(I don't know what you make of the end of Thor: The Dark World, but whatever spirals out of that, I am making it into my own story. And I apologize for any OOC moments, but I am trying to play Loki as a bit more of a broken soul. A similar thing goes for Sherlock. If he seems OOC, it is because I wanted his public personality to be separate from his home personality. Please enjoy and PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK 3)

Little Talks

"Loki? What is wrong?" It was Sif who was speaking, her proper and articulated speech flooding in through a wall of pain.

Loki elicited a great sigh, removing his hand that was pinching the bridge of his nose in pained concentration. The tasking and buzzing presence in his mind had been persisting for over three Midgardian years, now and again. But just very recently, as in for the past ten minutes, he could swear his head was going to split open from the pressure. It wasn't so much that it hurt; the pressing and tugging in his mind was something of a warm sensation, a connection. It was more of the fact that he had no idea why that caused him displeasure, for he was a man- of sorts- centered on knowledge. Because of that, his mind was chewing at itself savagely, somehow even more than was usual.

"No, Lady Sif. I am merely pretending that my pain is substantial. I thought that mayhaps it would be laugh." he snapped unkindly. "And why would it bother you, if I dare ask?" he glared at her, his angular, sleek face peering at the floor, contrasting brilliantly with his undone ebony hair that fell, recently cut, half way down his shoulders.

Sif had obviously been passing through the quaint hallway on the way to the practice arena when she had come across Loki, who was crouched in a corner in his casual tunic and trousers, a golden chain slung across his neck, the jewel hidden. His brow had been knit intricately and eyes clenched shut in blunt and honest agony. Now he turned those forest green eyes on her, the bitterness only in his face; a strange fear in his eyes. She stepped toward him gingerly. She had found she could only hold something reminiscent of a grudge against Loki, because for the past age she had watched the trickster become reclusive and, if she didn't know the god, depressed.

It had been near fifteen years since Malekith had returned and Loki redeemed. Odin still sat on the throne after Thor turned it down, though now he was waiting in the wings again, due to a change of heart. Loki had been tempted to take it from his grasp. But that was ages ago, and now he could care less what his birth right was, whether it was to wither and die on a cold hard rock millennia ago, or to be an all-powerful king. His fate was now tied with a bitter fact he had ridiculed Thor for, fourteen years ago.

She looked both ways down the dark hall that had torches adorning the closed in passageway, shield in hand, before turning back to Loki and sitting down beside his place in the corner, the torches light glinting off her bronze armour.

"Because, for some bizarre reason, I feel that we should be bothered by it. All of us." She said softly, looking anywhere but the man in question. Still she could feel his eyebrows dart up his face in sarcastic question.

"Really." He said dully. "And why do you think I need your sympathy, Lady Sif?"

Sif turned her head and looked at him briefly, catching his green eyes before looking forwards again.

"Why don't you? You haven't exactly been you for the past while."

"I didn't know there was a definition for what is known as 'me'." He said dryly.

"There is always a compass for when something is right or wrong with someone. Yours just so happens to be hidden." She made no effort to move any closer to Loki, or farther away for that matter. And because of that, Loki was grateful. Still, he could not keep the venom out of his voice.

"And how is it that you think you know what my compass is? You know nothing of me, Sif!" A frivolous feeling took up in the pit of Loki's stomach, and images from years long gone came flooding into his mind, making him choke on breath. He found himself on his feet, a fire made of misery was licking in his belly. Words came spilling out in bitter tones before they could make their way past reason, unguarded. "You… You stand there as if you know, as if you had any idea! You know nothing outside of the ranks of battle! You call yourself a warrior, but what are you really? You have never touched the flame of heartache's essence. You do not know what it feels like to be cast out by family that is not even yours and told to sit down like nothing had changed! You have never known what it feels like to have emotion gone rank in your veins, and have that drive you mad! You know nothing of what it is to have a fleeting image of a treasured love and have it shatter on the floor! You know nothing of true pain, so why in the name of Valhalla should I listen to you?!" His heated roar came back down, leaving an odd, enhanced pain sitting in his chest as he stood there heaving against the air spent on raw emotion.

Sif had found her feet then, standing up. She made no move, just standing there and letting Loki catch himself, keeping pity graciously from her eyes, though a dislike filled them instead.

"You're right. I don't know anything. I have Thor now, so I obviously know nothing of what it feels like to desire something beyond reason. I am a silly little girl you have no reason to feel camaraderie with let alone confide in. But, if you ever want to talk to someone who might understand… Find some other person." With that she turned on her heel and marched out of the room, feet slapping the stone floor angrily.

With Sif gone, Loki's words came rushing back to him in full force. He had almost let out the origin of his pain, and that panicked him. He backed up against the wall and closed his eyes, letting himself shake with the memories of past. His bottom lip trembled as he let the spasms of pain travel up his body for the first time in ages, tears threatening to spill over. And in that dark, dimly lit hallway with the buzzing presence in his mind dulling, he found himself whispering impossible words:

"Come back to me, darling. I miss you."

He closed his eyes in an attempt to collect himself, with little success.

