Notes: In which we finally begin to deal with some elements of Being Human canon, the housemates attempt to become dog rescuers, and there are feels of various kinds. In Thor, Loki struck me as a vibrating bundle of repressed emotions, which this series assumes is most of the reason he went off the rails so spectacularly. At the time he was primarily concerned with his own feelings, mostly because he didn't think anyone else gave a damn about them. At this point Loki is capable of thinking about other people's feelings. We'll see how that goes for him.

Regarding Being Human canon: it's not just Loki who has been changed in the course of this series, and I am aware that I've really neglected elements of, say, Mitchell's personality and made everything much fluffier than canon. It's just… I'm fluffy.

Also, if you're not familiar with the TV show, don't worry, all the canon stuff I use will be pretty much spelled out in the story.

Warnings: For smoking- I keep forgetting that Mitchell smokes.

Also, significant sections of this story are going to be a bit of a downer. Like this one. Sorry about that.

Chapter Three

Annie was very quiet as the housemates ate their evening meal, and her mind seemed far away. Loki tried not to let his own anxiety show, but even for a talented liar it proved no easy task.

Owen was coming back to the house.

George, Mitchell, and Loki had never met Owen, but they all knew who he was: he and Annie had been engaged to be married, and the pink house was intended as their home. They had just moved in, were still getting settled, when one night Annie, alone in the house, had started down the stairs in the dark, and had fallen.

This was as much as she could recall about her death, which had been followed by a period of such grief and confusion that she was later unable to remember very much at all. She remembered her family, and Owen's, gathering in the house after what must have been her funeral. She remembered her rising panic when she realized no one could see or hear her. And she remembered watching Owen leave the pink house in the company of his family. He had never returned.

This much all the housemates knew: when Mitchell and George moved in, Annie had been there. They befriended her, and she had told them the outline of her story. But they had jobs, had other places to be, had worries of their own. They did not really have the time or the energy to spare, to listen to all Annie wanted to tell about her life.

And Annie had no one else: aside from the fact no mortal could see her, in those early days she rarely left the house, and never ventured past the garden. Loki could not recall exactly when her boundaries had changed, but he did remember that, when he arrived, her world had been tightly circumscribed.

Tightly circumscribed, and often very lonely. And perhaps this was why, when the stranger in the peculiar clothes fell from the sky into her dustbins, Annie had taken one look at his lost expression and brought him into her house. Loki's memories of his first days in the house were also slightly blurred, although not in the same way as his memories of the actions he had committed during his madness. It was more like a hazy golden warmth, a comforting voice wrapping itself around him as he began to feel safe.

He had not been terribly communicative, those first days. After confessing to the worst of his crimes there was little more of interest to tell about himself. Annie, however, had filled his silence with her words, rather in the manner of someone attempting to tame a frightened animal: a soothing flow of chatter intended to calm and reassure. Since, at first, he only listened, she had simply spoken of the things that were in her mind, and he had clutched at the threads of what she said to him.

The sound of Annie's voice had been a consolation to Loki even before he really began to make an effort to understand what she said. The utterance seemed to benefit her as well. It had been too long since Annie had anyone to talk to, to tell her story to. It was only the ordinary life of an ordinary mortal, but Loki would have done far more to show his gratitude to her. His attention being all he had to offer, he had given her all of it, listening and sometimes, after the first days, asking her questions.

And so he learned of Annie and Owen, heard of their plans for improvements to their home, of their hopes for a family, of the tiny brilliant dreams of their brief mortal lives. It had been a long time since anyone told Loki a story, at least a story that did not revolve around the greatness of the one he had called brother, and in his weakness he thought it enthralling.

As he listened he nearly forgot the storyteller was dead, and the dreams with her. At the time his feelings toward Annie were of uncomplicated gratitude, the sort of affection a child feels for a caregiver- there was not enough of Loki yet recovered for him to feel anything else- and he had found himself wishing the story would have a happy ending for the young couple, even though he knew…

Eventually Annie came to the end of her story, it was all told, and it seemed the telling brought comfort to her. Loki gained strength, his mind became clearer, and he began to ask her about the world outside the house, and how they lived, and all the things he needed to learn in order to live in this place without causing trouble to himself or to his new… his new friends. And so the story of Annie, and Owen whom she loved, was no longer spoken of except in passing. And as more time went by it seemed she had accepted that the story was over, and all the old dreams left behind, and she was happy with the new story she had begun.

