Huh, I should've guessed that sooner; what would be the odds of some other parent hating their kid so much that they'd name 'em Loki?"

Loki frowns. "What are you playing at, Stark?"

"Hey, I'm just enjoying this," Stark informs him, and Loki can picture the gleeful smile his face must have at the moment. "You and Darcy, together? This is the best Christmas present I could've ever gotten!"

"And why is that?" questions Loki, confused.

"Because it's fucking hilarious! You and Darcy. God, this is— this is funny, and totally blackmail-worthy. I've gotta tell Pepper. Hey Jane, be a sweetheart and dial Pepper on my phone, would you? Thanks, gorgeous— ow! I was complimenting her, Darcy; I didn't even mention her nice rack— OW! I'm pretty sure that was illegal!"

The phone seemingly is taken away from Tony.

"You know Tony?" is the first thing Darcy asks.

"Yes," Loki answers. The "unfortunately" at the end is unsaid, but is clear as day.

"Great, now he's going to ruin my life about this," grumbles Darcy before her voice goes low once more. "Tony, I swear to God, if you even think about telling my parents, then I am going to murder you and cut off your— what, Jane? He's being difficult!"

Loki grips his phone tighter. "Darcy," he says calmly, to call her attention.

"Huh?"

"Do you truly feel so ashamed to be with me?" Loki asks, feeling confused as to why Darcy finds the notion one not to be told to her parents, and a laughable one as well.

"Um...no," she says, quietly. "It's just— weird. This is really weird, okay? One minute I'm perpetually single and now it's like...I have a boyfriend? It's just too fast, don't you think?"

"I disagree; time has no effect on a relationship."

"I dunno, dude— this is freaky. Seriously, can we just talk later? In person? I love technology and all, but this doesn't seem, well, right to discuss this over the phone."

"Then let me meet you now," Loki says.

"...but you're, like, with your family. And Tony's over here."

"I don't care," Loki says, successfully able to keep any annoyance out of his tone. "I wish to see you, Darcy; just because that idiot is there does not make that any less true."

"You really want to see me?" Darcy's tone is doubtful— and rightfully so.

"Of course," lies Loki smoothly.

"...Fine. You know what, just come over; this day is weird enough as it is. Erik's been wanting to meet you anyway, and so has Jane...even if she knows you...and Tony, but I guess you know him..."

"You're stalling," Loki notes, smirking.

"...I know."

A minute later, a single text message is sent to his phone, containing an address: namely, Darcy's address. Loki reenters his apartment, smirking at the screen; he always has been able to get his way—

The clearing of a throat sounds. "Loki, is everything alright?" Frigga asks.

Loki turns his head in her direction. His mother stands in the kitchen, looking at him carefully. Odin and Thor are standing in the living room, Thor looking curious and Odin indifferent.

"Oh, of course," Loki says smoothly. "Something just came up at work. Mother, Father, Thor- I hate to inconvenience you all, but I'm afraid this can't wait. I must attend to this...business immediately."

The apartment Loki finds himself at an hour (and several prolonged goodbyes) later is a small, remarkably ordinary one. The location is one Loki finds displeasing; the place and people give him bad vibes the second he steps out of his nice car, dressed in a formal, expensive suit. Lower class scum, he thinks to himself, arranging his tie and stiffly walking to Darcy's apartment.

The things he does...

The door is flung open when Loki knocks, and there stands Tony Stark in all his (not) glory, leaning against the doorframe, lips tugged in a smirk and arms crosses over his chest tantalizingly.

"Odison," he says in greeting, smirking.

Loki eyes him apprehensively. "Stark," he says flatly.

"Darcy," Darcy announces cheerfully as she nudges Stark aside with her hip, joining him at the door. "Hey, Loki, come in— but you're in a suit again! Geez, do you ever take your suits off?"

"Whoa, undress each other when I'm not here, lovebirds," Stark says, pretending to be disgusted (but smirking at the exchange playfully, and even raising his eyebrows subtly at Darcy).

"Shut up, Tony," Darcy says rudely as she walks away from the door, prompting Loki to follow behind, eyeing the living room he steps in. It's small and ordinary; the place is like a box in size, cluttered with bright-colored furniture and abstract art littering the walls.

"What, upset we're all here because you can't get any?" Stark asks, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "I'm ashamed of you, Darce— I thought you were supposed to be a good girl."

"And I thought you were supposed to be out of the state with Pepper's parents, and instead you're here," Darcy counters in annoyance, but Loki can hear the playful tinge her voice holds and knows the exchange is normal.

Stark shrugs. "Technicalities."

