Loki is a brilliant but amoral businessman with his fingers in both legitimate and criminal enterprises. He has the capital to help his brother, but he's uninterested—that is, until Jane, Thor's beloved (wife or betrothed—up to you!), asks for his aid. What he wants in return, however, is more than a just an equal stake in the business.
He wants her.
So begins a journey of lies, seduction, and questionable business practices—all for the sake of Jane Foster. Is Loki's obsession with his brother's wife/betrothed a twisted version of love, or is it merely a part of a greater plan to destroy Thor?
This is based loosely on Prompt #71 from magic-n-science-prompts (which is in itself based loosely on the television show The Grand); more importantly, it is a very belated birthday present for startraveller776, who also wanted that prompt. (For the record, if you don't know The Grand, you must. It is a Lokane AU. There is just no other way to describe it. And as a side note, it doesn't take much squinting to make this a straight-up The Grand fic, set about 18 years before the beginning of the series. Enjoy it from whatever angle you desire.)
Usual caveats of questionable Norwegian translations. I just can't stop with them.
The creature in the cradle is covered in fine, dark hair. Loki had — foolishly, it would seem — assumed a newborn would resemble an actual infant; instead, he's reminded of a nest of infant rabbits he discovered on a picnic when he was eight. Blind, scrunched, red beneath delicate brown fuzz. Thor's hound had swallowed them whole.
Still, the appearance must be normal, or his brother would have said something. Thor has never kept a single thought to himself in his life. If his son and heir had been born half-lizard, the entire hotel would have known before the cord was cut.
"Jeg antar du er for stor til å bli spist," Loki murmurs to the baby. "Synd. Du må finne en annen måte å underholde meg."
His nephew doesn't so much as yawn. But his sister-in-law stirs at the sound of his voice, twisting beneath the freshly-changed blankets of her bed. "Darcy?" The word is a low moan of pain. "Is he okay?"
"The babe is well," Loki assures her. "Probably. Is his head meant to be so pointed?"
She opens her eyes at this, blinking owlishly in the dim light of the single gas lamp. Nothing the midwife and servants did afterwards — removing the bedding, washing her body and hair, dressing her in clean gown — changes the fact that Jane gave birth three hours ago; in short, she looks awful. It seems to take her vision a moment to focus on him, but when it does, her expression drops into its usual cool contempt. "Jeg forventet ikke å se deg."
"And why should you have?" Loki's English is easy, unlike Jane's Norwegian, which remains halting and accented even after more than a year of residence in Oslo. No reason for her to strain herself with his language when he can speak hers. She's been strained enough, clearly. "After all, my place is downstairs: in the lounge with my brother, a cigar in one hand, a glass of akevitt in the other, calling toasts to the life and health of the new Odinson generation."
"I want Darcy."
"I sent your maid off to rest and promised to keep watch."
"Why?"
Loki shrugs. "Idle curiosity," he lies. "There was so much blood in the laundry tubs, I assumed you would die; yet rumor had it you still drew breath. I decided to see for myself." He smiles. "You performed admirably; I could hardly hear the screaming."
It's the sort of comment that usually makes Jane scowl, but she seems to have no energy for it. "The guests didn't hear me either, I hope."
"Of course not. Father would have had you chloroformed."
There had been complaints about Jane's cries, actually — all from the guests on the fourth floor, below the family apartments. Those were passed to Heimdall, who passed them to Loki, who dealt with them quickly and efficiently. Bypassing the chief porter's line of communication to Odin was a trick, but Heimdall had agreed, as Thor had been the one to suggest it.
(Thor even thought it was his own idea.)
He turns back to the baby and pretends he doesn't feel his sister-in-law studying the side of his face. "When did you arrive?" she asks.
"After supper." Yesterday's supper.
"You look terrible."
"You look worse." She looks beautiful. Wan and dark-circled and tangle-haired, Jane is more riveting today than she was when she walked into the hotel eighteen months ago on the arm of her Uncle Selvig, a foreigner but still an excellent match for the eldest son of the Odinson family. On that day Loki spared only half a glance for the mousey American who would be seated next to his brother that very night — and nearly every night thereafter.
His interest grew over the following weeks. Her lips pressed so often together. She said little, but her eyes would narrow, and when she whispered to Selvig for translation his expression often turned reproving. Loki wondered what she would have to say were she not female and possessed more command of Norwegian.
