My poor mentor has been waiting for my letter all week because I've been so distracted by writing this. Poor man.
Sorry, kiddos, about the Joseph suspense. All will be resolved.
-XXX-
They come home high off of each others' company. Somehow, the young woman coaxes him on to the couch next to her, where they continue the conversation on evolution and social theory over warm mugs of tea. She brings it to him precisely how he prefers it, and smiles shyly over the lip of her mug when he proclaims it splendid, her delightful, and everything else in the world lovely.
He does not mean to charm her.
When he sends her off to bed after she falls asleep practically on top of him, Loki listens to her stumble up the stairs. He follows after treating himself to wine out of his empty mug. The reader is slung across her bed. She has undressed, and now wears a blue cotton shift. The god makes a decision-
He cannot stay here.
He has spent too much time shielding her, too little time building himself back up. Any longer with his reader, he will not be as strong as he once was. The power must be reared, reigned in. She is serving as a distraction. Loki craves space and time to extend his new ability.
Besides, every second here endanger him, her, and the blasted cat. Every second squandered gives SHIELD a sitting duck for a target. He could rather give them a soaring eagle, an ever-moving objective. There is no fun in playing chase, after all, if no one is running. He'll let the Avengers stretch their legs.
Now that he is restored Loki can leave bearing himself. He can use his own power to find safety, then vengeance. Let all of Asgard come. He'll not give up this potential throne- - - yet.
Loki leans against the white door of his reader's room, watching her chest rise and fall. The cat slinks past him, yellow eyes aggressive and protective toward his mistress. He settles in the crook of her bent arms, staring uneasily at the god who watches his lady.
Yes, he must go. And soon. If not for her, than himself.
"I will come back to you."
-XXX-
I wake slowly, a prickling sensation irritating my arm. Blindly, I swing, fingers curling into Win's fur. The cat's back is arched, his muscles rigid. I murmur, asking what troubles him and expecting no response. Which is why what I hear next startles me.
"Probably an intruder," someone suggests from the darkness.
I struggle to sit up, blinking rapidly, trying to clear my vision enough to discern the intruder in question. "Luke?"
He sits on the edge of my bed, looking perfectly content and not at all creepy. A contrast to the irate feline sitting protective on my chest. It makes for an odd scene. To my left, I see the red digital numbers spelling out the time. 3:25
"I apologize, my dear," he says from the shadows in that oh-so-silky voice. "To wake you so. But I need to speak with you."
The dialect, I notice, has deepened. He sounds far less English than before.
All attempts to sit up are prevented by Winchester. Though I swat at him lightly, the cat refuses adamantly to alter his position. Unmoving, he stares at Luke with slits for eyes. On Luke's part, he ignores Win.
"What about?" I ask from my pillow. I shift, trying to cover myself- - -I am wearing a nightgown, after all. Win doesn't budge.
Luke's voice is low, delicate. "About you. And us."
With that, I sit up quickly, pulling an annoyed feline from my chest to drop him to the floor. Win simply hops back on the bed, curling in my lap, glaring. Well, as much as a cat can glare. I scratch him under the chin, hoping he'll find it in his heart to forgive me soon, else I won't have a bedmate for at least a week.
"Oh?" I ask, breathless.
He smiles faintly. "Tati, I thank you for being so good to me. You have saved my sorry life. And I've not yet repaid you. But I shall. Someday. I swear it."
"Is this all?" I wait, expecting him to go on. I am not disappointed.
"Which is why I must leave you."
I gape. "What?"
My tone must annoy him. Much like Win, he glares. "Leaving."
"Luke, that's ridiculous," I cry. "I mean, where the hell are you going to go? And what about-"
"My name isn't Luke, Tatiana," he says quietly, nearly spitting out his own name. A dark look comes over him then.
Scoffing, I shake my head. I cannot find anger within myself- - - -panic, at the thought of him going, rules every inch of me. "What is it, then? Frank? William? I can understand using a false name in your position. But that doesn't matter, in the grand scheme…. Are you only now trusting me? I thought we were better than this, Luke, or whatever the hell your name is."
"Loki."
It comes out a whisper, fierce and proud, daring me to argue in shock.
I reel back. Numbly, I stroke Win, who has tensed again.
"No," I whisper back. I've no clue why we're whispering in my house, but I push the question aside. "That's…silliness. I mean, he's….Stark said he is in Asgard."
The word sounds funny on my lips. I've no clue if Luke is referring to himself as the villain, but I automatically defend myself for the villain. Because, I mean, what kind of guy actually has the name "Loki?" The only person I'd ever heard with the name is the fellow Stark mentioned…the brother-god to Thor. The man who rained terror on New York.
God of Mischief. God of Asgard. A prince, if what Tony said was true.
Luke looks mildly surprised. "Then he lied. I fell. And apparently, I came here. To you."
"I fell."
