Notes: In which Loki realizes that, while you can't go back, you can still go forward. And there are various conversations.
Warnings: None.
Chapter Five
Given that his intent was to show courtesy to Heimdall, Loki decided that materializing in the Guardian's very Observatory would leave much to be desired. He therefore stepped out of the shadows on the bridge outside it.
It was difficult to say who was more startled, Loki or the two palace guards, when they saw one another. One of the soldiers went for his sword while the other hefted his spear. At the same moment, Loki took a half-step backward and raised his hands in the gesture recognized on much of Midgard as indicating he was unarmed, and therefore posed no threat, and was thus an inappropriate target for lethal force.
It crossed Loki's mind that the gesture might not be quite so efficacious in Asgard, where there were people with considerable reason to know that a Loki unarmed was in no way the same thing as a Loki who posed no threat.
But. The Allfather had declared Loki officially harmless to Asgard. Even so, it was still probably fortunate that the two guards were common soldiers, one of the very few categories of Aesir with specific reason not to want to kill Loki on sight. (To be clear: Loki did not actually believe the general run of Aesir really did want to kill him on sight, just that they had no particular reason not to want to.) The word of some old soldiers who had known him as a boy, a couple of boisterous nights in the local tavern, and the small matter of putting himself between a regiment and a death-dealing flying reptile, seemed to have cemented friendly relations between himself and this particular group.
Or perhaps a Loki wearing jeans, running shoes and, under his jacket, a red t-shirt with the puzzling slogan McLaren Racing Group scrawled across the chest, really did appear harmless. Whatever the reason, both soldiers blinked at him in recognition, and then relaxed.
"Sir," the one with the spear greeted him, reversing his weapon and holding it upright, while his fellow released his hold on the sword.
"Hrald Bjornson," Loki hailed him in return, fortunately plucking the name out of a memory of old Balder Arnison bawling it across a table at the tavern. The soldier looked rather flattered to be remembered. Loki smiled at the two men and explained, "I would like to have a word with Heimdall."
"You may leave us," said the great voice from within the Observatory, and Heimdall stepped out of the darkness. Loki felt his chin lift, without any conscious decision to make the movement, and his shoulders go tense and square. He could hardly remember ever facing Heimdall without a similar involuntary physical reaction. It occurred to him, and not for the first time, that it really made very little sense for him to have spent so much of his life baiting one he feared so much.
But it was not fear he felt now, as he watched the two soldiers withdraw a little way down the bridge toward Asgard. Guardians for the Guardian. Loki had returned to Asgard more than once during his banishment, but always in conditions of stress and anxiety, not always entirely in his right mind, and so he had no idea how long these soldiers had been safeguarding Heimdall. He only knew it had happened at some time after… everything he had done.
Inclining his head toward the two men, he addressed Heimdall. "That is because of me, is it not?" Heimdall made a slight gesture Loki interpreted as declining to discuss the matter. It would be wise to heed it, but while Loki had sometimes been credited with intelligence, he did not feel anyone would name wisdom as one of his qualities.
And besides, he was uncomfortably aware of an oversight on his own part, one he should have remedied long since. This was not the word he had come here to have, but-
"I have not apologized for my assault on you," he said abruptly. Heimdall's impassive expression did not change, and Loki was less sure than ever of the wisdom of pressing the matter.
He did so anyway.
"When you defied me, after I usurped the throne… I attacked you. I deliberately did you harm, though you have always been a loyal protector of Asgard. I might have killed you- I did not intend to, but it was only good fortune that I did not. And in return, you rescued my friends and me from the vampires, when they would have killed us all. I did not deserve your intervention, although my friends did, and that was not the only time since my attack on you that you have rendered me aid. I am grateful for your actions, and very sorry for mine."
Silence. After a long moment, Loki recognized that an apology offered is not always an apology accepted. So be it. Before he turned away, Loki spoke again:
"I did not come here to say any of that- I simply wished you let you know of my return to Asgard before I showed myself within its walls. However, you have always deserved more respect than I have ever given you, and I want you to know I regret my behaviour toward you. All of it. I am very sorry I wronged you."
