Music to the first part of the chapter: "Augie's Great Municipal Band." Second part: "Heartbeats" by Jose Gonzalez.

Without further ado, I give you the final chapter in "Mendacity."

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

One month later...

The Great Hall was full to the brim with Aesir, all gathered to see their beloved prince married-and witness the transformation of a human into a goddess. The room was practically buzzing with unspoken gossip, everyone wondering if Thor's mortal would be a good queen someday, and what she would be the goddess of. An air of unexpressed eagerness hung over the room, infecting everyone with anticipation. The crowd remained respectfully quiet even as Thor's cape began to turn bright pink.

Darcy elbowed Loki sharply in the ribs. "Stop it," she muttered, grinning.

"Not until he catches on," he hissed. "Besides, I think the fuchsia is a good color on him."

Darcy barely managed to muffle her snort with a cough. An elderly goddess in a dress made of heavy fabric more suited to decorating castle walls than a body sniffed irritably, but in a display of martyr-like patience, refrained from glaring at the girl.

Darcy sighed disparagingly as Thor's cloak began changing texture as well as color so that sequins and feathers began sprouting out of the cloth. "Overkill," she sang out of the corner of her mouth.

"On the contrary. I don't think he looks quite festive enough. Should I make his armor v-neck or strapless?"

"You do realize that he's going to get back at you once he catches on."

"He's not going to catch on," Loki whispered. "Look at him. He looks even more like a wide-eyed schoolboy than Fandral did when he caught Sif bathing."

"When did that happen?" Darcy rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Later. You're trying to distract me."

"With little success, it seems."

"Loki, I really don't want my wedding night—whenever that may be—ruined by a revenge prank. Please change his cloak back."

"Well," Loki sighed sarcastically, "since you said 'please.'" With a discreet wave of his hand, Thor's attire turned back to its usual colors. Loki raised an eyebrow at Darcy. "You know, while I'm altering other peoples' clothing, I think your neckline could use a little trim."

"Don't even think about it. I swear, I'll…"

"You'll what, exactly?"

"I…I won't kiss you for a week."

"I'm positively quaking in my boots." He hesitated. "You wouldn't actually do that, would you?"

Darcy shot him a withering look and opened her mouth to reply.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife: Thor, God of Thunder, and Jane, Goddess of Truth and Reason."

Darcy immediately turned her attention to the front of the room and began to applaud like crazy as Jane and Thor kissed each other briefly. In spite of herself, she found her stomach doing strange little somersaults. That might be me someday...She thought distantly.

"Darcy..." Loki jerked his head briefly to the front of the room. She followed him awkwardly up the side aisle to get in position beside Thor, Jane, Frigga, and Odin for their exit. "You may want to break from the wedding party to get changed once we leave the hall," he murmured. "If you try to last the entire feast with those contraptions on your feet, I don't expect you'll be able to walk for months."

"I'll be fine. How bad could it be?"

-

As it turned out, it was very bad.

Darcy groaned quietly as she rolled her ankle around, trying to find an angle where her shoes weren't contorting the life out of her feet. Loki paused, goblet halfway to his lips, to give her a strange look.

"Damn shoes," she muttered under her breath, stooping down to adjust them so they crushed a different set of toes.

Loki shook his head as he sipped his drink. "You do realize that we will still be expected to dance as the maid of honor and best man?"

Darcy snorted. "Yeah, right," she said, laughing sarcastically. "That's not going to happen. I mean, unless you carry me and we dance like that." Loki's eyes lit up. Darcy froze. "Oh no. Loki, I was kidding. No, no, no..."

"Yes, yes, yes," Loki said, scooping her up in his arms, with a crooked smile. "You are going to dance, Darcy Lewis, and you are going to like it."

She scowled. Her cheeks burned scarlet as a little ripple of laughter went along the head table. She hid her face in Loki's chest as he began to sway on the spot, holding her in his arms. "Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'no means no?'" she mumbled.

"I have, but if my understanding is correct, the context of that expression has nothing to do with dancing. At least, not ballroom dancing. I suppose it could refer to dancing depending on what euphemisms you prefer to use for—"

"You're a sorcerer," Darcy interrupted. "Couldn't you just cast a spell so my feet stop hurting so we can dance like normal people?"

"I could. But if my memory serves me correctly, I never did get back at you for making a fool of me in the infirmary."

"You made a fool of yourself."

"I warned you not to wear those shoes. I hardly think it's my problem if you should choose to ignore my advice and deal with the consequences."

"You're terrible."

"I think we've already established that."

They fell silent for a few moments. Loki made his way to a dimly lit corner of the room, out of the public eye. Darcy relaxed slightly, and let herself mold into his arms instead of cringing from the amused stares of the Aesir. She rested her head against the base of his neck, the top of her head faintly brushing against his chin.

"You know, I rather like this form of dancing," Loki said casually. "I think it could really catch on."

"It wouldn't work if I were wearing a short skirt," Darcy pointed out. "Besides, we look ridiculous."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Okay, I look ridiculous."

"On the contrary. I think the word you're searching for is 'cute.'"

Darcy crossed her arms. "You're making fun of me," she said, fighting a smile.

"Not at all." Loki's voice was mock-solemn, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

"Liar."

"I have never lied to you, and I never will lie to you," he said seriously. Darcy met his eyes. He stared back at her, his irises a deep, stormy shade of green, all traces of humor gone from his face. "Tell me the truth, Darcy: is it really so awful to dance with me like this, effortlessly, just letting me carry you?"

She sighed, lowering her gaze. "No," she said in a low voice. She closed her eyes and shifted her shoulders so she fit snugly against him. "I kind of like it."

"Then why fight it?"

"Because that's what we do. We fight."

"Sometimes." He hesitated. "Alright, most of the time." Darcy giggled. "But in jest," he said, "because we're both too mischievous and proud to admit that maybe we're alright with being vulnerable. Please, Darcy. I'm not too proud to confess that you've turned me into a soft-hearted fool. Let me have this one dance."

"I can do that," Darcy said. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his timidly. They kissed lightly, their lips barely touching. But even as they broke apart, a slow, lulling thrum and a quick, fluttering harmony pulsed in tandem, the two parts distinct yet indivisible as a duet.

And so they danced, two heartbeats kissing and tangling to the point of inseparability, their bodies gracefully spiraling towards some unspoken destination.