AN: Thank you, thank you, for all of your support and prayers. My friends are all fine and safe now, the situation was resolved without any more civilians being hurt.

So, without further ado, back to the story.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The moment Thor stepped out of the SHIELD facility, the noise hit him like a shock wave. It seemed as though every person in the city had begun talking at once in frantic tones. In the distance, he heard a high-pitched squealing sound followed by a chorus of screams. A machine gun peppered the air with short bursts of sound a few blocks away.

He looked to Stark and Rogers. "What's happening?" he asked.

"Among other things? Chaos."

Rogers shook his head. "Why would Medea leave the apple so close to SHIELD? If she meant to maximize chaos, wouldn't it make more sense to put the apple in a place as inaccessible to us as she could?"

"Perhaps she didn't know we were here," Thor pointed out. "Perhaps we just got lucky."

"Thor," Stark said flatly, "this isn't Asgard we're talking about. Here on Earth—or Middle Earth or whatever you call it—we have almost two hundred different countries. Within each of those almost-two-hundred-countries are dozens of large cities. Within each of those cities are several neighborhoods."

"The odds of Medea just happening to leave the apple in this immediate vicinity are unbelievably slim," Rogers interrupted before Stark could make further deprecating comment about Thor's ignorance of the Earth. "It can't be a coincidence. She put the apple here for a reason."

Stark hmed quietly. "If the apple is here at all," he said cryptically.

"It can't be far," Thor said. "The apple only works within a small area."

"He's right. SHIELD said that proximity is key. The apple stops working outside of a certain radius."

"A sphere of influence," Stark finished. He gave Rogers a slightly disparaging look. "It may have slipped your notice, Rogers, but the world is very different from the one you knew when you fell asleep." He squinted into the distance. "It's gotten smaller."

Thor stared at him, confused. "How could it—"

"Metaphorically," Stark interrupted impatiently. "It's the same size it always was, but ideas travel faster and farther now thanks to technology. News that used to take hours to transmit can now cross the world in a split second." He sighed. "I suspect the extent of the apple's power has no bounds now. Wherever technology exists to spread ideas, the apple has power."

"Technology," muttered Thor. His eyes lit up. "Oh! You mean like the face book."

Rogers raised an eyebrow. "The what?"

Stark ignored Rogers. "Yes," he said, "like Facebook, or really, any website with that kind of user base and a social aspect to it. Twitter. Google. All of them located around California's Silicon Valley. Medea must have placed the apple within one of their central buildings so the effects would spread through the internet." He turned to Thor. "Can you fly?"

"Not without—"

"Your brother's magic," Stark finished. "Damn."

"We would have needed a plane anyway," Rogers pointed out. "I can't fly either. And will one of you please explain what on Earth this face book—"

Stark had already pulled out his cell phone. "Pepper, I need a plane."

Rogers sighed. "Or just ignore me," he said.

Thor elbowed him. "The face book is quite a wondrous invention," he whispered. "My friend Darcy pushed a button and it painted a portrait of me in the time it takes to blink an eye."

"No, no," Stark said, hanging up the phone. "You're explaining it all wrong. What you're talking about is called a photograph, which you may or may not have known about, Rogers—"

"I know what a photograph is! I'm not that old!"

Stark sighed and surveyed Thor with weary eyes. "It seems I have a lot to explain on our flight. Come on," he said. "We have to get to a clear section of Fourth Street if we want to catch our plane."

"Darcy…"

Loki rushed towards her the moment the wall had closed. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her to him tightly, rocking her gently. "Darcy," he said, smoothing her hair, "are you alright?" She mumbled something incomprehensible into his shoulder. He pulled her away from him slightly and looked her in the eye. "What?"

"What's the plan?" she asked in a small voice. She shuddered and arched her back for a second. Loki grimaced; he brushed the offending drop of venom off her shoulder. Darcy shivered again before finding her voice. "What's the plan this time? How are we getting out of here?"

Loki's heart twisted painfully. "Darcy," he began hesitantly, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible even as his eyes stung. She looked back at him hopefully—and then she saw the look on his face. His voice broke. "We aren't getting out of this one," he whispered.

She stared at him, too stunned to speak. When she finally found her voice, it was through tears. "What?" she said.

"I'm sorry." His voice shook with sobs. He pulled her into his arms again and began swaying slowly. "I'm so sorry."

"Why," Darcy said against his chest. Her voice cracked. "Why didn't you help me? Why didn't you use magic? Why didn't you trick her?"

"I couldn't," he replied quietly. He managed to stop his tears. He swallowed harshly against the lump in his throat as he looked down at her, at the distant look in her eyes as if she had stopped caring about the world. "The Girdle doesn't just make the wearer attractive. It makes them compelling…they can compel people to obey their will, just like she made you steal the apple. I couldn't fight against her. I wanted to," he said. "More than I've wanted to do anything in my life. But I couldn't. My mind became dull every time I tried." He stroked Darcy's hair again tentatively. His fingers caught on a lock of hair that had become soaked with venom. He flinched—not for himself, but for Darcy, the venom-soaked hair that still clung to her face. "I would have given anything to make her stop," he said, his voice threatening to break. "I did give everything to make it stop." He tightened his hold on Darcy, pressing his lips against the top of her head in earnest.