That seemed to encompass all he wished to say, and was surely more than Heimdall ever wanted to hear from him. It was past time to go. Loki had started down the steps of the Observatory to the bridge when the great voice spoke behind him.
"It is not entirely on your account, that those soldiers are posted here."
Loki turned. "No?" It struck him that he had just been tactless, to remind Heimdall of the vulnerability he had shown when Loki turned the stolen Jotun artifact upon him. That had not been his intent, and whatever explanation Heimdall offered for the presence of the soldiers- messengers, perhaps, which actually would make sense- Loki composed himself to accept it at face value.
"No," Heimdall replied evenly. "I betrayed two kings, and the Allfather was… displeased." Loki's expression must have looked as blank as his mind, because Heimdall clarified, "The Allfather expressly forbade your brother from going to Jotunheim. This I knew, and I sent all of you anyway, because my pride could not stand having those Jotun enter Asgard under my very nose and not respond."
Loki could feel heat crawling up his throat and the back of his neck. His fault, of course. All of it.
Heimdall's golden eyes flickered over his face. "Your wrong action does not excuse my own. And my own fault is the greater for being far older, and knowing full well that if Thor went to Jotunheim in that humour, war would result." Loki said nothing- he had known it too, which was why he had tried to prevent it from happening. He could feel again the sick twist of horror as he realized his grip on the situation was slipping, that disaster would result, that things were going too far and it was all his fault. He had counted on Heimdall not letting them go so easily, counted on the guard delivering the warning in time for Father to stop them.
None of which absolved him for anything, not for the sly, backhanded words that had goaded Thor into action, and certainly not for letting the Jotun into Asgard in the first place- an action which cost the lives of four men from two realms. Loki found himself looking at the ground before him, unable to meet Heimdall's eyes.
"And then," the Guardian went on, "not content with exposing Asgard to war from without, I risked civil war too, by disregarding your order not to let your brother's friends travel to Midgard. I would have brought him back, believing he would immediately demand the throne for himself. Or his friends would push him to do so, and he would give in to them. I courted war, and your death, in that matter."
Loki shrugged, pretending to composure. There would have been no civil war- who would have risen to defend his claim to the throne against Thor? He and his brother had never spoken of it, but surely, at worst, Thor would simply have imprisoned him, and then ruled until the Allfather woke. Surely by then Thor had learned the sense to placate Jotunheim, would have headed off the war. It would have been better for everyone- certainly for the Jotun- if Loki had simply let them go, let it happen.
He tried not to imagine the effect imprisonment might have had on his mental state, even if it was intended to be brief, meant only as a solution to the temporary problem of his claim to kingship. He would have seen it as a grave insult at the very least, and what would have come of that?
It was not hard to picture himself still in a cell, still insane and raging, impossible to reach, immovably convinced he was being punished for failing to guess and fulfill the Allfather's purpose for him. Surely, though, Father would still have placed the spell on him to heal his anger. But what would that have done for him if he had not also left Asgard?
Even if he had not been imprisoned, if Thor had only taken the throne back and tried to make his little brother return to his old place, his old role… Loki could not imagine himself acquiescing in that. Not the maddened, prideful creature he had been. Not with everything he thought he knew about himself crumbling around him. He did not think he would be able to go back to the old ways now, even with the improved relationship between himself and Thor- not that Thor would try to make him do so. He would not be able to stand it now. He could not imagine what his reaction might have been then.
None of these were productive thoughts. Pushing away the images, he said lightly, "Such is often the fate of usurpers."
"Usurpers," Heimdall said, "do not command Gungnir- she will not obey them. Do you think Asgard's throne has only ever changed hands by peaceful means? Death by old age, perhaps? Your claim was as strong as many a prior ruler, and the Allfather was not much inclined to ignore my giving comfort to those bent on sedition. My post is not one that can be filled by any other, but the king's confidence in me is no longer absolute, and so I am not only protected by those soldiers, but guarded."