Darcy rolls her eyes before looking back to Loki. "Oh, Loki, forgot about you for a second," she says sheepishly. "Okay, you know Tony, so let's find the others...Jane! Jane, Loki's here!"

From the kitchen, which ajoins with the living room, comes the thin brunette. She looks at Loki, smiling kindly and offering a hand (which Loki has half a mind to refuse, but doesn't).

"Hi. It's nice to see you...again," says this Jane.

Loki nods her way. "And you as well."

"Now there's just Erik— Erik! You still in the shower?" Darcy yells.

No reply comes, but footfalls sound, and a second later, a man appears in the doorway of the room, hands on his ears. Loki finds himself relaxing— he had gotten tense for just a second— when he realizes that this Erik is not but an old, graying man.

"Eardrums, Darcy," Erik reminds the girl, chuckingly good-naturedly before his eyes flit to Loki and his eyes, once smiling, become guarded and unsure. "Oh. Hello. You must be the boyfriend."

"The friend," Darcy hastily corrects.

Tony snorts. "And that's why you were trying to get him out of his suit."

"I wasn't, you asshole," Darcy snaps, smacking Tony's arm.

Loki takes the incentive— ignoring Darcy and Stark's exchange— to offer a hand to Erik. "Yes, that's me," he says pointedly, making Darcy sigh in exasperation as Stark smirks in her direction. "Loki Odison, and you must be Erik."

"Erik Selving," Erik affirms, looking over at Darcy carefully before taking Loki's hand and shaking it firmly. "It's, uh, nice to meet you. Now I suppose I ought to give you some sort of speech of being good to Darcy or something of the sort..." He trails off uncertainly.

"I'll take the job, Selving, so don't worry," Tony says, throwing an arm over Erik's shoulders (which Erik removes pointedly). "So Lokes— I can call you Lokes, right, thanks— what are you up to? Not off with the golden Odison family this time of year?"

"I already met with my family today," Loki says stiffly.

"Ah," Stark says, not looking interested in the slightest. "Okay, time for male threats! Lokes, if you'll be so kind—" Stark gestures to the bright orange couch and moves to sit on it.

Loki exchanges a glance with Darcy— it's clear she despises this— before he sits down on the tacky piece of furniture gingerly, very unsure as to what could've been on the couch before.

"Okay, you wanna know what I have?" Stark asks right off. "Guns. And the ability to mass-scale produce guns. You know, since my business used to specialize in that, no big deal. But I have guns. Lots of guns. I could kick your ass without guns, of course, but I have 'em. So that's how it's gonna go— you hurt Darcy, I hurt you."

"Tony," Darcy says in frustration. "Can you not?"

"What? I'm being civil. I haven't even thrown him out a window or anything."

"I meant can you not threaten him. It's stupid," huffs Darcy. "C'mon, Tony, seriously? If he hurts me, there's no way you would get to kick his ass. I'd be the one doing all the ass-kicking."

"But...guns," Stark says dejectedly.

"Nope, no guns. If there's anything being used, it's gonna be my taser."

Loki raises his eyebrows at this; she has a taser?

"Would I be able to watch you kick his ass?" Stark asks, lighting up.

"No."

"Eh, worth a shot." Stark stands up from the couch. "Glad we've got that out of the way. Now let's get to what Christmas is really about: booze. Darce, dish us out some drinks!"

"Dish them out yourself," Darcy grumbles as she sits down next to Loki in the couch, keeping herself a sizable distance away, but still close enough to make Stark grin their way knowingly.

"Fine, make the nice guy get the drinks," complains Tony as he heads into the small kitchen, expertly opening the pantry and taking out a bottle of vodka. "Whatever— there's alcohol. Lokes, what's your poison?"

Loki eyes Stark in the kitchen, and then Darcy seated beside him, and he smoothly says, "Whatever drink Darcy wishes to have will be adequate."

"Don't be that guy, kiss-up," Tony complains as he yanks open the refrigerator, taking out a bottle of cranberry juice. "Though, I have to say, Darce, he's definitely your type."

Darcy raises her eyebrows. "I have a type?"

"Yeah— whipped," is Tony's effortless answer as he begins to pour the drinks.

Loki resists the urge to sigh. He knows this is going to be a long day, and if Loki is anything, he is always right, for a few hours later, everyone around him has had a bit too much of alcohol.

And by that, he means a lot.

"Staaaaaayin' aliveeeeee!" Stark shrieks into the couch, his face pressed against the cushions. Jane, his karaoke partner, is still thankfully upright, but her words keep getting lost in giggles and she can't get out the next line of lyrics.

