Hamish awoke with a start, shooting upwards into a sitting position, his eyes seeing nothing in the dark of his room as they adjusted lazily. Slowly the outlines of the familiar space came into sight with the aid of the street lamp's light leaking in through the curtains edges, but it did not to quell the anxious stuttering in his chest.
He had fallen asleep like any other day when the magic that resided in him flared up independently. It had been rather sudden when it reared up, as he was in the middle of an average forgetful dream when everything… lit up. Like fireworks in his body, glancing from all corners of his brain; those he knew of and those he didn't. He could feel, even whilst unconscious, a new and brilliant surge of magic coursing through him, introducing itself to him with an air of majesty and awakened exuberance. It hummed and purred, cracked and sparkling intensely, vibrating every hair and pore in his body. It pressed him down, even as his mind fought against it; the magic would not allow him to wake, making him watch and feel the luminous spectacle. His mind fought against the unnatural surprise entity and with him being of the sleeping state, his body refused calm down, instead taking up fruitless arms against the power. He could feel his body writhing against it, but his mind could not find a foot hold against it. At last he could feel it let up- though it could have truthfully lasted only a dozen or so seconds- and it winked at him before dissipating into something reminiscent of god like power.
His chest was heaving and eyes wide, fingers clenching the sheets that he lay tangled in. The energy lingered in his chest, every nerve tingling and on edge. He was not particularly worried or alarmed about the sudden appearance, as it is kind of expected when one holds such unpredictable anilities, but his deductive mind could not stop from trying to figure out what had caused it. But it was not just the sudden vicious flare of magic that had Hamish puzzling. A handful of words was fading slowly from his brain, as though they were an after effect of the magic light show. 'Loki… you have a son…' What the hell did that mean? Really, it was obvious but
"What the actual Hell?!" he spat loudly. Hamish paused, stunned that his thoughts had left his tongue. But he did not have long to ponder on it, for he could hear his parents outside his room and it was not long before the door was opening and John's thoughtfully concerned face was peering into the room, soft light from the hall pouring into the room.
"Are you okay, Hamish?" His brow was weakly knit together and sleep was obvious in his eyes. Behind him in the hall was Sherlock, his blue house coat thrown on messily, his arms crossed and expression sour.
"John, I am telling you, people make sounds in their sleep. This should not be a shock." He snapped quietly, an argument that had obviously been continued from a minute before.
"Yes, I realize that Sherlock, but not like that." John responded snippily, turning his head to look at his husband.
"People have nightmares, John. This is not news."
"Yes people have nightmares, I am very well aware of that fact, Sherlock. But your son is having one of them. Show some compassion."
"Its bloody 2am, John!"
"That never seemed to matter before."
"Yes, well that was before we were-"
"What did you mean people don't make sounds 'like that'?"
Hamish's parents looked back round to their sons inquiry, who was still upright and obviously alarmed, a piqued yet amused interest in their little spat. John looked down at his feet, his hand subconsciously grabbing the doorframe before he responded.
"It was like you were in pain of sorts, Hamish. It just didn't sound… right."
"So nothing truly… abnormal?"
Sherlock came to attention at that, standing up straight and the sleep leaving his eyes immediately.
"What do you mean, Hamish?" he demanded, pushing the door open lightly and standing beside John, his gaze fierce and caring.
Hamish loved both his dads dearly and honestly, equally. But he could never deny that it was he and Sherlock who were closest. He constantly found himself longing for the moments when he could open up to his Da, knowing he knew just exactly what he was going through, and that he could count on him for the truth with no padding. Which was exactly what Hamish admired in a person. He also appreciated the fact that his Da was not the same person at home then he was at work. It was as if he were parallel from his self when he was at home, for he was loving and kind and gentle the moment his mind found itself in 221B. But when he was on a scene, all of that dissipated, leaving nothing but his sharp mind, jagged wit and shield.
He found himself worrying about John, though, knowing the things that haunted him, and how they affected his daily life. He could see them painted on his face and in his soul. Really, his Da had never told him of Afghanistan, let alone that he had been in the war, but Hamish had known. From the moment that Hamish was able to form a coherent thought and articulate it, he had told his Pa 'No worry. We're here. We're not to leave you. 'love you, Papa. Forget the war.'
It was because of this that he found himself at battle: he wanted to tell his Da but didn't want to unload the burden on his Pa, who was bound to worry over it sick.
"Oh it was just…" he took a breath, collecting himself. "Nothing. It was nothing, Da."
He almost cracked a smile while he watched his Da roll his eyes and lean forwards. Of course he saw through that.