Loki chewed his lower lip. "I am sorry," he murmured.
"Your crimes and failures were your own, and mine are mine," Heimdall replied. "You earned forgiveness and the return of trust, and so shall I. In the meantime, my punishment is not too onerous, and neither of us has done permanent harm to the other."
"And for my part I am glad of it," Loki said, and started once again to turn away, before it appeared he was trying to force some reciprocal word from Heimdall. But as he did so, something- perhaps the awareness he might never speak so freely with Heimdall again- prompted him to say: "You always knew what I was."
It was not a question- not with the answer so obvious. Loki expected only a confirmation in return, and so he was surprised when Heimdall replied, "No."
"No?"
"No. I only knew you were Jotun. What you are… that, I confess, I mistook. And assumed. And in some ways may, for a time, have helped shape." Pause. "I, too, am sorry that I wronged you."
Loki was vaguely aware of his face going slack in surprise, and a prickling at the corners of his eyes. Before he could compose himself enough to speak, the Guardian added,
"The dog was given a potion."
"What?"
"The dog whose spirit you comfort. It was given a potion, to make it sleep. It would not have been aware of what was done to it afterward." Without waiting for Loki to make any response- he was only now remembering Heimdall's ability to recall past events he had not specifically noted, and considering the possibility the Guardian might take an interest in his activities that was not hostile- Heimdall went calmly on, "The Allfather and your brother, as well as the Lady Sif, have gone to Jotunheim. The queen is, however, in her chambers, should you desire to visit her."
And all Loki Silvertongue could think to say was, "Thank you, Heimdall."
~oOo~
Loki had come to Asgard for the express purpose of using the library. He had intended to send word to his mother, in the hope that she would wish to see him afterward, before he left. (Well, it was more than a hope, these days. It was almost… an expectation, really.)
That had been his intent, when he first decided to pay this visit. But the strange encounter with Annie had shaken him, and so had this one with Heimdall. Loki's history with his mother had not exactly been one of understanding and comfort provided, but…
But he had always hoped. And he knew now that she, for her part, had always wished…
As another set of guards stood aside to let him pass, Loki glanced around for one of the many servants who ensured the smooth running of the palace, exactly as servants did in the period dramas Annie liked so much. Exactly as porters did in hospitals, and custodians in schools.
"A moment, please," he addressed a passing young maid, who stopped with a flustered-looking curtsey. "I wonder- would you be very kind, and take word to the queen that her younger son is here, and would be glad to see her? If she has the time?"
"Certainly, sir," the girl replied, with another awkward curtsey, although she looked terrified. Loki realized he had carelessly stopped a particularly low-ranking and probably very new domestic, the equivalent of the little creature who saw to the fires in the latest of Annie's favoured programs. With the passing of great houses and the advent of universal franchise, Loki was unsure whether such humble roles even existed in Britain any longer.
In Asgard, it was still considered a fine thing to be a domestic in the palace, and this girl was surely a member of some unassuming and probably poor family, perhaps from the countryside. She should not even be in this corridor in the first place, had probably gotten lost and was trying to hurry back to her own part of the palace without attracting any notice. She would be eager to do well, afraid of overstepping her role, and he had just tasked her with taking a message directly to the queen.
Loki sighed. Falling in with ideals of democracy and equality (not that they were ever perfectly executed) was all very well back home, but when in Asgard, one did as the Aesir, and one certainly did not frighten the life out of humble little serving girls by putting them in a position to be rebuked for not knowing their place.
The fact that phrase still made his stomach curl was, of course, neither here nor there.
"Forgive me," he said quickly. "I was not thinking. I can find my own way, and I am sure the queen will be glad to see me, even unannounced."
"Hulda is with Her Grace," the girl offered. Hulda was his mother's personal maid- it was probably not permissible for this child to directly address her, either, but if he was uncomfortable inviting himself into the presence of the queen, Hulda could pass on his request for an audience.