People call him, and still do, a psychopath, incapable of emotion, on a rampage for the simple fact that he could, that he was a greedy little child who wanted a shiny toy. That was not his problem. Not even close. A psychopath doesn't feel emotions so strong that they may just rip the life from ones chest. A psychopath is not capable of loving a woman he has a flutter of a sparrows wings worth of time with at most. A psychopath is not able to love a fake family so desperately that he would rip apart a world so he could show them how he was them, not the monsters he had grown up with as nightmares. A psychopath does not have emotional attachments like Loki has.

He sighed and took in a deep breath, wiping at his face his hand. He stepped away from the wall and started down the dark hall, blindly taking several turns until he ended up at his room. He laid a hand on the twisted golden knob and stopped, bracing himself before stepping inside. The room was adorned in gold and emerald features, an impressive space to be inside. The door swung open to reveal the grand, open space with several adjoining rooms, all decked out in gold and emerald. The floors were covered in a smooth light gold carpet and he had a room dedicated to his studies, books piled high in towering shelves and papers written in various languages were scattered about on various tables. In a room over was his bedroom, where a massive and impressive bed stayed, billowing blankets and plush pillows spilling over the edges, the emerald material endowed with gold.

He had once enjoyed being in that room, and for a short few months, had even loved the place with a passion, because that room opened up to a balcony, flowing curtains on either side that danced in the wind. The deck looked out to and beyond the gardens, the trees reaching high and colourful birds swooping in and out of the foliage, small animals nibbling at the flowers below, the many towers and finally, the glittering waters of Asgard, stretching until they met the galaxy of the sky. He rarely went out onto the balcony, using it only in memory of the days when he loved the room, as he did now. And here he stood now, a shadow of his old self, reminiscing back to when the destruction of the God of Mischief began: with a mortal woman, of all things.

It had been a simple thing, coming back from the dead. He had considered taking the throne from the oh-so-weak All Father, and had nearly done so after Thor had come to him as Odin, confessing how he thought that Loki deserved the throne. Sure, it was true that Loki did deserve to rule on that throne, but they were practically giving it to him, and what fun was there in that? He talked to his 'father', telling him how he yearned to speak to his brother, and it was a simple act of summoning the oaf of a loving man to the throne room and having Odin speak to him shortly about the honour Loki had done to Asgard, before the mischief maker in question stepped out. Thor was caught in a fit of rage at Loki's deception, but was quickly intrigued in how his brother had survived. For once, Loki saw no reason but to tell the truth, or at least most of it.

He told him that Thor had needed to do it on his own, that Loki did not think it wise of him to return to Midgard, not on the circumstances that he left. He told him that he knew it would act as a burden to them when they arrived, and his staged death had provided that extra fire in Thor's belly to propel him towards his victory. He did not tell his brother, of-sorts, that he did not do it for those particular reasons: those were the after-thought excuses. He did not tell Thor, then, that he tried to disappear in an attempt to escape the love he could not have, for the woman whose heart and small life span did not belong to him. He did not tell Thor that he envied him, and that he loved Jane. He did not tell him, more so, he could not; so he lied through his clenched teeth, a biting monster clawing at his mind wanting to scream his infatuation as far as Valhalla and Folkvangr.

He managed to leave promptly as was possible, his leather coat tails flapping behind him as he exited the throne room on swift feet, away from the brother he loved, and the woman he yearned for: who was hiding inconspicuously behind one of the grand pillars that survived. He ducked into a small hidden hallway that carried on for a ways before it came upon his chambers. He could hear the petite beautiful woman cautiously sneaking her way to the door he had disappeared into, and by the time she had stolen into the passageway, he had made fair progress down it, his long legs striding in an attempt to vanish, to not have to confront Jane, because who knows what his mouth would say.

But he could hear those perfect little feet slapping the cold stone, her gentle, soft hands holding the icy blue material of her dress up in front of her as she ran after him. Loki's heart clenched in his chest and he found his feet slowing, allowing her to catch up to him as he rounded a corner.

"That was a rotten trick, Loki!" Jane called after him, coming down to a rushed gated walk. She cut around the corner and reached out to Loki, who was only several feet in front of her. He could sense the air being sliced by the graceful hand, and all of a sudden he was stopped and turning around to face her.

"Ah, yes. I thought that was you I sensed." He gave her a tiny cold smile, fighting to keep his mind at pace. "Spying are we? Not what I expected of you. Shouldn't be doing that, Lady Jane." he tsk-ed playfully.

"Oh really? And why shouldn't I? Have something to hide?" she snapped, a refined fury burning in those elegant brown eyes, and Loki found himself staring into them the way he did when they had first met, after she had charged up to him and slapped him hard across his face. It was in that moment he had known he was done for, why Thor loved the woman so. But the fact that she sensed just how much he was hiding caught him, and he felt his guard slipping mysteriously, his tongue not letting his mind know that it was loosing.

"And if I do? Why should I confide in you? Why should I tell you- of all people- when even the All-Father could never care." The bizarre words fell off his tongue and landed oddly into the some dozen feet between them. His heart began to beat out of rhythm as he came to terms with the fact that he did not feel anything warmly towards Odin anymore, and that he had just voiced it.