"Please." He objected. Hamish knew he would see right through it, and that he would not give it up until he was certain what he had was the truth. "What was it?"
Hamish ducked his head a bit before looking back up, biting his lip.
"It was as if… something was exploding. It was everywhere in my head. One moment I was sleeping, dreaming typical nonsense and it caught me unawares, cracking and snapping everywhere. Got me in places I didn't even know existed. Its power was exponential and it wouldn't let me go. As though it had me strapped down into the dream."
Sherlock was staring at him quizzically, obviously not understanding this early in the morning what Hamish was describing.
"Magic. The Magic, Da."
He watched as Sherlock's face cleared and John's clouded.
"Hamish," his Pa started. But he didn't get that chance to finish that open ended thought, because Hamish stared him down, his green eyes locking on Johns.
"I don't want you to worry. It's all fine. Just go back to bed, okay?" He could see his Pa swallow and nod before backing out of the hallway, his hand on Sherlock's arm.
"Okay son. Sleep well." Sherlock threw one more look to his son before drawing the door shut behind him.
Hamish didn't sleep again that night. Instead he leaned up against the wall and let his head rest against it, staring out the window with the curtain drawn open, looking out at the once clear inky night sky, the stars twinkling and smiling, feeling the mystical embers floating invisibly around him, kissing his nose and fingers. He sat there questioning what the magical awakening was, what it meant. But most importantly, he questioned why he could feel it.
A few dozen kilometers away and minutes previously, a torrent of light and energy touched down outstandingly in a field before it receded and left a runic pattern on the battered ground and a man crouched down in the heart of it, long sleek black hair pulled away from his handsome angular face and piercing green eyes. He stooped there, eyes scanning his whereabouts with a practiced air, looking for any sign of trouble. Once sure of the open fields safety he stood up and readjusted his clothing, which consisted of a short leather jacket over a white button down and everyday black trousers, business shoes on his feet. With that, he brought his shoulders back and advanced towards the sprawling city a mere kilometer away.
"Prince Loki, are you sure you wish to do this?" Heimdall questioned as Loki strode once more into the Bifrost.
He had left abruptly after Heimdall had informed him of the child, rushing to his chambers and fretting over choices, over what to do. He paced up and down the room as the sun rose in the sky, bleeding into the room warmly. He had found himself gathering the materials and means for survival with a plan to travel to Midgard in search of the child with intention to take him, the last fragment of his love that had lasted. Vanishing his Asgardian clothing into a magical form of storage along with weapons of choice, he magicked on Midgardian apparel he had observed while he was there.
It had been only few hours before he was back to the Bifrost and ready to leave, knowing full well that Heimdall knew already of his plans.
"Yes Heimdall, I am. I need to do this." He declared, a new found strength circulating through his veins. "Let me." He demanded, letting his gaze pin the guard down.
"Of course I will let you, Loki. Why should I not? It is about time you got out."
Loki rolled his eyes and stepped up to the gate, readying himself for the journey. But he heard no clink of metal from behind him.
"So get on with it then, Heimdall." He snapped.
"I shall, my prince. But first, there is some information I believe that could be of use to you."
"Truly? And what would that be?"
"It would be that before Jane gave birth to your son, she lived with her assistant and friend, Darcy Lewis." As he said this, the front of the Bifrost evolved to show a section of Midgard that he knew to be London. The view spun and stretched until it slowed to show a stretch of quaint flats, centering on a green one with white trim, the number 98 on the front. "I watched that before she left the world, she left the woman with several letters. I suggest you seek her out, she may be of help to you.
"Secondly, the child is beyond intelligent for his age. I also believe that you will have no problem recognizing him, for he holds much alikeness to you."
"Excellent." Loki responded dryly. "Let us get on with this."
"You must realize, Loki, that it will be my duty to tell your brother where you have gone to, though I will leave the reason as to why for you to tell."
"Of course." He bit out.
Behind him Heimdall inserted the sword and started the contraption until it began the starting of the bridge.
"Find the woman named Darcy, confide in her. I wish you luck, Prince Loki."
And with that, the Bifrost took him and he shot purposefully towards the realm of Midgard.
*I've started playing around with my writing styles. If you find something off with it, just let me know. I'll change it stat.*
"Ian!" Darcy squeaked as Ian tickled her sides mercilessly. "Stop that! I'm supposed to be sad!"
"Well then, don't be!" he replied cheekily, bending down and pressing a kiss to her lips. She kissed him back eagerly, her hands entwining in his hair, making him fall back down.