"Thank you- " Loki paused significantly, but the girl simply blinked at him. "Your name?" he prompted gently.
"Nauma, sir," she replied, looking rather panicky. There was a time when Loki would have assumed her fear was directly related to her expectations about his intentions, that she anticipated some show of malice. He was now inclined to believe the poor child simply existed in a state of latent terror. This would, presumably, abate when she was more confident about her… place… in the palace, but he thought perhaps he would ask his mother to have a word with whoever was in charge of such staff, to ensure they were not being unduly fierce in their treatment of her and her fellows.
"Thank you, Nauma," Loki said. "If you are seeking the fastest route back to the servants' quarters, I recommend you turn left at the end of this corridor and look for the door just beyond the alcove." Not for nothing had Loki spent nine hundred years and more sneaking around the palace.
"Thank you," the girl gulped, with another inexpert curtsey. It made Loki feel rather giddy just to watch her. With an expression of poorly-disguised relief, she watched him step backward and prepare to turn away.
It would, actually, have been appropriate for Loki to offer her a tip, as they said on Midgard, for her assistance and also in compensation for wasting her time. Having no Asgardian currency, he simply cast a small charm after her, one that would cause the next person she met to have the urge to be kind to her. He then deliberately set off in the direction opposite the one she was taking, knowing it would also be kindness to take his strangely-garbed yet still royal self out of her presence as quickly as he could manage. He looked forward to returning home, where passing encounters with strangers were not laden with such complicated and potentially alarming meanings.
Hulda did not look nearly as surprised to see him as he had expected, which on consideration really should not have surprised him: anyone who paid any attention at all knew the servants received and passed along news far faster than did the more official channels.
Loki had always exercised a certain amount of restraint in the tricks he played upon servants. This was partly because his real malice was reserved for those who, he felt, genuinely disliked him and sought to do him harm. As far as he could tell, to the average servant he was simply part of the job like any other courtier, and emotions did not particularly come into it. This Loki could live with.
The other reason he did not torment the staff was because he was perfectly aware they could make his life just as miserable as he could make theirs, if they chose to do so. It was beyond Loki's abilities to let well enough completely alone, but the pranks he played on the servants had generally been fairly harmless.
Perhaps for that reason Hulda was not displeased to see him, when he tapped at the door of his mother's private chambers and asked for admittance. Certainly she immediately brought him inside the outer chamber, what on Midgard might have been called a sitting room, and immediately made haste to find his mother.
And then apparently found something to occupy herself, because his mother appeared at the inner doorway alone, her face lit up in what was definitely welcome.
"Loki!" she cried, starting forward.
And then she hesitated, came to a halt in the middle of the room.
Thor would, of course, have immediately swept his little brother into an embarrassing but welcome embrace. He probably would even have remembered not to crush the breath from Loki's lungs. Father would have shown more dignity, but recent experience suggested he, too, would have offered some sort of awkward caress. Loki was not too proud to admit he looked forward to such gestures, and he felt a jolt of the old anxiety when his mother did not seem inclined to offer one. What had he done this time?
And then… Loki did not possess the ability to read the mind of another, any more than did Thor. However, of late it seemed Thor was remarkably adept at guessing what Loki was thinking. And now, as clearly as if he could see it really happen, or see into her mind, Loki received a vision of himself recoiling from his mother's embrace, a bitter expression on his face that said, Too little, and too late.
Loki had once allowed himself to be distressed out of all proportion by the discovery that he was not related by blood to any member of his family. Apparently, blood ties were not necessary in order for a son to take after his mother. And the most direct means of addressing this sudden insecurity on her part seemed to be to continue forward, arms outstretched, as if he had not noticed anything amiss.
And then his mother's arms were about his neck, and she was uttering words of welcome in a tone that only one highly attuned to such nuances would have recognized as deeply relieved. Loki wrapped his arms around her in return, as far as he could manage, which given the length of his arms resulted in him practically hugging himself in addition to his mother. It was some moments before either was inclined to let go.