"Not everything."

Loki looked down at her, confused.

"You didn't give everything to her." She rested her head against his shoulder with her eyes closed, a peaceful expression on her face, almost as if she intended to sleep there. "You didn't fall in love with her. You resisted her. Somehow."

"Somehow," he echoed. He knew it ought to intrigue him more, this strange immunity he seemed to have against Sigyn's new beauty. But he couldn't bring himself to care. He was too intent upon holding Darcy these last few moments, being in her presence before he had to spend the rest of his days with another. Before he had to pledge his heart falsely to someone he didn't love, someone who wasn't Darcy.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. No; he would not give his heart to another. Not truly. He would promise it, swear it, pledge it, but he would not give it. There was only one promise more binding than what he would give to Sigyn, a promise that rightfully belonged to Darcy.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them, he delicately took Darcy's hand between his own.

She opened her eyes and sat up, looking wearier than Loki had ever seen her. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I will not marry you against your will," he said tersely. "My conscience, twisted though it may be, would not allow it." Darcy blinked at him, confused, as he took something from his armor and held it up to the light.

Her face softened, and she almost smiled. "Oh," she said quietly.

It was a ring, much like his first attempt—a pair of white gold snakes that intertwined with each other, their eyes gleaming opals. But something was off. She squinted at it.

"It looks different."

"It is different." He traced his finger along the snakes' bodies lightly. "Look at the shape."

She peered at it a moment longer. Her lips split into a full-blown smile, and she joined Loki in memorizing the delicate, looping ring with her fingertips. "Infinity," she said. She slipped the ring onto her finger gently, and leaned forward to touch her forehead against his with a weak laugh. "Only you would continue to be such a hopeless romantic in a time like this."

"What do you mean at a time like this?" he asked. "What makes this time any less suitable for being together than our time in Asgard?" He hesitated. "Besides the fact that you're wearing a tattered nightgown because of when you were kidnapped. And the fact that we've both been crying. And the lunatic woman who, between you and me, seems somewhat homicidal." Darcy smiled at that. "I'm being entirely serious," he said defensively. "What makes this place, this set of circumstances any less suited for love than Asgard?"

Darcy sighed and glanced about the room, playing along. "Are we talking weddings here?"

"I suppose we might be."

She looked around, studying the surroundings with a critical eye. Her eyes fell on the lonely oil lamps in the corner of the room, casting their golden lights in small circles that quickly faded into shadow. "It's dark in here," she pointed out.

"It's candle-lit," he countered.

She bit her lip, trying not to smile again. Loki grinned with her. Where moments before he had wished to die from the hollow pain of it, he felt a strange lightness. He felt at peace. Even in a miserable, dark room, about to be separated forever, they still ended up bantering. His smile faded a touch; he realized with a pang that he would never again be able to speak with her after this precious hour, to joke with her, to tease her, to be serious with her…it would be gone forever.

All the more reason to enjoy it while it lasted.

"Fine," Darcy conceded. She squinted again, trying to find some fault with the room that Loki could not argue with. She found nothing and settled upon herself. "I'm a mess," she said. "I'm not wearing makeup, I've been crying, and my hair looks like something died in it."

"You look perfectly fine without makeup. And your hair does not look like something died in it. It looks…" He paused, trying to find the appropriate word. "Windswept. I've seen mortals on earth try to recreate the look intentionally," he added. "I believe they call it bed-head." Among other things. "And the crying just makes your eyes bluer. You look as beautiful as you always do."

"Okay," she said, "so we have different tastes. But what about requirements? There's nobody else here," she pointed out. "How are we supposed to get married with only two people?"

Loki stopped and blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

"Witnesses. We can't just get married by ourselves here. We need other people."

"Er, actually, we don't."

"Yes we do, if we want it valid. We need a priest or a judge, two other witnesses…" Loki shook his head. She stared at him blankly. "What do you mean, 'no?'"

"Asgardian weddings have a different set of requirements," he explained hesitantly. "In order for a wedding between a god and a mortal to be valid, to make the mortal into an immortal, there has to be an exchange of vows, and there has to be consummation."

Darcy's eyes widened. "Consu—"

He turned faintly pink. Did he really have to explain this to her? "Consummation," he said stumblingly. "It means…"

"I know what it means," she said, her cheeks suddenly turning very red. She seemed to have lost her ability to speak, and instead she blinked very rapidly for several seconds as she shook her head.

Loki tipped her chin up to face him. "Darcy," he said gently, "if you can't do this—"

"No." She pulled her shoulders back and forced herself to sit up straight. "You said it yourself. There's no way out. This is the only way."

