~*~ This chapter shouldn't have been so late. I blame myself, my laptop, the holidays, and the internet, or my lack thereof. Yep.
But I'm glad you guys are showing interest in what little there's been, if the feedback is any indication. You all rock my socks.
Musical Muse: Chicago Soundtrack
Warnings: Depressing thoughts, violence, Mrs. Hudson being the bad-ass old lady we know and love.
Disclaimer: If I owned any of the characters here, I think I could afford better internet.
Thanks go to my beta Kat, as usual, and more thanks goes to Ani, who was there to give advice when I really needed it. Much love to you both.

~*~ Chapter 2: Alone ~*~

The cold wind snapped at Loki's cheek as he turned the corner to the next shadowy and endless street. He did not know how long he had traveled, only that he had wandered far from where he had landed. The buildings were taller, more suited to businesses rather than households, and they stretched ahead and behind and all around him like an endless canyon of metal and glass. Cold, unwelcoming eyes stared down as Loki roamed the dark and near-deserted streets looking for accommodation. If worse came to worse, he could always break into a place, demand the inhabitants host him, and then–

Loki lost that thought when he remembered that would not end well for him. He had no way of enforcing his will by way of physical or magical threats. He was completely drained, entirely empty. He was simply too weak, and his powers were as well as gone.

When the Tesseract parted him from Thor, he did nothing to protect himself, did not prepare for the disparaging journey by casting some protective spell or even attempt to shield his mind. Loki remembered being pulled and stretched, the pain in his body and his mind tearing and battering him about in an all-too familiar manner. Quite suddenly, he had been released, cast off, to lie in agony and wonder just why he never did die when he expected to.

Bifrost-free travel had very unfortunate consequences – the uttermost that one ended up feeling like a minced piece of meat once they had arrived. It was a feeling that lasted an undeterminable amount of time and was what painfully told him that he was still alive.

The last time Loki had been delivered to this realm, there had been the rush of adrenaline, the taste of freedom, and the flavor of vengeance on his tongue. Without any of those excitements, he could truly feel how battered and drained the events of the last few days had made him. Between the unscheduled trip, the smashing beast, and all the other indignities he suffered, perhaps it was not far beneath him to admit – if only to himself – that he was quite ready for a rest.

When he first landed, wrecked with pain, he had missed that his metal restraints had vanished. As had his clothes. He didn't realize at first that his magic was also gone – only after he attempted to create new coverings did he understand just what little he had. The Tesseract truly had taken everything from him, and left him as bare and vulnerable as the day The All-Father stole him. He was alone, truly alone, without any minds invading his own or voices pleading uselessly at him while he was imprisoned and awaiting the return to Asgard. The peace was calming, yet frightening, as he was entirely unused to the feeling.

Loki had initially been unceremoniously dumped in what appeared to be someone's garden, and had to resort to petty thievery and burglary to gain himself adequate clothing and monetary units. That was the first indication to him that he was still on Midgard: the markings on the seemingly-useless slips of paper resembled those he'd seen while in hiding.

He had fled in a hurry when the domicile's occupants returned unexpectedly, and he took to wandering the streets. The night continued its cycle, and the roads he saw before him gradually emptied. Still he walked, unable to calm his raging mind.

For the first time in his life, he had no idea what he was supposed to do. No longer was he the ignored son of a king, nor a tool for someone else's use. No one would come after him – Thor and his team would assume he'd escaped, or died. Thanos could no longer see into his mind as easily as peering at a book now that the scepter that bound them was out of his hands. All strings had been cut, all ties unbound.

There would be no escape from this realm. There were no paths from this realm he could access without magical aid, which he did not have. He was practically mortal now, stripped and weak and at the mercy of this cruel world. The All-Father couldn't be happier if he'd planned it himself.

Loki was free, but he felt no elation. He was just as trapped here as he would be in some prison cell in Asgard – lone, helpless, and unwanted.