When she did, however, Frigga only pulled back a little, laying a hand against his cheek.
"What is it?" she asked. Loki blinked down at her, and she let the hand drop to his shoulder. "There is something wrong," she insisted. "Will you tell me about it?"
It was true that he had probably been… clinging a little… but Loki had still to conceal his surprise at his mother's question. And then he was ashamed: had he not realized that she wanted, as much as he did, to make things better between them? And had she not already made it clear she could, in fact, tell when he was unhappy? The problem had always been that she did not know what to do about it, had not realized that simply asking- even if, as now, there was nothing anyone could do- might be enough.
And now she was asking, and for once Loki recognized that she was also asking him for something. And a moment later, they were sitting side-by-side in comfortable chairs, and he heard himself blurting out the whole story- well, not Scamp, except for some confused digressions to begin with, when he was trying to determine where to start, but everything about Annie and Owen.
"I know she cannot actually go back to Owen," he finally wound up his story. "He is alive, and she is… She cannot go back to him, but… there are other ways of leaving."
He was not exactly crying, but he was not exactly not crying, and he fumbled in the pockets of his jacket to find a tissue. As he did, he felt his mother's arm slide around his shoulders and pull him close.
"Oh, my poor darling," she crooned. "I wish I knew what to say to make this better." Loki shook his head- he was not asking her to fix anything- and felt his mother press her lips against his temple. "She would not exchange you for anyone," Frigga insisted quietly.
"Well, Colin Firth," Loki muttered, with a watery little chuckle. Frigga carded her fingers through his hair and sat up, although she did not release him.
"I do not always understand your jokes," she said gently. "Although I always love to hear you laugh."
"It was not a very funny one," Loki admitted. "And only comprehensible on certain parts of Midgard." A thought occurred to him and he said hopefully, "If you were to come and visit us, we could explain it to you."
Frigga sat up, pulling back to look at him. "Are you in earnest?" Loki nodded. He had blurted out the invitation without stopping to worry about his mother's reaction- really, imagine the queen of the Golden Realm in the pink house on the terrace- but her expression made it clear she was as pleased to be asked as she was surprised. "I would be delighted to visit you. That would be- " She kissed his cheek, and Loki exhaled.
After a moment, Frigga returned to Loki's original point, which he had not belaboured because, really, there was nothing to be done. "I wish I had advice to offer you, darling. Everything was different when I was young- arranged marriages have their drawbacks, but I do not deny they make everything simpler- but it seems to me you should… talk to her." Frigga faltered as she uttered the words, and Loki actually heard himself splutter out another giggle as he leaned over and hugged her. Nine hundred years he had choked on every important thing he had ever wanted to say, and his mother recommended he talk to Annie.
It was not that the advice was bad. Of course not. He might even be able to follow it, now, and with Annie. But even aside from Loki's difficulty spitting out anything of importance to himself, there was the deeper issue.
"If I try to speak of this before she has decided how she feels," Loki began slowly, "I may… she may- she will, if I know Annie- she will think of my feelings instead of her own, and that… would be inappropriate." He glanced at his mother and added, "And cruel. And… I cannot try to make her choose me- everything I did, before, was to… I cannot." Not to Annie, and not to himself, either. He could not go backwards like that.
Loki could see realization dawn on his mother's face, and then she was holding his hand in both of hers. "I see. Well, you will do what is best- I know that." Loki sniffed a little at the expression of utterly unwarranted confidence, and his mother released one of her hands to reach up and touch his cheek again. "You have learned a great deal since you were that boy in so much pain he could not think about anyone else's. You will do the right thing, and Annie will… realize."
She did not say what Annie would realize, and it took Loki a moment to understand that his mother was implying his own worth was obvious, self-evident. It took him a further moment to realize there was no twist of mistrust in his heart at her words, no hateful internal voice wondering what she wanted of him, to flatter him so. His mother might be wrong, but she was sincere, and it was enough.