Until now.

Now Owen was returning, was coming back to the house, to his old life and Annie's- today was Tuesday, and he would be here in two days' time. Loki knew without needing to be told that Annie was remembering all those dreams that were now dead. Remembering, and mourning them, all the hopes and wishes that were taken away from her, and from the one she loved, when her mortal life ended. They had been hers, and they had been taken, and it was only right that she grieve for them, as Owen must be grieving, too.

And Loki had no idea what he should do, how he should behave while she did so. The dreams were hers, they belonged to her and to Owen, he had no part in them. He wished he knew how to offer her comfort, but he was afraid to say or do the wrong thing, and so hurt her. He did not want do anything to make her believe he thought these things unimportant, or to distract her into thinking about his feelings instead of her own. It was a gift of Annie's, to consider the feelings of others, but it was the sort of gift that could easily turn on its possessor, cause her to think the feelings of others were the only ones that mattered. Loki was selfish, but he was not so selfish as all that.

And he wished he could take the pain of her mourning away from her, but he knew it could not be done, that to try would be to pretend her pain did not matter, or her losses. The only way to honour what she was feeling was to allow her to feel it.

So Annie was quiet, sitting in the lounge curled in the armchair, looking at nothing. And Loki was quiet as he placed the heat-proof dish containing their meal into the oven to warm. It was Sunday leftovers, chicken and rice with a sauce made from a tin of soup, a messy but tasty dish Loki and Annie had made, from instructions in a book Annie kept in the bookcase by the back door.

When the food was hot Mitchell came into the kitchen, ostensibly to help. This took the form of transferring prepared salad from a sealed bag to plates, while Loki served out three portions of the chicken dish.

And then, standing closer to Loki than was strictly necessary, Mitchell said quietly,

"Don't panic."

Loki swallowed hard, nodded, and then helped Mitchell carry the plates to the lounge.

Owing to their differing work schedules the housemates did not, as a rule, eat their meals together. When they did, Mitchell called it a "family meal," as if they were like the families in programs on the television. It did not matter that they ate out of plates held on their laps in the lounge, rather than around a table together. The others sometimes made wistful mention of how things were when they were children, when eating together so was the custom. For his part, Loki could hardly recall ever eating a meal in the presence of his entire family that had not also involved the presence of the entire court of Asgard, but he liked the idea and enjoyed such meals very much.

He did not particularly enjoy this one: though he worked hard to present a normal appearance, Loki had trouble swallowing anything. George and Mitchell were obviously anxious, and though Annie's form remained in the lounge, her mind was clearly very far away.

It was more than a relief when they finally stacked their plates in the sink to be dealt with later, and turned their attention back to the ghostly dog. Annie's mind came back from wherever- whenever- it had gone, and her expression was bright and alert as she looked at the others.

"Loki, do you think you can use magic to clean up the rust?" she asked.

"I might, but it would probably be better to do it by hand," Loki admitted. "Just in case my sorcery interferes with the enchantments on the dog."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Mitchell sighed.

"There's a spade in the basement, isn't there?" George asked.

"Yes," Annie replied. "In the back corner, behind the box with Loki's clothes from Asgard."

Loki smiled at Annie- at least in part in appreciation of the effort she was making to rejoin them- and said,

"It might also be wise to bring with us something to make... a sort of bridge, in case simply digging up the contaminated soil is not enough. Even a piece of carpet might do."

"There's a drop cloth or something down there too, I think," Mitchell said.

"Yes," Annie agreed, and suddenly the distant look was back in her eyes. "Owen and I- we were going to paint- "

Loki bit his lips and abruptly stood. "I will go look for it, shall I?"

"I'll come with you," Annie said, threaded her hand through his arm, and followed him down the basement stairs. She did not speak, but her touch was a relief.