An unexpected noise drew Loki from his thoughts. His aimless wanderings had led him into a narrowly enclosed alley, and his guard had not been up, leaving him in a very unwelcome position. If he had been concerned for his safety, he would have berated himself for his foolishness and drawn some form of weapon. Instead, Loki turned and faced the scruffiest-looking batch of warriors he'd ever seen.

Loki was almost insulted. He was threat that had nearly brought his bro- Thor and his team to their knees, he who had almost destroyed Jotenheim, and the only response from this strange city was to attack him with brutish thugs. He was a god, damnit, weak or not, and such a puny threat was a slight to his perceived greatness.

He ignored the fact that, in his weakened state, they could quite easily overpower him. Though he longed for death, he did not wish for such an embarrassing end that would meet him if these thugs had their way with him. It would be most undignified.

"Whas a scrabby 'unt like yourse doin 'ere, 'ay?" Even a lifetime of studying and learning All-Tongue left Loki blinking in confusion at the garbled mess that left the largest thug's mouth. The pause it gave him in was clearly enough for one of the tinier minds to decide to attack, and Loki ducked as a glass bottle flew at his head. Thick laughter filled the air, and Loki pulled his lips back in a snarl.

"Do not threaten me, you pathetic imbecile!" he hissed, but his words had little effect. The group moved closer, and Loki's eyes flitted over them all. If he could disable the leader in some way, his psychological hold over them would fade, and they would flee. If he hit the brute on the nose hard enough, the nasal cartilage would crack and –

The resounding whack to the side of his head stopped that thought in its tracks. Loki slammed into the opposite wall with the force of the blow, and before he could recover, more strikes began to rain down upon his body. Without his layers of armor, he felt every impact deep in his bones, and nearly choked himself swallowing his cries of pain. He swung his arm out, attempting to fight back, but his arms were pinned before he hit anyone, and the battering increased.

It's better this way, Loki thought as blood began to flow down his face and throat, To die in battle, not wasting away in a cell or torn apart at Thanos' command. The best part, his mind quietly whispered as he heard the all-too familiar snick of a knife, the best part is that Thor will never know. Loki relaxed, and wondered if this was the final time he would await the inevitable death before him.

"Now stop it, right now. Stop that!" It seemed that Loki's attackers had been joined by a little old lady. Loki slumped against the wall, and cracked an eyelid to confirm that, yes, a matron was staring down the gang. Loki's humiliation had reached new heights.

"Jackson Jacob Hansen you get your butt home right now before I tell your father what you get up to in the middle of the night! Terrorizing tourists, for shame! And Zachary Orion Tool, your mother would beat you silly if she knew you were helping him! If you boys don't leave that man alone right now…" The boys watched with horror as the woman pulled an electric communication device from her satchel, "…I'll call all your mums. Get a move on now." There was no anger or spite in the lady's voice, only scathing motherly disproval. It was quite efficient, as Loki's abusers took off like a scalded pack of mutts.

Loki stayed slumped uncomfortably on the paved ground. It hurt to breathe, he was certainly covered in blood and bruises, and he'd just been thoroughly beaten by a group of adolescents. His dignity had reached an all-time low.

"Poor dear. Are you all right?" Was there a more useless question in all the cosmos? "Of course not, look at the state of you. Can you stand?" The elderly woman was kneeling over him now. She reached out a slightly-shaking hand and rested it on his cheek. Loki would have protested vehemently if he were capable of speech. Or coherent and rational thought.

It was an effort, but after several minutes and a barely-assisting hand, Loki found himself standing again, albeit not very stably. His back was a solid wall of flame, twitching and aching from too many unexpected landings. Cuts, contusions, and bruises covered every inch of his skin. Loki found that it was just too much effort to school his expression into its usual calm mask, and the woman's expression indicated that what was showing on his face was most troubling.

"Oh, poor dear. You're very hurt aren't you?" It would simply be too rude to roll his eyes at her, as he wished to do so. She set a gentle hand on his arm, the closest part of his body she could reach. Even hunched over as he was, he still towered over her.

"Sweetheart, I think you need a doctor." Loki shook his head and tried twitching his arm from her grasp. Her hand remained firm, however – she was clearly much stronger than she appeared.