"That's the wrong tune!" Darcy hollers from her side of the couch.

"Fuck you!" Stark starts to laugh as he rolls of the couch, falling on the floor. "I— AM— STAYING— ALIVE!" he yells, completely out of tune again (and not to mention those are not even lyrics of the song).

Darcy starts to laugh harder; Loki, from his spot beside her, eyes her reproachfully. She's not drunk, per se, but tipsy; if she keeps drinking, soon she will be the messes that Stark and Jane are. Erik, who leans against the wall, is slightly sober but not bothering to intervene.

"Jane, Jane, Jane!" Darcy calls. "Keep going!" It's clear by the way she's grinning that Jane does not usually get this drunk, and she seems to be eager to exploit the opportunity. For a second, the notion almost makes Loki smile; it is so mischievous of her.

Jane continues to giggle. "Okay. Okay. Okay! I'm so fancy—"

"Wrong song!" Stark calls.

"You already knooooow—"

"Foster, wrong song," repeats Stark loudly. "Darcy, tell her!"

"Whaa? But— but— I'm so fancy," Jane whines.

Darcy continues to laugh, her shoulders shaking, and she falls back on the couch so she is leaning against Loki's shoulder. Loki stiffens at the contact, but Darcy doesn't notice; she's too busy laughing. Loki brushes it off that it is because Darcy is tipsy for this contact; unless, perhaps, she is warming up to him—?

"If anyone's fancy, it's me," Stark counters drunkenly.

Erik goes into the kitchen to get another drink, muttering something about how he'd like one Christmas where everyone wasn't either wasted or singing, making Loki slightly appreciate the man's endurance to stick with these people.

"You're not fancy! If anyone is, it's Loki— I mean, just look at his suit," babbles Darcy, leaning her head back on the couch. "That reminds me— Loki! Hey, Loki!"

"Yes?" answers Loki curtly.

Darcy leans closer to him, her voice now low. "How do you know Tony?" she asks curiously, changing the subject so Stark won't hear (not that it matters; he is so inebriated, he would not have thought much of it).

"I had the fortune of meeting him thanks to Thor," Loki replies evenly, and describes the event of where this took place; Thor had taken Loki— against his will— to a meeting with a Director Fury, who had discussed business revenues and suggested a future project where their different companies could join for a good cause. Thor had been eager for the opportunity, but Loki had not; he had been very bored. Tony Stark, being there, had been bored as well and had attempted to strike up a conversation.

The attempt had failed, for Loki had not wanted to talk to the foolish man; he had left the meeting with the presumption of never speaking to the man he (admittedly) icily brushed off...and perhaps even insulted...

"Hmm." Darcy turns her head so she is staring right at Loki, her bright blue eyes wide and innocent. Loki feels his breath hitch at the unadulterated wonder she conveys through this act. "You're really weird. You know that, right?"

"If that will appease you, then yes," Loki says, arching a brow questioningly.

Darcy smiles. "Good," she says amusedly, standing up off of the couch and offering a small hand in his direction. "Now come on, there's something I have to give you, don't I?"

Against his better judgement, Loki takes her hand.

Like everything that happens when he is with Darcy, Loki comes to regret this decision when Darcy gives him the dubbed "perfect" gift for him: a mug. A green mug, might he add, with the words "this coffee has given me unrealistic expectations of productivity."

As Darcy explains how, since Loki is influential in his business, he has to have such a mug with such words on it to be comical relief in the workplace (this is paraphrased from her speech, obviously). That, and also because Darcy insists that he needs something other than the generic white mugs he keeps in his office.

"Well...thank you," says Loki, his voice low and unnaturally gentle.

"No sarcasm?" Darcy questions, eyeing the distasteful mug in Loki's hands. "Wow, and here I was, getting this only to get a rise out of ya; you're getting soft on me, here."

"If you wish me to, then I will gladly be sarcastic," offers Loki.

"Ugh, quit that," complains Darcy once the words are out of his mouth. "All of that if-you-wish stuff, I mean; you're one word away from making this The Princess Bride. I don't want you to be some kiss-ass boyfriend who's always trying to do whatever I want."

Loki smirks, feeling an odd stab of pride in his heart. "Then you will accept me?"

"Yes, you asshole, I'll accept you as my boyfriend or whatever," Darcy says, and there's the hint of a faint blush on her cheeks that fades as quickly as it comes. "But don't think I've forgiven you. Or that I'm having sex with you."

"Again with that, are you?"

"Hey, guys are always after it; I'm just making sure." Darcy pulls her legs up so she is sitting cross-legged on her bed; she and Loki are currently in her bedroom, Darcy on her bed and Loki standing beside it.