Jane looked at him with a momentary kindness, the fury dulling in her eyes and soft pink lips popping open.

"Because maybe you do need to tell someone." Something was choking Loki, and he could feel water coating his eyes. He gasped and ducked his head briefly. Turning back, he brought up his full height, and stepped towards her, closing the space between them by a few more feet, towering a fair head and a bit over the woman.

"Like your Midgardian brain could even begin to comprehend." he spat, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from him. "What do you want, anyways? I do believe you were telling me off for I had played a trick. Quite amusing that you should be so surprised, seeing that I am what your people call 'the trickster'."

He could watch the fire take up again in her eyes, resuming her duty of honouring the oaf she loved so.

"You nearly destroyed him, Loki! Honestly, wasn't it enough that he had lost Frigga? And then you add on this bullshit?!" Loki cocked an eyebrow at the obtuse slang but she shook her head and continued. "I can't believe it Loki! I had it in my head that you were almost-maybe something good, but I know for a fact that you did not do that for Thor, even if he can't see it! So who, or what, did you do it for this time?!"

"How dare you…" he faltered, trying to find ground on which to fight on. "You pretend to bear intelligence, but it is so mind numbingly clear just how ignorant you are, really." Good, he thought, it will be easier for her to hate you.

"I can't believe you-"

"Well get used to it!"

Her mouth popped open as she stared at him, his gaze intent and hard, his raven locks falling closer to his face, head angled down towards her.

"What is wrong with you? How could you do this?"

"Why does it matter so much to you, woman?!"

"He's your brother-"

He cut her off with a finger and a stone cold gaze even harsher than the last.

"He's your lover."

"But he's your brother, Loki!"

"But he's not! He's not my brother, Jane! He bellowed deeply. "Not really."

Silence. Loki fell back internally on his words, wondering what he just told her.

"What..?" she whispered. Quickly he gathered himself and pushed past that, ignoring her soft question.

"And we both know that that oaf could never have done half of what he did if he didn't have the proper leverage. He only ever takes something seriously if he has something to fight for." He lied smoothly.

"He had Frigga and the realms: is that not enough? I truly do doubt that you did it for him, Loki."

"Think what you want, woman. See if I care." He retorted, turning away abruptly as he began to walk away.

"I want the truth, Loki!" she confronted as she called out, stepping towards him. He stopped in his tracks though he did not turn around.

"The truth. You want the truth?" he demanded angrily, finally angling his head towards her until his body followed, silence filling the hallway. And as his eyes met hers, her gaze intensified and she stepped closer, so there was few feet between them. She was not backing down.

"Yes." she challenged. He stared at her, taking in every inch. The way her hair fell about her head, flowing freely from her head, curving around her soft round chin. The way her brown eyelashes fluttered gracefully, obstructing the view of her perfect, beautiful brown eyes. He stared down the length of her delicately exquisite body, the way the folds of icy blue fabric and armour clung to her like she was life.

"I cannot guarantee that you will like it." He told her strongly, stepping ever so closer.

"You can't guarantee that I won't." she countered, her chin jutting out closer as she stared up at his emerald eyes, his breath on hers.

And with that, Loki's hands darted up from his sides and clutched her face with a gentle ferocity, as if he were holding a delicate china doll he desired with a certain vigor, bringing her lips to his in a desperate longing. He kissed her with all the passion he had neglected over time, all the love he had desired to show her, almost harshly.

And at first she froze against his touch, lips stopped in shock. But it was not long before she was moving against him as well, her hands on his waist and shoulders, allowing his advances, his tongue dancing in her mouth, his teeth tugging at her bottom lip, their bodies almost flush, his head angled down towards her.

Before they knew it, they were up against a wall, Jane's back pressed against the stone wall of the narrow hall way. Loki's right hand was tangled in the mass of Jane's hair while the other dragged up and down her side. Jane's left hand gripped at Loki's head, the other between his shoulders as he trailed away from her mouth, kissing along her jawline and throat. She opened up her neck letting him press kisses into her soft skin, bruising it with passionate intensity.

And despite Loki's assurance that Jane would push him away, yell and scold him for his advances, for his blunt expression. But she did not. Quite the opposite: she leaned into his every touch, sighing as he kissed her, delicate hands holding him close, her eyes closed in joy. So he didn't feel the need to stop, showing his desires with rough, hasty hands, his body pressed from point to tip against her small frame, engulfing himself in her lavender scent and the plush touch of her perfect lips.

So when the noises of guards and the voice of his brother started to flit through the passageway, it took every ounce of will power to pull away from the precious woman, cup her face with a large pale hand before vanishing with a flick of magic. He glided through the hall before he arrived at his chambers, hearing the banter of Thor and the guards melt away, but not before they met up with Jane, her elegant voice winding its way through the stones. He could not bring himself to listen to their words, his mind still in that hallway, his lips still on Jane's, his body entwined with hers. And that is how it began: the destruction of the God of Mischief, with a mortal woman no less.