bldskr asked you: Prompt? Jane doesn't agree with Loki not being allowed to Frigga's funeral, so offers to tell him the news herself and maybe ends up comforting him (or he's manipulating her into thinking that he "needs comfort")

Wherein Jane knows right from wrong. (T:TDW AU. PG-13.)

When Jane heard dungeons, she had pictured something out of a period film: rough stone walls, rusting bars, creaking hinges, maybe a couple immortal god-rats scurrying down the corridors. The whole spooky Renfest Halloween effect. Tower of London meets Norse Pantheon.

But she should have known better. Asgard's dungeons do have stone walls, but they're just as artistically pristine as the rest of the palace architecture. In fact, the only sign of the battle earlier that day is a faint smell of roasted meat.

Ick.

Jane walks down the hall and peeks into the cells, each of which appear to be made of some sort of electromagnetic generated forcefield, seemingly insubstantial but flexible and perforated for free movement of molecules and yet very obviously resilient if it can contain a bunch of eight-foot armored aliens with bad tempers, if she could somehow get a couple of scanners from her lab she could take a few readings and—

No. Stop. No time for that. She has to find—

"And what have we here?"

Or he'll find her. Either way.

Jane tiptoes down to the last cell on the right. She's never met Thor's brother before, but she's seen the grainy footage from New York, same as everyone else on Earth, and she recognizes him even without the horned helmet. He's all height and hair and cheekbones and arrogance.

It's the last one that makes her suddenly feel two inches tall. "Um, hi," she says to the Trickster God of Chaos. "I'm Jane. Foster."

Loki just stares at her. He doesn't look like a guy who's just been told his mother died, but then, looks can be deceiving. "Jane Foster," he says slowly — before his lips curve in what can only be described as a very worrisome smirk. "Yes, of course you are."

Jane blinks. "Thor told you about me?" Apparently she's really made the rounds.

"Once. A rather long time ago. I intended to pay you a visit… and instead you've sought me." He nods to her, and Jane's suddenly reminded of her theoretical physics professor back at Cal Tech, who gave her an F on her midterm and told her that she'd be better bring herself back down to earth before she blacklisted herself from every graduate program in western civilization. "Tell me, why have you come?"

That requires some explanation. She starts with: "I'm sorry. About your mother."

Loki doesn't bat an eye, but for a fleeting second the cell flickers, and Jane would swear she caught a glimpse of broken furniture. "She was not my mother," he says. "Why have you come?"

Jane's bad with people. Very bad. She still sees that that's bullshit. "Her funeral is tonight. There's, um, supposed to be a boat, and some kind of lights thing—"

"Yes, mortal, I was raised in this palace. I know the rites. Why have you come?"

It's not too late to turn back. No one would ever know she'd been here. That would unquestionably be the smart thing to do.

Jane's got an IQ of 165, but when it comes to stuff like this, she's never been good at doing the smart thing.

"I thought," she says, "you would want to go."

Loki just blinks at her.

"Thor argued with Odin about it," Jane elaborates after a minute of silence. There's a perverse satisfaction in knowing she's struck a god speechless — especially this god, who's supposed to have a comeback to everything. "He — Thor, I mean — thinks Frigga would have wanted you there, and Odin said no. But Odin isn't my king, and Frigga saved my life, and…" She trails off, ending with a shrug, unable to articulate further.

Loki continues to stare, and Jane feels like a butterfly pinned to a board. Biology was never her strength. "You must suffer truly terrible demons," he says finally, "if you would use me to excise them."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've no skill for dissembling, Jane Foster, so a little honesty, if you please. Why have you come?"

Fine. "My dad died in a car accident when I was seven," she says flatly. "They said I was too young for the funeral, so I stayed home. It doesn't matter how many times I go to his grave; facts aren't facts until you can see them in your data. In my head he's always going to be at the grocery store picking up milk." She swallows. "There are things that are wrong, and this is one of them. You should get to go."

The cell flickers again, and this time Jane's sure she saw a man in rags screaming with rage. "And do you imagine I'll simply return to this prison afterwards, like a penitent child accepting punishment for a sin I've not committed?"

Jane's mouth drops open. "You've not committed— you did try to take over the world, right?"

"Well, yes."

"I'd say that counts as a sin!"

"We'll agree to disagree. You haven't answered my question."

She hasn't. Admittedly, this is the part of the problem she's avoided thinking about. "I thought maybe we'd do this on the honor system," she says lamely.

And, yep, he's struck him speechless again. She's getting kind of proud of it.

"You," he finally manages to say, "may have the distinction of being the most foolish human I have ever met."

What an ungrateful brat. "I'm not an idiot," Jane snaps. "I know who you are. And if you don't come back afterwards, I'll—"

"You'll what? Tattle to my brother?"

"Yes." Jane flexes her hands, feeling the aether stir in her veins. If she's stuck with all this power that's slowly consuming her from the inside out, she may as well put it to good use. "But that's not all I'll do."

Loki's expression changes; he comes closer to the edge of the cell, looks her over harder, gold softening him from the glaring white lights above. Whatever he sees causes him to smile. "You become more intriguing by the minute, Jane Foster," he says, chuckling. "Now, not to question such a detailed and ingenious scheme, but how precisely do you propose to get me out of this prison?"

Jane glances around and tries not to fidget. "Um… well… my plan was sort of contingent on there being a door. And keys."

"And here I was told you were clever."

"I'm making this up as I go."

"That is readily apparent."

"Excuse me, which one of us is trapped in a dungeon?" Asshole. She takes a few steps backwards. "Do you want me to leave you here after all? Because I can do that. The funeral's in an hour. I shouldn't be late."

Another flicker. Splatters of blood across the floor and wall, gone again as quickly as they were there.

"No," Loki says quietly. "Please don't."

"All right, then. How does the generator work?"

"By magic."

"By science." Okay, that's probably an argument for another time. "But I meant, how do I take it down?"

Loki walks her through the process, pointing out all the hidden switches in the pillars, being shockingly patient as she fumbles through senseless Asgardian symbols as foreign to her as hieroglyphics. But after what feels like a very long time but probably wasn't more than a few minutes, the golden forcefield collapses, and Loki is free.

Jane swallows as he leaps lightly from his cell to the floor. "You stay in my sight at all times," she tells him. "Deal?"

His face splits into a wide grin — just before transforming into a nondescript guard. "That," he says with a new voice, "is a promise I am most willing to keep."

"Good. Oh, and one more thing." Jane puts the aether behind her punch, and the guard's head snaps to the side with the force of the blow. "That was for New York."

It is really annoying how the guard doesn't do anything but laugh.

As they sneak out of the dungeon, Jane glances back, just once. She was right. Everything in cell they've left behind is demolished.

Drops of blood follow them with every step.