"I don't…I can't-" Loki struggled and stumbled over his words, trying to convey his great desire not to be in a brightly-lit place where someone could recognize him. The kindly lady seemed to recognize the look on his face, and understanding settled onto hers. She patted his arm gently.

"That's alright, dear. It's perfectly alright. I know someone who can take a look at you; don't worry about one thing. Just come along…" She began to lead, and, almost gladly, Loki began following her out of the enclosed alleyway. "It's just a few more blocks, and they're probably still awake, those boys…they keep such odd hours but that's to be expected, really. But you know, sometimes I wish…"

The babble of words washed over him, and Loki was unable to stop himself from allowing this treatment. Everything hurt, he felt like he hadn't slept in weeks, and perhaps the pity of a stranger should not go unheeded, if she was willing to assist and aid him. She – ("Call me Mrs. Hudson, there's a good lad.") – seemed formidable enough, but she was elderly, and it would not be difficult to escape her clutches should the time come for escape.

Streets, some stairs, an interior hallway Loki was led through and into a pleasantly decorated sitting room. With some relief, he settled onto a thickly cushioned seat. Loki rested his tender back against the sofa's cushions and sighed. Mrs. Hudson bustled off down the hall, presumably to find him aid. Or to call the authorities, or even grab a knife and destroy his weakened body once and for all.

But as the minutes passed, as no sounds of oncoming threats or danger reached Loki's ears, all his worries and even pain began to diminish. He was tired, bone tired, and did indeed need somewhere to rest his head, and this kindly woman was offering him just that. Surely there was nothing to fear from a place as thoroughly covered in fabric flowers as this. It would not be unwise to abuse her hospitality for some time.

But…what had he done to deserve this? Nothing, nothing at all. This could just be the honey in the trap, the lure that would drag him to yet another horror. This could not all be without consequence.

Mrs. Hudson came back, without medical aid but with a cup of tea. Loki lowered his eyes as she claimed the seat next to his. "I'm sorry dear. The boys aren't in right now." She set the cup and saucer on the table next to her seat and reached out to lay three soft fingers on Loki's cheek. "You can sleep here tonight, I'm sure John can take a look at you in the morning."

Could the tea be poisoned? Were there truly such kind souls in this world that were willing to care for such wretched scum as he? There were so many questions, but Loki had been choking back more unsaid things in his life than he was willing to acknowledge, and so they remained unsaid. He instead raised his eyes to hers, unable to verbalize any of what was going through his mind. Mrs. Hudson smiled and stroked his cheek.

"Don't worry. Whatever's happened, it's behind you now. Just remember that." Loki stared at her, and she smiled a bit sadly. "Don't think I don't know that look. I know what it is, and I can tell you, time will help. Time, and some tea." She winked at him, and pushed the cup into his hand.

Loki was fairly certain that whatever scenario she was referring to, it was nothing similar to his own. But, perhaps she is right, he though as he carefully sipped the tea. I just need time to plan what I will do next. The tea was not poisoned.

Mrs. Hudson vanished again, and by the time he finished his tea, she was back with blankets and a proper pillow. Coaxing him down onto his back took some time because it was aching up a storm. Once he was horizontal, waves of tiredness began to wash over him, and he knew he was in danger of falling asleep too quickly. If Mrs. Hudson was waiting for him to become unconscious before striking, she would not have to wait long. He mutely refused the white pills she offered him and quietly reflected that the last time he was on his back, he was in Stark's tower, before the brink of disaster.

"Now, I know you're tired, sweetheart. I realize that. But…I never did catch your name."

Loki's eyes drooped, remembering the last moments he had in the tower, before the plan fell apart and the pain began. Stark had been talking nonsense, flaunting his casual assurance that he and his team would triumph (and he had been right. The agent had been right). The last thing that had been spoken to him, just before it ended. The other person he'd pissed off.

"Phil." Loki whispered. "My name is Phil."

~*~ Well, now everyone who's read Loki, the Innocent Bystander knows why Loki's being called Phil. Maybe Loki's hoping Coulson's bad-assery will rub off on him.
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