The spade and cloth- a heavy canvas affair- were exactly where Annie said they would be, and it was the work of only a few moments to carry them back upstairs and outside. Once these items were stowed in the boot of the car, Mitchell got behind the wheel with George beside him, and Loki and Annie took their places in the back seat.

Mitchell put the key in the ignition, and then turned to look at Loki with a playful little smile.

"You know… considering what we've got in the boot… if this was a film about gangsters, the guy in the back seat would be feeling pretty nervous right about now."

"Thank you, Mitchell, that is a lovely thought," Loki replied with asperity. Annie giggled and smacked Mitchell playfully on the back of the head. Loki reached over the seat to pat his friend in mock consolation, but he hoped Mitchell could also feel his gratitude.

Really, though, as they parked the car and trudged into the woods, Loki (carrying the spade) found himself thinking about the scenario to which Mitchell had referred. It was a decidedly uncomfortable thought even in this company, and Loki could only be grateful that in his insecure- and frankly rather neurotic- youth, he had never been exposed to such films. The falling twilight did nothing to lighten the mood.

Taken all around, it was a relief to find themselves back at the ruin, especially when Loki, walking in front, stepped through the open gateway and Scamp came bounding out of the church to greet him.

It was unclear whether she actually remembered him after only one encounter, or if she was simply thrilled at the prospect of any company at all, but she frolicked around his legs, jumping up and wagging her tail and barking in excitement. When Annie and George also entered the churchyard her happiness was uncontrollable, finally taking the form of falling over on her back with her belly exposed as if to be patted. Loki was familiar with this gambit in cats, but it transpired that dogs did not use the gesture as a trap for the unwary. He, George, and Annie knelt in a circle around Scamp and petted her until she was practically comatose with joy, and it was only then that Loki realized there was a pair of hands missing: Mitchell had not joined them.

"Are you all right?" George asked, noticing the same thing at the same time.

"What is wrong?" Loki added.

Mitchell, standing just outside the gate, shrugged ruefully. "Apparently, the churchyard is still hallowed ground. I assumed it must have been deconsecrated when the church was abandoned, but it seems not." He gestured toward the gravestones gathered near the wall of the ruin. "It must be because of the graveyard."

"So you cannot enter?" Loki asked.

"No," Mitchell replied. "Might lead to all sorts of unpleasantness, actually. Boils, flesh sloughing off, bursting into flame- best not to try it."

"Are you in pain right now?" Loki demanded.

"Not at the moment, no," Mitchell replied. He took a tiny step forward. "When I do this, I can feel something like a forcefield pushing me backward, the way I would if I tried to enter a place I hadn't been invited. If I was to try to go any further, things would go downhill in a hurry."

"So maybe you should take a nice giant step backward, then," George suggested, on a rather high note. "You can keep watch for anyone out for a stroll who might show up and see what we're up to. Just whistle and Loki'll glamour us, right, Loki?"

"Right," Loki agreed.

"Good idea," Mitchell said, edging backwards.

As Mitchell walked a short distance down the trail, George stood and picked up the spade.

"We'll take turns, shall we?" he suggested.

"Considering we have but one spade, that seems the best plan," Loki agreed. "Unless I was to transform myself into a badger."

"We can avert our eyes when you want to change back," Annie told him cheerfully. One of the drawbacks of shapeshifting was that, while Loki could change his own form quite readily, he was unable to make his clothing shift with him. He therefore took pains to plan ahead, so as to effect his transformations back into his customary form in private.

"I appreciate the offer, but perhaps I will simply wait my turn," he replied with a smile, and a growing feeling of relief that Annie was once again behaving like Annie.

Annie was also willing to take her turn with the spade, but in case some dog walker happened to evade Mitchell, or come from the other direction, they decided not to risk it. Explaining why they were digging up the old church gate would be difficult enough. Inventing an excuse for a spade digging apparently of its own volition was more than Loki wanted to contemplate, and he preferred not to use memory charms on the general public if there was any way to avoid it.