Frigga went on, "And when you are ready to have me, I will come and stay, and you can explain to me about this 'Colin Firth'."
Loki gave his mother a wobbly smile. First, of course, he would have to explain television, and DVDs. And possibly find his mother some Midgardian clothing, if she wished to come exploring, or visit the school. Annie would help him with that. Of course she would: no matter what else she decided, he and Annie would always be friends. If he had to, he would make that be enough. Really, the distinction between relationships was a fine one anyway, considering Annie was not always entirely corporeal even to Loki, and also considering he was still fully occupied trying to cope with the emotional aspects of dealing with those he loved. It was only… Owen had been the most important to Annie. Loki wanted to be most important to her, now.
Well, that was up to Annie, was it not? In the meantime, the mental image of his mother in a skirt and twin set, watching Pride and Prejudice with both of them, was enough to bring a genuine smile to his face. Frigga gave him a look of both evaluation and affection, and perhaps realized this was as much as he could presently cope with. She squeezed his hand again and said,
"I have not yet dined, and usually have something brought to me here when your father is away. Are you hungry? Will you join me?"
Loki smiled again. "I would be very glad to."
~oOo~
It was perhaps rather later than Loki had intended, by the time he left his mother's chambers and went on to the library. Fortunately, the librarian was willing to leave Loki unattended when it came time for him to quit his post for the day. This had little to do with Loki as a member of the royal family, and everything to do with Loki being one of the few people in Asgard who valued the library enough to use it regularly and take care with its holdings.
Loki was accustomed to being alone in the library. It was, in fact, one of the places in which he had never felt lonely, occupied as he had always been with so much information about other places, and their peoples and ways. It had served his fantasies of a place different enough from Asgard- or anyway his perception of Asgard, which he was beginning to realize might be a different thing entirely- to accept him as he was.
The business about burying animals alive for magical purposes had belatedly given Loki to understand that he, too, might need to do some accepting-as-they-are, or were, with relation to the magic of Midgard. The whole horrible business had, of course, happened a very long time ago by human standards, but within his own lifetime, and Loki firmly reminded himself not to make too much of it. Modern British humans would find it every bit as distasteful as he did. The important thing, now, was to suppress his own tendency toward judgment and simply find out what the spell was about, and how it might have been cast.
Before leaving for the evening, the librarian had assisted Loki in finding every volume that might be in any way relevant to his questions, assuring Loki that he and his assistants would be happy to re-shelve them in the morning. Loki knew perfectly well that this was librarian-code for "leave the organization of the collection to those who know what they are about," and despite his own familiarity with the indexing system in use, he was quite willing to acquiesce. Shelving was a tedious job at the best of times, and Loki was not always patient. His taste for mischief did not quite run to haphazardly stuffing books back in places they did not belong, but impatience might have the same effect.
And so he was, scribbling in a notebook at a reading table on the half-landing that commanded a view of the main reading room below, surrounded by stacks of texts. He had just realized he felt rather like the fourth little pig, who built his house of library books, when from below and far down at the other end of the corridor, he heard the great door open and someone come in.
At this hour, the library was formally closed, and the doors should have been locked, which indicated the person or persons entering were of sufficiently high rank to be trusted with the keys. Or capable of offering enough of a threat to either the librarian or his closest assistant to compel them to hand over the keys.
There were certainly treasures worth stealing in this place, though most of the realm would not see it that way. But Loki was more concerned at the moment with the possibility of someone coming to find him, and he was rather specifically aware that he was, at the moment, unarmed.
Of course, as he had previously noted, a Loki who was unarmed was in no way the same thing as a Loki who was unable to defend himself. He slipped out of his chair and faded into the shelter of a book case, listening for the sound of a stealthy approach.
He was nonplussed and rather embarrassed when a familiar voice called out, in a tone that sounded muted by respect for libraries rather than any wish for concealment,
"Loki? Are you in here? It is Volstagg and Fandral."
