If he didn't know better, he would say the cat scowled at him for the rest of the evening. When it wasn't curled beside its human, the iron-coloured creature crept into whatever room the god was occupying, balling up to stare mercilessly at the man-god. Loki quickly decides he doesn't like the beast. It will go, soon, if she doesn't manage to talk him out of it.
He went against his own vow not to use magic on her. She had surprised him- - - her will was strong. But now, getting her to obey him without the influence of his more supernatural gifts would be difficult- - -like weaning a calf from its sow. Though he'd not used much, really not more than a dash. She took to it, as humans do, falling under his eyes like a lost pup. Well, it wasn't as though there hadn't been a struggle. Her subconscious wasn't ready to relinquish control by any means-odd, as he had often found that the human mind sought domination when he ventured there. Barton certainly had (though that could be attributed to his military-esque background).
Either way, it wouldn't take much to convince her that she would be much, much happier under his metaphorical wing.
After their encounter (which proved useless-he had nothing more to ask her, and as it was a mere show of power, he didn't receive anything useful for it) he took pity on his reader and sent her to bed. She'd planned on many things for the coming day- - - shopping, dinner, etc. But it wasn't to be. She needed rest. Though his powers went into her, she was drained. But such was the way with humans.
Tatiana sleeps for the rest of the day, then most of the night. She woke early the next morning to find her housemate awake and alert (unsurprising, as he'd not slept a wink), and bearing coffee. Without a word, she accepts the brew, hot and black. He considers himself forgiven-not the she quite knew for what. Over breakfast, she is shy and distant, while he attempted to charm her over their eggs. But she doesn't want to be charmed.
"Sleep well?" His teeth flashed in the morning sun.
"Well enough. I'm sorry I crashed on you so early…."
"Not at all. You were tired. Stressed. With your work, I sure any sleep is a godsend."
Irony sparks his tone, because he is, in fact, a god.
-XXX-
Actually, my job doesn't infer much with my sleep. I don't have to be in until nine or ten most days, and then it's rare that I have to stay past six (saving galas, or other such events). I have the weekends off usually, and Wednesdays for the most part. It's not high-stress, unless I'm being carted off to LA or New York for the latest auction. Which isn't all that often, really.
Luke is eager to please. This morning he is polite, all smiles. He offers to refill my cup more than once, clears off the breakfast dishes, then seals the whole deal by asking me thoughtful questions about my job. Do I like the gallery? Am I an art person?
Can I paint, or draw?
The answer to the last one is a definite "no." In high school I'd picked up a few art classes, but I never had enough skill to be called "artistic." At the time, it hurt, but nowadays I'm thankful. The bohemian lifestyle of so many of my art-minded friends is beyond me. I enjoy owning my own home. And having money.
Before I realize, and hour has passed. "We need to get to the mall," I say suddenly, pulling out my cell. "And find you something to wear."
He's still dressed in the clothes the nurses gave him- - - though, the button-down has been carefully draped over the back of one of my chipped-paint chairs. He's wearing a white v-neck I can vaguely recall stuffing in one of the guest room drawers. It's mine, a Hanes six-pack shirt. Before Luke arrived I'd scoured my closet for some form of men's clothing. I had a tendency to lounge in shirts such as the ones he'd been wearing. And somewhere, I had found a pair of college sweatpants that were sure to fit him.
The shirt makes his pallor almost vanish- - -at least, he doesn't look as pale. And the v dips nicely, giving me a peek of his chest, which, if my eyes don't deceive me, is quite nice.
"That would be nice," he agrees.
Thirty minutes later, after I've had a chance to cleanup, we're in my Volvo once again and on the road to the mall. Plugging my Ipod in, Luke winces at the sound of bass and the tones of an electric guitar, but I ignore him. My car, my music. The entire drive, Luke again observes the passing scenery and me, occasionally inquiring after elements of the city around us. I can't answer all of his questions, unfortunately, but I do my best.
Once in the mall, I'm overwhelmed. Malls have always done this to me; I get dizzy and a little non-sensical as time moves on. This perhaps, I realize, isn't the best place to start. But we're here, and Luke needs clothes. Desperately. If we don't dress him soon, he might be disregarded to wearing the bedsheets- - -which won't really be so bad, for me anyways.
We browse several shops. I've not the slightest clue what Luke is into, so we hit up everything from J Crew, H & M, Old Navy, Gap, PacSun, American Eagle, and Banana Republic. American Eagle jeans catch his eye, and we buy three pair. He doesn't like the fussy shirts, though, so we travel down the strip to Express, and then Banana Republic, where we purchase shoes, a few belts, and dress shirts. He has expensive tastes, but I don't break the bank when it comes to dressing him. We leave for the bathrooms, where I wait outside while he changes.
"What do you think?"
I approve of the result. Basic dark-wash jeans that hang well off of his frame, and a crisp grey shirt. He looks uncomfortable in the casualness.
By then it's nearly three. I offer the food court, but Luke takes one look at the crowd and his forehead is marred with wrinkles. I get the message. We find a small café down the street, instead.
Over the entire trip he's been quiet. I swirl my spoon around my soup bread bowl, waiting for him to speak before I strike up.
"You've adapted nicely."
I wait. He nods, but says nothing, eyes on his sandwich. I continue.
"I mean, if I was dumped in the woods, in a coma for a month, then ditched with some lady I didn't know, I'd probably be a little shell shocked."
His lips quirk, but still nothing.
"Do you remember anything? Where you came from, or something like that?"
"I believe I told you I had." His brows rise. I fend off a blush.