"I am not like the others," Loki says pointedly.

"Yeah, I know, you're just a moderate asshole, not a total one." Darcy squints past Loki as if trying to see past him. "Ugh, I'm freaking blind— this is why I need to remember to put on my contacts in the morning."

"You wear contacts?"

"Yeah, forgot to mention that," Darcy says, shrugging. "Oh well. Can you pass me my glasses? They're on the nighstand, in that little box-thingy."

Loki does so, albeit questioningly.

Darcy then pulls herself off the bed, perching the glasses on her nose, before reaching into the pocket of her jeans and uncrumpling a piece of paper. Loki curiously looks on, and when he sees what it is, his heart plummets to the bottom of his stomach.

His picture. The one he drew of Darcy.

"How did you get that?" he demands, mouth gone dry.

Darcy's mouth just falls open. "Dude!" she exclaims.

Loki blanches, expecting some harsh words, but then Darcy breaks into a smile.

"You're fucking amazing! How can you draw like this?" Darcy studies the drawing more carefully. "Sorry for taking this, by the way, but it fell out of your pocket and the blurry version of it looked cool, so...I wanted to see it in a not blurry way."

Loki resists the urge to groan; this woman truly has no personal boundaries. "That is alright. I...actually meant to gift it to you," he lies, knowing there is no other way to play this and explain how she has somehow entranced his mind.

"Really? That's actually pretty cool." Darcy eyes it, nodding to herself. "Like a selfie, only classier. Thanks...Lokes." Her tone is mischevious, and Loki finds himself frowning.

"Your cousin is a piece of work," he tells her flatly.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Darcy says. "He's supposed to be out with his fiancé's parents for Christmas, but he chickened out and came here. He probably just got drunk to forget all that, the son of a bitch." A few seconds pass and then she adds, "I'm sorry about him, by the way. And for this whole...thing. I didn't want you to be dragged into this...whatever it is."

"I believe," Loki answers mischievously, "that you refer to Christmas."

"C'mon, dude, don't be nice about it. Hate it," Darcy prompts. "All they've been doing is drinking and singing...and that's all they do on celebrations like this. Though not Jane; she's probably just drunk to forget that you're the brother here, and Thor doesn't text or call or whatever..."

"Does she wish to see him again that much?"

"Yeah, she's a hopeless romantic. Like, a really hopeless romantic."

"And let me guess— you're not," says Loki, lips turning upwards in a smile.

"Duh— remember who's doing the dragon-slaying around here?" Darcy says teasingly. "But yeah, I've never liked the whole Prince-Charming thing. I kinda always had a thing for the villains."

Loki smirks. "Oh?"

"That came out so much dirtier than intended. Oh, wow. Hey, get the smile off your face!" Darcy laughs, and she throws one of her bed pillows half-heartedly at Loki's shoulder.

"I would, but I do not wish to be the type of boyfriend to do whatever you want."

"...Asshole," grumbles Darcy decidedly after a few seconds of silence.

Loki continues to smirk at her, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction wash over him. Darcy has now agreed to be involved with him; though it took longer than anticipated, all is now well. His plan can be much more easily set, and also, he will have less to think about and do when it comes to Darcy Lewis.

Yet, gazing at her with the glasses on her nose and her silly smile curling on her lips, he feels strangely compelled to keep spending time with her. He is about to say something— anything— when the moment is shattered by Tony Stark, the imbecile.

"I already told you, Foster— I'm fancy!"

Jane's voice follows. "You already knooooow—!"

And Loki decides then and there that, even while strangely entranced by Darcy Lewis, he is utterly unprepared for spending time with her associates, drunk or not.

The headcannon that Tony is Darcy's father is one I've always found to be really interesting, but I wanted him to be their age in this fic, so instead I made him Darcy's cousin. I actually really liked writing him. Him, and drunk Jane...

Now, about this chapter: The development— which is Tasertricks dating— might seem odd on Darcy's part, but I am going to write up the companion piece of this story to explain it from her perspective. That will probably be posted before the next chapter of this story, but I don't have a date yet...

Anyway, the following people—

KatieMarrie: Thanks for the review, btw! Your reviews make me smile! :D

JigokuShoujosRevenge

Nolesr1

FloraIrmaTylee

rachelisafallenangel

scarletwitch0

—were so kind as to post reviews for last chapter (or for chapters before). This story is already to 33 reviews, 26 favorites, and 45 followers! That's insane, considering how this is a pretty generic and strange AU...but whatever, you guys make it worth writing! Thank you all so, so much!