Whatever their past relationship had been, Loki certainly did not suspect them now of any ill-will concerning his person. He stepped back out of the shadow and went to the railing, where he leaned over to look down.
"Up here," he called softly. "What are you doing here?"
Fandral grinned up at him. "Now there is a fine welcome. We heard you were back in Asgard, and wanted to say hello before you left again. Thor and your father will be sorry they missed you."
"And Sif," Volstagg added.
"And Sif," Fandral agreed, starting up the stairs. "What are you doing? And do not say 'reading,' we are just about intelligent enough to see that for ourselves."
Loki was still unaccustomed to the idea of raillery without barbs between himself and his brother's friends, so he contented himself with a quick smile as he retreated to his table. Fandral and Volstagg followed, with whistles of interest as they caught sight of the laden table.
"How long do you intend to stay?" Fandral asked. "It appears you have reading material for a lifetime here."
"What are you looking for?" Volstagg asked, a much more sensible question. Before Loki could reply, Volstagg began picking up one book after another, inspecting the titles and setting them back carefully where he had found them. He glanced at Loki with a smile. "You were suddenly overcome with the desire to learn more of the magic of your new realm?"
"Something like that," Loki murmured. Fandral looked from Volstagg to Loki and asked,
"Was there some particular reason you felt the need to learn all this in a single night? And why did you bring none of your friends to help with your researches this time?"
Apparently, he would be given no peace until he offered some sort of explanation. And there was nothing… threatening… about their interest.
As Tony Stark might say- what the Hel.
"George and I were in the forest, on the night of the full moon, and encountered the spirit of a dog. She seems to be trapped in the ruins of a place of worship, though it is long abandoned and she is alone. We have tried to free her without success; I seek more knowledge of the kind of spell that might have been used, so that we might try again."
"Alone? I would have thought Annie, at least, would want to come help you," Volstagg remarked innocently, as he carefully replaced a book on top of a stack. "She must be interested in the fate of this creature."
"She has… other matters… to concern her at the moment," Loki said stiffly.
Fandral put the book he was looking at down on the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from Loki.
"Has she?" he prodded. Loki was already sorry he had spoken. Volstagg moved a pile of books out of his line of vision as he sat down, too. The hulking warrior could easily see over the stack, so Loki could only assume the point was to prevent Loki from hiding behind it. "Loki?"
He certainly did not want to talk about this with Fandral and Volstagg. Which did not explain why he had let the hint out in the first place: he certainly could have thought up a lie convincing enough to at least let them know their interest was unwelcome.
So… perhaps he actually did want to talk about it. There was only so much he could say to Mitchell or George, who had been Annie's friends first and had to find such confidences awkward. And unlike his mother, Volstagg and Fandral would not feel the need to reassure him, or be distracted by any unwarranted belief in his value. He did not believe they would be cruel to him, but he did assume they would feel little true concern, and it suddenly seemed useful to speak of this to someone who did not really care. Perhaps it would help him to remember the fate of the world was hardly at stake.
"The house we live in is rented from a man named Owen," Loki blurted, before he could second-guess himself. "He is coming to meet us tomorrow afternoon, to see what we are like, and whether we need any repairs done to the house." The boiler. Loki had not thought of the boiler in two days. He would heat water by magic, or bathe in the form of a penguin, forever if it kept Owen away.
Fandral and Volstagg looked puzzled, and Loki got to the point: "The house belongs to Owen, but he does not live in it, because it is the house in which his betrothed died."
"Annie," Fandral said flatly. Loki nodded. To his considerable surprise, Fandral actually looked sympathetic. Well, Fandral had always seemed to like Annie. "And she is upset by this?" Loki nodded again.
"And, therefore, you are, too," Volstagg stated. Tired of nodding, Loki shrugged.