My mind flashes to the jumper, the one they claimed was fallen rubble, or an alien at Stark Tower. That could've been him. It must've been him, if what this man claims is anywhere near truth. But how could that be? How could I have housed a god under my roof for almost a month without knowing? How was it I read to, held the hand of, and occasionally lusted after a god? An ancient Norse god?
Who is actually kind of an alien, now that I think about it.
At a loss, I stare into my lap.
"Do you not believe me?"
"How can I? It's completely crazy…"
One brow raised, as if to challenge me, he raises his hands, wrists exposed. The dark blue shirt and black trousers- - - when did he change?- - - -melts away, replaced by brown trousers covered by some leather-skirt thing, tight brown boots, a knee-length summer-coloured cloak (or maybe it is a cape, I'm not well-versed in Asgardian apparel), a silver-gold breast plate, and dark brown, high-collared shirt. I utter a low cry, pulling the duvet up to my chest. It's all too similar to the clothes I'd found him in. The medieval faire stuff.
"I fell."
"How did you do that?" I demand.
Humor lines his mouth. "Magic."
I stare. "Magic…gods…fell to you…mischief…." My mind is full. Quiet, pensive, I consider with a faint line of thought what I'd seen.
"Luke."
He shifts at the sound. "Tatiana, I have no means to hurt you."
"You're leaving," I accuse softly. "Why? Why did you even stay?"
Luke-Loki looks uncomfortable. "I was weak. Your presence was enough to give me a living strength. And I was-am-grateful to you for what you have done. But staying would be unwise, my dear." His lips quirk suddenly. "You shall be better off, anyhow. Winchester will be more at ease. Besides, I tire of you."
This last bit is a lash against me. I flinch openly.
"I don't understand."
"You don't need to," he snaps. "You mortals, always challenging. Accept what is occurring. It will only be easier on you. I am in your debt, Tatiana Deror, but I lose patience."
"But-"
A fist makes contact with the wood of the headboard, inches from my skull. I squeak as a second fist does the same to the opposite side. I find myself boxed in. The god has placed himself practically on top of me, knees on either side of my hips. His lips are at my ear, warm puffs of breath tickling my skin. I feel his nose in my hair, inhaling slowly.
Energy crackles in the air around us. Loki lets out a long breath.
"I do this for your sake," he grounds out. "Besides, you little fool, I was never yours for the keeping. You delude yourself thinking otherwise. Did you believe I was your pet?" The god- - - for I know now he is a god- - - sneers. "The poor coma-man, trapped in his own mind, alone with no one to care after him? No better than your cat?"
Where is Winchester? A sudden yowling from the hall catches my ear. Loki's doing, without a doubt. The door, I note, is closed. If Winnie were here, I have no doubt he'd be clawing the hell out of Loki.
"Why pretend?" I squirm beneath him. Internally, I am quaking like Jell-o on a rollercoaster.
"You think I could waltz in, god in all his glory?" He laughs, bitter. "Right, Tatiana. Your mortal mind would've melted within an hour."
Hurt might've flooded me before, but I'm currently in panic mode.
"Please." My voice is soft. "Please don't-don't-"
Don't what? Hurt me? Leave? I simply resort to shivering. I feel his nose in my hair, jaw against my cheek shifting ("Nuzzling?") before his pulls back to examine me. The god's face fades to an impassive mask. For what feels like an age, Loki gazes upon me without a word. Then, just as silent, he rises, and makes for the door.
I cannot let him go. Compelled, I call out.
"Loki," I croak.
At the sound of his true name, the god halts. His features are frozen.
"I…." My attempt is weak, feeble. "I'm so, so sorry. Whatever happened to you, up there. Whatever made you think you had to…I am sorry."
It isn't enough to make him stay. And, right now, I don't necessarily want him to. But it leaves a mark, nonetheless. He approaches the bed. One hand appears from the folds of his outfit. It skirts my skin, brushing my cheek. Weariness rises within me, my head instantaneously feeling heavy.
He says nothing, merely observes as I struggle to remain conscious.
"I will come back to you," a slight voice breathes in my head just before darkness descends. "For you."
-XXX-
He regrets scaring her. But it is necessary. After she closes her eyes, Loki slips his parting gift on her left middle finger, then prepares to leave. Before vanishing, however, he opens the bedroom door to the little hellcat that paces outside in the hall, anxious to aid his mistress.
Tatiana had apologized. For what? She had done nothing. It unsettles him, but Loki allows it to wander from his musings.
-XXX-
I wake with a splitting headache. No hangover can be compared to this. The morning light burns my skull, so I throw the duvet over my head. However, in the motion, my hand accidently hits my face. My cheekbone cracks with the contact. I yelp, pulling my head back up to glare at the offending hand.
On it, sitting on the middle finger, is a massive silver ring. The missing ring.
I gape. The green dragon-snake's eye winks at me from its setting, carelessly.