She was not left without a part to play, however: it turned out that a ghostly lap was the perfect place for a ghostly dog to curl up, and that was exactly what Scamp did. Annie, who did not feel the cold, sat on the ground scratching the blissful little dog behind her ears, while George and Loki used the spade in turns.

Even with both of them more or less recovered from the previous night's exertions, the task was not an easy one. Loki risked enough magic to assess the concentration of rust in the plant life and soil where the gate had rested, and found it to be quite high, reaching deep into the ground. The grasses, weeds, and brush all had sturdy roots that resisted the sharp edge of the spade, and the progress of their digging was slow. Loki was grateful not to have to do the whole job himself.

The second time Loki gave the spade to George and sat down beside Annie, she cast him a sideways glance and murmured,

"I'm sorry about earlier."

Heart pounding in his ears, Loki swallowed hard and instinctively lied. "What about earlier?" Annie cast a glance of disappointment at him. The evening had already turned uncomfortably cool, but the look sent such a chill through Loki that he immediately backtracked: "You were quiet, it is true, but… there is no need for you to apologize. You did nothing to harm me."

Annie sighed. "Well, I might as well have disappeared, for all the attention I paid to you or anyone else. I just… " She paused, looking down at the dog in her lap. After a moment she went on quietly, "I don't think about Owen very much anymore. There's no point to it. I'm dead, and he's alive, and… There's no point to it. But I do still love him, and I don't know how I'll feel when I know he's in the house. I just… I keep thinking about how I wanted my life to turn out." She gave a sudden, watery little giggle. "Longer. That's how I wanted it to turn out. And… I see prams go by and I think about… And I don't know how I'll feel when I see Owen again, and know he can't see me, and I have to… face it. D'you understand?"

"I believe I do," Loki said. He started to reach out to touch her, thought better of it and patted the dog's head instead. Annie did not seem to notice.

"You are understanding," she murmured. In a moment, Loki thought, in utter wretchedness, she will declare that I am her best friend and she can tell me anything. Loki had seen enough romantic films by now to be quite aware that if that happened, the situation was utterly beyond hope.

Before Annie could say anything of the sort, however, George called out.

"I think we're done. Can you come see whether you sense anything?"

"Certainly," Loki called back, smiled awkwardly at Annie, and scrambled to his feet. Annie tipped Scamp gently off her lap and both of them followed. George waved to Mitchell, who waved back and came jogging over to see what would happen.

The digging had left a wide earthen scar in the gateway, soil and vegetation heaped up on both sides. It looked rather like they had been digging a grave, Loki thought with a shiver. But when he cast his powers out, he could not feel anything that resonated like rust in the dug-out space.

"I believe that is as much as we can do," he said, allowing a little bubble of hope to rise in his chest.

"Great," George said. "Mitchell, toss us the drop cloth, will you? We might as well do this right."

When the stretch of canvas was laid out, George took a deep breath and walked through the open gateway. Scamp watched him, ears flattened uncertainly and tail barely stirring. Then Loki and Annie followed George. Scamp lowered her head, as though apprehensive, and started forward.

And backed up a few paces before the gate, whining anxiously.

"Come on, girl," George called to her. "Come on, try it."

Scamp glanced at him and wagged her tail again, as though to indicate she was trying, truly. But, as with Mitchell, there seemed to be an invisible force preventing her from passing through the gate.

"Damn it," George murmured, looking stricken.

Loki, as miserable as he felt at the failure, was almost grateful to have an excuse to look miserable.

~oOo~

Annie's silence was not too noticeable on the ride home, since everyone else was just as quiet. Mitchell uttered a few hopeful words, which were generally ignored, and then they all remained alone with their thoughts until they arrived at the house.

Scamp had not even barked after them this time: she just stood inside the gate watching them with pleading eyes as they walked away and left her. That had almost been worse.

By the time they got home, Loki was quite sure that if he stayed in the house, he was going to blunder into saying something that would seriously distress Annie. He had no idea what that would be: he certainly had no intention of doing so. But he reliably lost control of his gift of words when it was a matter of any personal import, and the risk was too much to take. He changed into his running clothes and went out without a word to anyone.