"Oh, well, I am sorry," Fandral said generously. Then he ruined it, rather, by adding, "Not that I have any experience in such matters." Volstagg reached over and cuffed him briskly across the back of the head. "What?" Fandral protested, throwing up his hands in self-defense. "Is it my fault, that women always tire of my charms long before such a situation would upset either of us? Volstagg, I bow to your superior knowledge in this arena. We both do. How do you recommend Loki behave, when he returns home?"
"As little like you as possible," Volstagg replied drily.
"Come now, he could figure that out for himself," Fandral insisted. "I was about to recommend he challenge this Owen to fight for Annie's hand-"
"Fandral, have you been to Great Britain at any time in the past two centuries?" Loki demanded, and was surprised to find himself laughing.
"- but then," Fandral went on blithely, "I remembered this Owen is a mortal- he is a mortal, is he not?"
"To the best of my knowledge," Loki agreed, amused.
"And that being the case, you might be unfortunate enough to kill him, and then he would be a spirit, too," Fandral said thoughtfully. "Which seems to be counterproductive to your aims."
"Keep it up, Fandral, and he might kill you," Volstagg remarked calmly. "Which would also be counterproductive to his aims, but still satisfying." He looked across the table at Loki. "I believe what Fandral is trying to say is, things have a way of working themselves out. Which is, unfortunately, little comfort when you want certainty."
Loki shrugged. "So few things in life are certain," he admitted.
"True," Volstagg said kindly. "Except that I am hungry, and if you had dinner in your mother's chambers, she probably did not feed you enough to keep you alive until morning- "
"Not you, perhaps," Loki murmured, and Volstagg laughed.
"So, I suggest Fandral and I help you search through these books, and then we should all go to my home and Gudrun will give us a snack."
Loki kept a straight face at the thought of what Volstagg's wife would probably consider a snack.
"Will she mind?" he asked.
"She will be glad to see you," Volstagg said blithely. "And the children would love to hear stories of your adventures in Midgard."
Loki looked from Volstagg to Fandral and back. They looked perfectly friendly. It was a little disorienting.
"I would appreciate the help," he said finally.
"You will also appreciate the snack," Volstagg prophesied, as he took a book down from the stack and handed it to Fandral.
~oOo~
It was much later than he planned when Loki unlocked the front door of the house. His notebook was filled with scribbles that he hoped would solve the problem of Scamp, and he was quite sure he would not need to eat again for at least another three days.
The house was quiet, with no sign even of Philip or Elizabeth, who were probably asleep on his bed. Loki hung up his jacket and bent to remove his shoes, so as to make his way upstairs without waking George or Mitchell.
As he straightened, Loki became aware of a sort of rustle in the air around him, and he turned just as Annie appeared next to him.
"Hello," he whispered.
"You're back," Annie said.
"Of course I am," Loki replied, puzzled.
"I thought… I thought you were angry at me," Annie whispered.
"You- what? No, no, I just… I needed to go to the library at Asgard, and you needed time to think," Loki replied. "And… and I wanted to visit my mother."
The next thing he knew, Annie was hugging him around the neck, and possibly crying a little bit. "I'm sorry," she said. "I did need to… I have been… I've been selfish. I'm sorry."
Loki, his arms around her, could not stop himself from laughing. "You are telling me about being selfish? I think not. And you have not been. You just... needed this."
Speaking mostly into his shoulder, Annie mumbled, "Well, you could have told me I needed to be sensible. Owen's alive. I'm dead. I'm being foolish."
"Again," Loki pointed out, "I am hardly the person to tell another what is sensible." He hesitated, wondering if he had reached the point at which any more honesty was too much… and then he cracked. "And I did not want you to think I was forcing you to choose- all my crimes, at the heart of it, were caused by me trying to put Thor, or Father, or someone, in a position to have to choose me. I do not want… not anymore, and not to you. I am here, and we are friends no matter what, and… we will be all right."
Against his shoulder, Annie said quietly, "I did love Owen. And I do love you."
Loki tightened his arms around her and whispered, "I love you, too."