"Yeah. You did. But…isn't there something you've left behind? Or family? I find it hard to believe you just collapsed in the woods behind my house without leaving some…life behind you."
"I never said I didn't."
He's looking at me properly now, eyes straight and leveled on my own gaze. I stare right back, raising my chin.
"But why leave it?"
"You ask a lot of questions."
I snort. "And you don't?"
Luke holds his gaze for several more seconds before sighing. "It's not something I particularly want to return to. Even if I wished to…go back…it would be impossible."
Eager, I lean forward. "Why?"
He smiles. "So willing to get rid of me? Already?"
"No. I just had an aversion to keeping mysterious men in my house," I say honestly. "And I'm working to remedy that by making you less mysterious. Does that make sense?"
He nods in assention. "I am estranged," he says finally. "There was…conflict between myself and my father and brother. I attempted to…prove myself. The attempt failed. I was cast out of my home, and have been making my own way in the world since then."
"Oh."
Luke waits gravely, knowing there is more I wish to ask. I bite my lip.
"So, this is a new start for you?"
"In a way." Again, he smiles. "Will you help me, then?"
I'd already signed up for that task almost a month ago. There was no backing down now.
"You're not from like, the mob or anything? No one is going to hunt us down? Gut my cat and leave a message in his blood on my sidewalk?"
To my surprise, Luke laughs. "No, nothing like that."
This makes me laugh. And for a while, that's all we can do. In the grim face of the situation, it was nice to shake off our conflictions with a few chuckles.
-XXX-
Somehow, Tatiana accepts his abridged tale without question. She's still suspicious, but less so now that she knows a scrap of his past. He would, if it were possible, tell her of his past, his life as prince. He wants her to reveal and cower in his glory. He wants to taste her fear, not mere apprehension, around him. Loki would see her his, and knowledgeable of his past and power, rather than a distant, warm-cold thing attempting to discern him whilst she thought he wasn't watching.
But there is no use if he doesn't have that power.
Before he starts showing himself to her, he needs his energy back. The only problem is he doesn't have the how to the equation.
Timing is key in this endeavor. For whatever reason, he still wishes to claim her without magic. She will have him, want to remain as his reader.
He supposes it's a reward, of sorts, for taking him in. He can't start around nothing but bloodshed, anyways. Weed the population down, yes. Take out a few of the wolves among his sheep. But not her.
Loki is no savage. He has compassion past his personal gain. Madness claimed his campaign, and he will be the first to admit it; foolishness lost his siege, not weakness. He didn't separate the Avengers as he ought have. But he knows better, this time.
-XXX-
"You can stay with me. I want you to stay."
A look passes over Luke's face. Something akin to pleasure. "Thank you."
"Well," I say, embarrassed. I've never liked receiving thank-yous. "It's a little late now, to kick you out, I mean. Win's attached."
"I see." He smirks.
My fib is transparent-from what I've gathered this morning, Win has decided, in that way cats do, that he doesn't like Luke.
"There is a condition," I start. Luke waits. "You've got to be honest with me. I'm not asking for your life story- - I mean, it looks like you're a little hesitant to dish that out. But just tell me what I need to know, okay?"
He considers. "Fair enough."
"Damn straight."
Again, he smiles. This time, I get a sense that it's genuine. A little dark, but brilliant nonetheless. And, I sense that we're going to get along just grandly.
-XXX-
When the disgraced Asgardian prince fell from the Bifröst, he felt his heart shred to a thousand million pieces. His home, his crown, his life gone. Earlier, of course, he'd found the truth of his heritage- - -a painful realization. But somehow, this was worse.
Reemerging, he was no longer the younger brother. He was Loki, God of Mischief, soon-to-be ruler of the Earth and her realms. In this new light, he was a different, better man. Not happier…but better. Thor no longer overshadowed him; no one overshadowed Loki. He had found purpose. He was self-possessed. A sorcerer come into his power. In some ways, he'd come into himself. He had become the man he was meant to be. Laufeyson. Not Odinson.
He would be stronger than both of his fathers. He would rule, king and lord and commander over a realm not his own. He would be their champion, shepherd to the sheep that was the human race. They needed him. And, perhaps, he needed them a little too.
Earth wasn't like Asgard. Asgard didn't have wars; they waged wars on others, other realms. Under one king, there would be no war.
Loki would be just that king. He was ready for rule.
Thor wasn't. Yet, one day Thor would have Asgard, glory.
And, as always, the younger brother had to make his own glory. Loki would be resigned to a place of advisor, Prince, the rest of his life under his brother.
Others would never see it as bravery, but it took a lot for the prince to let go and fall from the Bifröst. He knew not what he was going into- - - only that it wasn't Asgard. It was not a life as Thor's shadow, the darker younger sibling who found his strength not in muscle, but in wit and supernatural prowess.
That was enough reason to fall.
He'd been delighted to make his deal with Thanos. The entire campaign had been something of a game for him. A perfect exercise as God of Mischief-much better than the petty tasks he was set about around Asgard.
Then, of course, the Avengers had had their say. On top of that tower in the midst of his ruin, Loki again sought the choice to fall.
He was lucky. If anyone less than Tatiana had found him, he doubted he would've healed in such a timely manner. It wasn't the Midgardian doctors, of course. He could've fixed his own ribs and nicks without trouble. The coma was a mere side-effect of his rescue. No, Tati's energies fueled him. Not magic by any means, but just enough.
Loki owes her.
-XXX-
We go back a bit to Thor, here. I mentally need to understand where Loki is coming from, so this last passage is a result of that expercise.
So...I've had about 60 consistant readers and 2 reviews. I won't beg, but feedback would be swell. Thanks for reading.