Normally, Loki's runs were a way of traversing different parts of his city, allowing him to monitor the ebb and flow of magical activity so that he could tell whether anything unusual or threatening seemed to be lurking. On this night, Saruman and Gandalf could have engaged in a full-fledged sorcerer's duel without drawing Loki's notice. He would have run right past a dragon curled on someone's doorstep. As he ran, all his attention was drawn inwards, imagining what Annie was feeling, wondering what he could do to help, and sickeningly aware the whole time that the answer was: Nothing. He had no part in this. He was outside it. There was nothing he could do except wait and see what happened, and to offer what comfort she would let him.

He actually got lost in a neighbourhood that should have been familiar, had to stop, bent over with his hands on his knees, to catch his breath and regain his bearings. And then he made his long and weary way back through the streets, up the hill, to the little pink house that was meant to be someone else's home.

As he came within sight of the front door, there was a tiny flare as though a coal had ignited. Drawing closer, Loki realized it was the ember of Mitchell's cigarette, and Mitchell was sitting on the front steps, waiting for him.

"Feeling any better?" Mitchell asked, without preamble, as he hitched over to make room.

"No," Loki replied, and sat down beside him. Mitchell exhaled a trail of smoke, and Loki remarked, "I am told that is a very unhealthy habit that will take years off your life."

Mitchell smiled at him through the smoke, and then asked bluntly, "You're not jealous, are you? Of Owen?"

"No," Loki replied, instantly and with a surprising degree of truth.

Mitchell raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"No," Loki insisted. "It would make as much sense for me to be jealous of Colin Firth." He sighed. "Although who could be jealous of Colin Firth, who is indeed perfect."

Mitchell at least humoured him far enough to ask, "Tell me, Loki, exactly how many times has Annie forced you to watch Pride and Prejudice with her?"

"Only the first three," Loki replied. "After that I was quite willing." Mitchell grinned, but continued to look at Loki in a penetrating fashion. Loki gave in. "I am not jealous of Owen," he insisted. "Jealousy and I are old companions- if I felt jealousy, I would know about it. Now, if Annie were alive, or he were dead, that would be different. As things stand… no."

Mitchell nodded, dragging thoughtfully on his cigarette. "Okay, so you're not jealous. What is it?"

"I feel the need to point out, I am not the one currently experiencing a problem," Loki reminded his friend, leaning forward to wrap his arms around his knees.

"I know that," Mitchell replied. "But… it might be easier for Annie, while she works it out, if the rest of us have our heads on straight, is all. So: what is it?"

Loki dragged his hands back through his hair, closed his eyes for a moment, and then mumbled,

"It is only… I wish there was something I could do to help." Mitchell was looking at him, and there was no longer any rebuke in his expression. Loki continued, "She loves him still, and she should have… it is simply not fair that she not…" He sounded like a child: many things were not fair. Loki himself had been the author of quite a number of them. He pressed his fingertips against his temples and tried to produce words that made sense: "She should still be living in this house, with him. Happy, and alive, and planning their future. Not… not a spectre, with only…" There was no way to finish that sentence without insulting Mitchell and George.

Mitchell was not insulted, and he was not thinking about himself and George. "You know she loves you."

"I know. But I am… what she can have. Not what she wanted."

"What do you want?"

Loki cast a sideways glance at his friend. "That is hardly relevant."

"No, but I'm asking. What do you want, right now?"

"I want… " Loki hugged his knees again. "I want… to want what would make her happy. If I could change things, make it so she did not die, if I had the power to give her the things she dreamed of… I want to want, without reservation, to do that for her. But - "

"You're selfish," Mitchell said. Loki nodded wordlessly. Mitchell sighed. "Welcome to the club. But you don't actually have the power to do those things, do you?"

"No. But I still should… I should not be glad she is here, with me, when she should be- "

Mitchell dropped the burning end of his cigarette and carefully ground it out with his toe. "Did I ever tell you about the patient who had the lung transplant?" Loki shook his head. "A couple of years ago, longer maybe, before you came here, I was taking a patient, in a wheelchair, back to his room after some kind of procedure. He was recovering from a double lung transplant." Mitchell shook his head. "I think about him sometimes when I'm lighting up a smoke. Anyway, he was doing very well, making a strong recovery, every cause for optimism. But he was… he felt guilty, because he was so grateful to get those lungs, to get another chance."