"Eugh! You're squishing me!"
"But you're just so squish-able. You are my squishy." Ian joked, kissing her full mouth again. She giggled against his lips before pushing him away.
"But seriously. This is a serious day. Have some respect." She admonished in the most Darcy-esque way.
"Ah, fine." He conceded, rolling out of bed. "I'm going to make coffee."
"Excellent idea." She said, stretching and pulling the covers back over her head.
"Hey! None of that! You're coming with!" Ian retorted, grabbing the comforter and tearing it away and exited the room with it, leaving Darcy to squeal and moan before finally rolling out of bed herself and walking into the kitchen, putting on her glasses, tank top and pajama bottoms askew.
"Ugh, really?" she complained, picking the blanket off the floor.
"Really. C'mon, Darcy. It's been thirteen years and now it 10am. Let's get on with it"
"Exactly. It's been thirteen years and now it is far too late to do anything productive on a Saturday. So I get to mope around for a day." Darcy responded, wrapping the blanket around herself and plopping down onto the couch as she watched Ian make the coffee.
"I guess." He said as he poured the coffee into cups. "But I still feel like you should do something today."
"Like eat chocolate? Watch 'Rise Of The Guardians'?"
"Nooo…" he said as he handed a cup to Darcy, making her uncover her hands from the pile of fabric. "I mean something like-"
"Cuddling?" Darcy haggled cutely, reaching out and pulling him down, just missing sloshing coffee everywhere.
"Watch it baby!"
"No." she said, pulling him back in for another kiss, the doorbell interrupting them rudely. Ian groaned, refusing to leave the kiss.
"You should go get that." Darcy breathed against his lips.
"I don't wanna." He whined, making Darcy push away.
"Please? For me?" she begged. "My best friend died today, like, forever not so long ago."
"Fiiine." He gave in, untangling himself and putting his mug on the coffee table. "This better be worth it though. Seriously," he complained as he walked to the door "who calls this bloody early in the morning?"
"Just open the damn door Ian." Darcy laughed.
And so he did.
"Hi, can I help you?" he questioned, looking the bizarre stranger from head to toe.
"Yes, I believe you can." The man said smoothly, his accent unknown and easy to listen to. "I am looking for Darcy Lewis. I was informed that I could find her here."
"Yeah? My name?" she called out, craning her neck in an attempt to see the stranger. "Come on in! I hope you don't mind a disaster zone, because you're about to step into one."
Ian motioned to the man and allowed him to step inside.
"Thank you." He turned on Darcy and began to speak though she heard none of it as she was too busy taking him in wide eyes; all- in her opinion- six plus perfect gorgeous feet of lean dark sex.
"Are you her?" the stranger asked, his green eyes looking into hers fiercely.
"Sorry, I was distracted by your beauty." She stopped and smiled amusedly when Ian scoffed by the door. "What was that?"
"Are you indeed Darcy Lewis, friend of-" the man paused as if choked briefly before he collected himself and went on. "of the late Jane Foster?"
The smile dropped off Darcy's face immediately and she glanced down at her coffee.
"Ummm… yeah. You knew her?"
The man gave a bizarre little laugh. "Yes. Yes I did."
Darcy nodded solemnly before taking an awkward sip of coffee. The stranger went on staring at her, brow furrowed and sad. Behind him, Ian stepped forward.
"Hey mate, what did you say your name was?"
The man drew himself up and turned around to face him. More like look down to him.
"I didn't." he replied. "I am Loki, of Asgard."
"Oh my shit!" Darcy gasped, plunking her coffee down on the little table and getting up, still wrapped in the blanket. "You have got to be joking!"
"I have not for a long time, my lady." Loki said plainly, turning back around to face her. "But it is an honour to meet you, finally." He gently took her hand and kissed it delicately, summoning his atrophied manners.
"Wait," Ian started, stepping towards the giggling Darcy and Norse God. "You're Loki, as in the God of Mischief who completely obliterated New York all those years ago?"
"Ah. I see your people still remember that then. Do not fret. I have grown out of my world domination. I found myself rather… compromised since the fact." He answered with a solemn nod of his head.
"I would hope so. That was a real dick move."
"Ian!" Darcy scolded, hitting her husband despite the intrigued expression on their guests face, obviously not understanding the crude term. "Look at the poor man. I mean God, er-"
"Man is just fine, Lady Darcy."
"Oh. Okay then. Umm, would you like some coffee?"
"It would be a pleasure, thank you."
Darcy went and grabbed a cup from the cabinet and plunked it down on the counter before jiggling the coffee pot from it lock.