"That's my point, love. I don't want to get married o-or make love to you because I have to, because there's no alternative. I can't force you. It would sicken me and haunt me for the rest of my life if I tried to do something like that."

"But how can you know that I really want this? How could this be my choice if there is no alternative?"

Loki's stomach dropped. He closed his eyes with a faint sigh. "There is one other choice." He felt Darcy's stare, and he opened his eyes—and was stunned to see her looking at him with horror.

"Suicide?" she whispered.

"It is not my preference," he admitted quietly. "But if the alternative is watching you be tortured for the rest of your life—" The words seemed to be racing out of his mouth; he stammered in his hurry to speak. "—or forcing you into doing something that disgusts you, against your will—"

She cut him off with a kiss. He closed his eyes immediately, fervently returning her kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Time seemed to slip away in strange ways. As he kissed her, it felt like a full minute, passing at the speed time does when one is staring at a clock. But the instant they broke apart, he realized that it had been too short, barely even a fraction of a second.

Darcy smiled. "I want to marry you, Loki. I don't care if we're in a dark, dingy room and we both look like hell from crying—well, me more than you." She pressed her forehead against his. "If I'm going to spend the rest of my life in a cell, I want my last memories of you to be good ones."

Loki dipped his head and kissed her again. When he pulled away, he was slightly out of breath. "Marry me?"

"Hell yes."

Loki laughed. He saw Darcy screwing up her face in fierce concentration. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

"Trying to make your ring."

He waggled his finger slightly. She concentrated a moment longer before noticing him—and the silver band already on his middle finger. Her face fell. "Oh."

He chuckled and slipped the ring off. "I shouldn't be wearing this yet," he said. He wound his fingers through Darcy's firmly. "First we have to do the vows."

Darcy bit her lip. "I don't know the Asgardian ones. And I'm not totally sure on the English ones either."

"It doesn't matter," Loki assured her. "Just as long as the intent is the same and we make some sort of formal pledge."

Darcy nodded slowly. "Okay."

Loki smiled and nodded his head to her. "You first. I have to do the second part—you can't make yourself a goddess."

Darcy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Alright… I, Darcy Lewis, take you—" She frowned. "Are you Laufeyson or Odinson?"

"Doesn't matter as long as we say the same one."

"I, Darcy Lewis, take you, Loki Odinson, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for good or for goddamn awful, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health—" She shot him a little shaky smile, and opened her eyes to take his hand. Loki couldn't decide whether he wanted to stare at the glowing look on her face or the ring she was putting on his finger. "—in dark, dingy cells or elsewhere, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part." She paused. "And who knows? Maybe we can talk your daughter into being flexible on the whole death thing."

Loki had to suppress his smile slightly in order to speak; the impulse was so strong it made his cheeks hurt. He cleared his throat and was about to speak when a thought crossed his mind: I'm marrying Darcy. I'm getting married. Immediately, the smile left his face, and he turned solemn. He cleared his throat again, and took Darcy's hand. After a moment of concentration, he slipped a thin silver band over Darcy's finger to join the glittering ring. "I, Loki Odinson," he said seriously, "take you, Darcy Lewis, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part." His lips quirked into a half-smile. "And maybe after." Darcy leaned forward so that the tips of their noses brushed each other. He closed his eyes. "I pronounce us husband and wife; Loki, god of mischief, trickery, lies, deceit, thieves, lawyers, politicians, and all the other sneaky bastards that inhabit the Nine Realms, and Darcy, goddess of…" He hesitated, thinking. After several seconds, he smiled. "Darcy, goddess of luck, chance, coincidence, improvisation, skillful evasion, and sudden changes in fate." He realized suddenly how much shorter Darcy's list of patronages was than his. "And fluffy bunnies," he added with a grin. Darcy sputtered. "I now intend to kiss my bride."

He found his lips cut off by a small hand. He raised an amused eyebrow at Darcy. "Fluffy bunnies?" she repeated, dumbfounded.

"Darcy, the vows aren't complete until you kiss me," he said in a sing-song voice.

She scoffed, but relented nonetheless. "You're a bitch."

Loki wound his hands through her hair and kissed her fiercely. As their lips fought for dominance, his heart suddenly sank. He realized all at once that this was it; this was the last time they would ever be together. He pulled away from her slowly. "Arf," he said in a low voice. His brow furrowed and he stared at Darcy with concern. He stroked her cheek lightly. "You're still weak from the venom," he said quietly. "If I hurt you…if I even begin to hurt you…"

"You won't."

Loki nodded and swallowed hard. He hesitantly leaned towards her for another kiss, this one softer, more gentle. Darcy was right; he wouldn't hurt her. This wasn't a mad frenzy of lust racing through his veins. This was goodbye.

A rumble shook the room. Dust and small pieces of rubble rained down upon the floor on the opposite side of the room. Loki tensed and became completely still.

"What?" Darcy said. "What is it?"

"Medea," he said flatly. "She's returned."