He learned English just so he could find out.
But verbally poking and prodding her in her own language did nothing to endear him to Jane. All he gleaned was that she was enamored of Thor, disliked Odin, and didn't give him, Loki, a second thought at all.
Oh, and she loved the stars.
(Ptolemy's Almagest as a courtship gift was another idea Thor thought his own.)
The baby starts to fuss, his eyes scrunching still tighter. He really is one of the ugliest things Loki has ever seen, but the little alarm siren noises that come from the pursed mouth tug at biological intuition bred and born through a hundred thousand generations, and he automatically reaches to pick up the squalling infant. This is why the human race continues, he reflects, cradling the infant. Otherwise we would leave them in the snow to die.
But Loki's impulses, however unconscious, are nothing compared to a mother's instincts. Jane is all but crying herself as she tries to get out of bed. "Give him to me," she demands, arms out, all modesty gone as her dressing gown falls open. Two dark spots of milk dampen the thin shift beneath. "Give me my son, Loki."
"Of course, sister dear," he says smoothly. "Now lay back and stop trying to injure yourself. Or do you imagine I'll let my own nephew fall?"
She has the grace to look sheepish.
(In the wild, male lions will kill the offspring of their competitors.)
Loki has breathed envy each day of his life. He has eaten it with every meal, swallowed it with every drink, burned with it and frozen with it, felt its lash and welcomed the drive. Without it he would be rudderless; he'd lack reason or purpose. Working to take what his brother has been given is all he's ever wanted. It is familiar, comforting, sweet as it is bitter.
But he has never felt a sting as sharp as when Thor's son leaves his arms for Jane's.
Jeg vet ikke hva jeg skal gjøre, Thor had said a year ago, uncharacteristically hesitant. Jane er fantastisk, tydelig, men… ekteskap.
Hun er et godt valg. Du må gifte seg en dag.
Men dette er tidligere enn jeg hadde trodd. His brother felt his twenty-two years to be very young. Loki had considered his nineteen to be ancient. Who knew what Jane thought of her twenty.
Gjøre opp tankene dine snart, bror, Loki had heard himself say, eller jeg vil be sin første.
A fantasy, of course. Jane's by then calcified antipathy — earned through her general disapproval of his lifestyle and the way he flaunted his interest (to her at least) — would have ensured a refusal, no matter how sweetly he worded the offer.
He might have tried anyway.
Thor only laughed at his jest and proposed the next day.
The baby roots for Jane's breast. She kisses the top of his head, glowing. You could have been mine, Loki thinks, but aloud he says, "I suppose he'll be called something or other."
"Thor wants to name him for your father."
"One of his worse ideas."
"I agree."
Loki grins. Distaste for Odin is one of the few places Jane will admit their mutuality of feeling. "Then name him for me instead."
"No."
However joking his suggestion had been, her abrupt refusal stings more than it should. "Whyever not?" he says lightly. "Concerned someone might doubt his parentage?"
Jane glances up at that, and her eyes — he has never seen a brown colored so lightly — flash with anger. "I'm tired," she says, the words an insult. "You'd better go back to the toasts and cigars."
It does not matter how long it takes. It does not matter how many of Thor's children she bears. One day an opportunity will present itself, some chink in the armor with which she imagines herself safely clad, and Loki will be there. He can wait. "My congratulations again," he says for now, making his way to the door. There is business to be done below. "Maybe Copernicus?"
Her laugh, this time genuine, follows him into the hall.
He can live on that for longer than she imagines.
Relevant phrases, as according to questionably accurate online translators:
Jeg antar du er for stor til å bli spist. Synd. Du må finne en annen måte å underholde meg. —I guess you are too big to be eaten. Too bad. You have to find a different way to entertain me.
Jeg forventet ikke å se deg. —I didn't expect to see you.
Jane er fantastisk, tydelig, men… ekteskap. —I do not know what to do. Jane is amazing, obviously, but … marriage.
Hun er et godt valg. Du må gifte seg en dag. —She is a good choice. You have to get married one day.
Men dette er tidligere enn jeg hadde trodd. —But this is earlier than I had thought.
Gjøre opp tankene dine snart, bror, eller jeg vil be sin første. —Make up your mind soon, brother, or I will ask her first.