"Sugar, cream?"
"Whatever you see fit."
Pouring a pinch of cream in the cup before filling it up with coffee she brought it over to him where he accepted it and took a polite sip.
"Thank you. Quite delicious." He said dully. Darcy stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do.
"So, Loki." Ian said, his hands patting his thighs sub consciously, breaking the silence. "If you're not here for world domination, then what are you here for?"
Ducking his head Loki took in a sharp breath.
"Lady Darcy, what do you know of Jane's pregnancy?"
Darcy started at that, jumping a little and eyes shooting wide. "Crap, how do you know about that?" Darcy yelped. "I swear, I didn't say anything!" She said to no one in particular.
"Heimdall did. He informed us of her death those years ago, of course including the cause of it." He said coldly.
"Heimdall… he's the gate guy, right?"
Loki heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes at her. "Yes. He is the 'gate guy' as you put it so eloquently. He is the guard of the Bifrost and is all seeing, all knowing. Though he is a god of honour, and a man of word. Unfortunately for him, he broke that silent agreement when he told Thor and me of her departure from the realm of the living. And recently when he-" he stopped abruptly, his throat squeezing shut and allowing no breath, leaving him to gasp painfully as a vicious agony of longing ripped through him.
"When he… what?" Darcy pressed obliviously. Loki reached back behind him, his hand finding the back of the couch, allowing him to lean back against it. "Hey, are you okay?"
"I believe it may be difficult for your partner here to believe, but I do have feelings and at times they can be rather overpowering. Forgive me."
"Totally." Darcy rushed. "So, what were you saying?"
"I believe I asked a question you have to answer, actually."
"Oh! Yeah! Ummm… well, I guess the cats out of the bag now. Uh, she came to me when she was a month pregnant. Wouldn't tell me squat. I kept bugging her about her 'wild times with Thor' but she always just got really peeved. Weird, right? I didn't really get why she would abandon him like that. Anyways, around her sixth month she was always really cold, could never warm up. Like ever. Took her to the hospital and everything but they couldn't find what was wrong with her."
Loki's brow knit together deeply and he pursed his lips, making Darcy stop for moment when she saw it, puzzled at his expression. The silence filled the room again until Loki locked his eyes with hers and lifted his eyebrows up, making her clear her throat and readjust her glasses.
"Middle of the seventh month she was up all the time writing letters for various people, including me. Then near the end of it all it was the one day I went off to a friends and when I came back she… She was gone. She didn't even phone me to say she was giving birth let alone dying, for god's sake! Like, I guess giving birth," Ian began to get uncomfortable and began fidgeting in the background, causing Darcy to shush him "to a baby God would take its toll on you but like really?! She couldn't have fecking called me?" She exhaled sharply and threw a distasteful look to Ian before continuing.
"And then you know those letters I was talking about? Well the one she left me was supposed to be all consoling, saying everything was just fine and blah blah blah, carry on, tell Eric, don't tell Thor whatever I do, she doesn't want the brothers fighting- whatever the hell that means- and all kinds of bullcrap. Oh, and that she didn't want whoever adopted her little boy to know who she was for some weird reason. Craziest part is that the little kid was adopted by the famous Sherlock Holmes and his gay lover John Watson. I see them every now and again, great people really, Sherlock's a bit much though. He's dead lucky he has John. But you know what? The little guy looks nothing like Thor! I thought he would have those long gold flowing locks of his, but his hair is dead black. Prettiest Green eyes too, super smart. Must get that from Jane's side. "
"Honey?" Ian called out quietly, his head inclined forwards.
"Yeah?" Darcy said, snapping out of her rant.
"You're rambling."
"Tough luck! He asked for it. Besides, he's and Ass-sir or whatever. He can keep up with it."
"It is AEsir. But I'm not an Aesir, I should have you know." Loki informed them.
"What?" Darcy gasped, her turn for her forehead to scrunch up.
"I am a Frost Giant." He managed to bite out. "I was taken from Jotunheim at early age and, in your terms, brainwashed to hate my race. In reality, I am not even related to Thor."
"Holy mother of pearl." Darcy whispered, staring openly at Loki. "But then what are you and Thor in not-reality then?"
Loki sighed before responding. "I still consider him my brother, I would do anything to save him. But I doubt that he will reciprocate those feelings in a while."
"And why is that?" Darcy questioned, leaning in.
"Because the child is not an Aesir. He is my son."
*Sorry to end it like this, kind of crappy I know. But it needs a more solid transition then another section in a chaper. Thank you so much for reading. Much Love*