Loki had done this. Not some Kupka fan- - - which had been the conclusion Morrison reached. The painting is worth more than the jewelry. But we'd had it entirely wrong. This hadn't been a thief who'd gone in with the intentions of stealing the Kupka piece, then had seen the Norse pieces and made for them as well. This was a calculating person who had gone in with intention toward the Norse things, and had taken the painting to throw us off. Mask their real intent.
But why would he do that? He's a god. He probably goes around doing whatever the hell he wants all the time. Why would the consequences matter to him?
And, more importantly, why had he left me with the ring? It's incriminating. Besides, what use might I have for it?
Frustrated beyond belief, I rise. Washing my face and brushing my teeth helps somewhat. I eat a breakfast of coffee and sugar then return to bed. Win has curled up on the pillow, leaving enough space for my head. I lay down, head still hurting, willing sleep to come.
Stupid, over-confident, jerk gods.
-XXX-
By complete accident, about a week later, I forget to remove the ring before going to work. I don't realize this until too late, when I raise my hand to my face to scratch my hairline, right in front of Charlene. I freeze when she frowns suddenly.
"Damnit." Terror ices my insides. What excuses could I give?
She takes my hand without permission, raising it level to her eyes. "Nice polish. Is this shellac?"
I am mistaken- - - she's looking at my nails, not the ring. I withdrawal my hand. "Uh, no, it's Essie."
"Nice. What colour?"
"Trombone," I stutter. I twist the ring, testing the waters. I even take the heavy thing off, placing it on the desk between us. She doesn't look down, doesn't show any sign she's noticed.
"Spelled to not be see," a small voice suggests. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble so that I might wear this ring all the time, escaping notice that might get me into trouble.
After this, I never take it off.
-XXX-
Holcomb is the one who calls me. Her voice is flat with shock.
Joseph Walker was found in a roadside pond five miles north of the city, in his car. His neck was snapped on impact.
I sink against my kitchen counter onto the floor, phone in hand. My mouth cannot seem to close, gaping for breath and with shock of feeling, pain seeping into my cold core. Soon I feel the prick of tears in my eyes. Joseph. Dead. Sweet, funny, understanding Joseph, who I'd thoughtless rejected, under the impression I would be soon with the god who wrecked my life. Unable to breath, I twist my ring.
"And he- - - it was him?"
There is no denying it. Dr. Walker is dead. I am invited to the hospital memorial next Thursday. Numbly, I accept.
I am forced to wonder if it really was a car accident that did in the young man. A savage Norse god might've easily done away with my friend. Holcomb did say he had been on his way to see me. What if he had met with Loki before he'd realized I wasn't home. But, why would the god killed him? What had Joseph done?
We'll never know. I am forced to acknowledge this fact. Joseph's killer, if there is one, will never face justice.
For the next week, I mourn.
-XXX-
Luke, now Loki, has left me for unreachable places. And Joseph is even further away. Charlene forces me off for five days, and entire work week, once Marcy tells her my most recent bout of news. She doesn't even consult me, just tells me I have the week off. Ellen and Marcy can cover for me. "Go."
And I do. I go home, I drag myself into bed, and there I sleep for a good long time. When I wake, I feed Win, pet him for a bit, walk down the drive to fish my mail from the box, eat a bowl of cold cereal, and then remember how my life has gone to shit. I pass the doorway opposite mine in the hall, and every time it is a cold knife in my gut, causes me to collapse on the carpet of my room and cry or scream or howl like a three-year-old. The following four days basically repeat this.
Poor Win is utterly confused. I cannot blame him.
I don't know if this time alone to think is worse. Nothing but silence fills my house, and then thoughts jam my head. I am sealed into a circle of thought. Numb, I am dislocated from living.
When I emerge from this, I have come to terms with a few realizations.
There was no true betrayal without truth in the first place. I was never in love with Joseph. Luke never kissed me, never touched me beyond that dreadful morning. I might've broken Dr. Walker's heart. And Luke may have bruised mine.
Two men have utterly ruined me.
I thought once upon a time I was a strong person. A strong woman.
How does one move on? I muse, posing this question to my bedroom ceiling. I've had break-ups and fights, but the solution is beyond me. How do you carry on?
"Well, first you must try, I suppose," I say aloud.
"I will come back to you. For you."
For five days I mourn the passing of a friend and the loss of someone I still don't know how to feel about. When the sixth day comes, I rise with the sallow sun and decide it's time to live again. Properly.
-XXX-
I am sorry, m'dears. I know there were some Joseph fans out there. But I think reviewing might help to get your pain out...eh?
One other note: Thor said, at the end of his movie, "I will come back for you." As BlueBirdBlues pointed out in her two-part Loki-OC bit (can't remember the name, but I highly recommend it), it is a very-Thor thing to say. And, knowing Loki, probably a Loki thing, too, which is why I have him saying both "to" and "for." Thoughts?
Thank you very much!
~Dania