"Why did he feel guilty?" Loki asked.

"Because he felt like, when he and his family were praying for him to be able to have the transplant, he thought that meant they were praying for someone else to die. And it bothered him."

"As it would," Loki agreed. Now that Mitchell spelled it out for him, Loki could see why the man would feel so.

"But the thing is, he wasn't. He just didn't want to die. He didn't kill anyone and take his lungs. He didn't hurt anybody. He just… got to live."

"I fear I do not quite see the point of this story," Loki admitted.

"You seem to be thinking, just because you're glad she's here with us- with you- that you've somehow taken something from Annie. And you haven't. You had nothing to do with what she lost. You gave something back to her- all right, you think it's less than what she would have had, or what she gave you, but still. You didn't take Owen away from her, or the kids she wanted, or anything else. And there's no way you could give them back to her even if you wanted to, so there isn't any sense beating yourself up over whether you want to or not. That's just an awful hypothetical question that doesn't do anything but hurt you, and make it harder for you to help Annie. Stop it. Really."

Loki studied the ground between his feet. Mitchell's words made sense, but they were also what Loki wanted to hear, and that made him wary to accept them. After a moment he said,

"I used to imagine what it would be like, to love someone and be loved back. I am afraid I did not quite get around to imagining the parts that were hard and complicated."

"I don't think anybody does," Mitchell admitted. "And the complications never turn out to be the ones you'd expect, anyway."

"This situation seems unique, however."

"Yes, but you'd be surprised how many unique situations have a lot in common. For instance, George broke up with his fiancée after he realized he was a werewolf."

Loki looked at Mitchell in surprise. "I did not know George had ever been- "

Mitchell shrugged. "He doesn't talk about it. It's one of the things his… condition… has taken from him. And I have to say, I'll be a little surprised if he's willing to take a chance with Nina, what with the danger of discovery and the danger to her. Half that 'Nina doesn't even really like me' talk is George's way of keeping a distance between them, and it's as much to protect her as him." Mitchell rubbed his forehead. "It would be safer to keep ourselves isolated, but that's a hard way to live."

"What about you?" Loki heard himself ask. Mitchell looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and Loki floundered on, "Do you never wish- "

"All the time," Mitchell admitted. "But my problem is a little different from George's. Or yours. You know what they call my addiction? Bloodlust. And the problem is, I keep letting it get mixed up with the other kind of lust. I've told you before, I haven't been on the wagon all that long, relatively speaking, and I haven't stayed clean the whole time, either. So- the last woman I went out with… I knew her from work. Lauren. She was a friend, sort of. And, well, we ended up at her place. And- " Mitchell broke off.

"And what?" Loki finally prompted.

"And I attacked her. Drank her blood. And then I tried to… to take it back, and turned her into a vampire. And then I panicked and left her to Herrick and his crew to look after. She's still out there somewhere, and every time I hear about a disappearance anywhere in the country, I wonder if a vampire is behind it, and I wonder if it's her." Mitchell scruffed a hand back through his hair. "It's better if I don't… if I stay uninvolved, shall we say. And busy- one of the best things about us getting mixed up with the Avengers is, it keeps me occupied. Nothing like a threat to the continued existence of the Earth to take your mind off wanting to bite people." Mitchell fell silent, and Loki knew he should say something, but could not think what. He knew what Mitchell was, and what he had been, but he did not usually think about it.

After a moment, Mitchell started to rise. Loki caught him by the wrist and pulled him back down. He could not think of anything to say, but he held onto Mitchell's hand.

After a moment, Mitchell said, "Most of the time you're not even the worst monster in this house, let alone the world. And however she decides she feels about Owen, Annie is going to need you to be there for her. More important, she's going to want you to be there. All right?"

"All right," Loki agreed. He released Mitchell's hand, and the two went into the house together.