Some say it's lonely at the top.
The throne room was a glitter of gold and an expanse of flat air.
And Loki sat there, watching particle matter fleck their energy in circumspect motion.
He sat there and sneered.
With a face too old for his 1,000 years, with hands gnarled from the medicine of war, with a staff stalwart and placed so still in his grasp…with a cyclopean stare he lowered his gaze.
He heard the steps.
And there she was.
"Odin," said the mortal, bowing her reverence.
Loki nodded.
She cleared her throat. "So, ah…Thor sent me here…he said I should ask you for an apple."
She shrugged and smirked her embarrassment.
Loki's brow creased. "Is that so?"
"Ah…yeah?"
"And why would my son send you to ask me such a thing?"
Jane shuffled her feet. "Well, he said that it would make me immortal…and Aesir."
Loki sighed heavily and considered her. "You have gall, mortal. To come here, addressing me thus. Give me one reason why I shouldn't send you away."
"Because Thor loves me," she replied with feeling.
"And you…? You return that sentiment?"
Jane swallowed. "Honestly…I guess, I'm just confused."
"You should see to that. It won't do to be unsure of yourself with regard to such things," and the ancient King rose, and left her there.
And Jane, with her dress too long, her hair too piled on top of her head, sighed and left as well.
Through the cavernous hall she slunk, too tired to argue her hesitation, too mired in her thoughts to care.
She loathed the dress of Asgard. She wanted her Levi's back.
To her room she went, and took out a paper and pen.
She wrote her hesitation, she wrote her worry.
She sung her concern over dresses too long and hair too high.
She loved Thor, yes…but she didn't love this place.
Jane thought that she should…it was lovely enough. Lovely…too lovely, and she wrote that as well.
A commotion was heard just outside her door, and she crumpled her pain and threw it into the trashcan.
Jane went over and opened the door, seeing servants and attendants running amuck in the hall.
"What…?" she began, but the question died on her lips, for no person stopped, they were too immersed in the task at hand.
Might as well follow them…and she did.
They were headed outdoors, out to the garden.
And there was Thor. And he was holding someone.
Tall.
Dark.
Loki.
Jane shoved her way to the center of the commotion.
"Thor!" she yelled.
He stopped and turned. "Jane! Will you look and see who has returned to us?" he was beaming at his younger brother.
His brother, who appeared quite gaunt.
His brother, who appeared to be sickly wan…
Dressed in black.
Bones piercing under his skin in fierce revolt.
He didn't appear to be well.
Like some sick version of Michael Jackson.
Jane went over to him. "He needs a doctor, Thor…"
And she looked at him steadily in the face, and she spied something malicious, something familiar, something kin, but altogether alien.
The Thunder God nodded, and took Loki from the garden to the infirmary.
Two days Loki stayed his place in his sick bed, while Thor held vigil.
Jane was left quite abandoned, and wandered the palace at odd hours.
"Jane."
She was at the window, staring out into the garden. She turned at her name.
"Hey! How's Loki?"
"He wishes to see you."
"What?"
"He wishes to see you," Thor repeated.
"Me? Why would he want to see me?"
He entered the room fully, and looked at her. "I cannot say. He seems very different. But he desires an interview, and I told him I'd fetch you."
Jane nodded.
She shrugged. "Now?"
"Now, Jane, is as good a time as ever."
She smiled and left for the infirmary.
The air in the place was odd…it felt simultaneously heavy and thin.
Like it was pressing a touch, slowly, steadily, in a stunted effort to suffocate her.
Her footfalls sounded as though their sound were being sucked into the air, bleeding their timbre into the void.
There he was.
And she went to him.
Jane sat on the chair; he followed her with his eyes.
"Thor said you wanted to see me."
"Thor speaks the truth."
She shifted. "So…how are you feeling?"
"Like I have been speared through the chest and left to die on an icy plane on Svartalfheim."
Her face fell a touch, but her eyes betrayed anger. "Well, we thought that you were dead."
"I should hope so."
She smiled. "Why did you want to see me?"
"Thor has indicated that you are to eat an apple. Become Aesir."
"Well, theoretically."
His eyebrow arched. "Theoretically?"
"Odin hasn't agreed to it yet."
"Convince him," he replied plainly.
"How?! How, when he is a King, and I am a mortal? How, when I know nothing about what I am doing? How…when…"
"When?"
She played with her dress, fidgeted in her seat.
"Yes Jane?" he egged her on. "Suddenly so mute."
"I don't even know if I want to do this…" she whispered.
His head fell back on his pillow. "Thor doesn't know this, does he?"
"No."
He winced in pain. "Well, Jane Foster. I'd say that you need to figure this out."
"Thanks," and she rolled her eyes.
And Loki chuckled, and held his chest, and Jane stood.
"What do you need?" she asked him.
"Stay," replied he.
For two weeks the God of Mischief played his injury.
He played the King.
And he watched as Jane Foster seared her confusion, masking it from Thor.
And he listened to her stories in the insipid air of the infirmary.
He was attempting to figure her.
But…he enjoyed her company.
And…he resented the throne.
Some say it's lonely at the top, he had once heard. He hadn't believed it, but he had begun to rethink his position on this.
She walked into the infirmary, a smile painted on her face.
"I told Thor I wouldn't eat the apple," she reported, sitting down, wearing odd blue pants. (though they clung to her shape nicely…and he snapped his gaze from her legs)
"Indeed? And what did he say?"
"He told me that he understood, but that I would need to go home soon."
"You seem pleased with his response," returned Loki.
"I am. I want to go home."
"Are you still in love with our future King?"
"I…" she swallowed. "I dunno…"
Loki nodded.
And they spoke for a while, until Jane decided it was time to go.
And Eir decided Loki was better.
And Odin decided to send Jane home…
For the aged King resented her distraction, her blue pants and her sepia eyes, her cascade of supple hair…too much for a withered King to withstand.
And on he sat, perched high on his throne.
And thought that his son Loki would need to pay a visit to Midgard.