Notes: For fellow North Americans, "courgette" is apparently the name used, in Britain, for what we call a "zucchini." (Contrary to what was told me once by a little boy I knew, who informed me that a zucchini is what girls wear when they go swimming.)
I have no idea whether Temple Meads Station is open all night, but for purposes of the story can we please pretend it is.
Warnings: Fairly mild but very disrespectful language.
Chapter Sixteen
It was a thoughtful set of friends who sat down to tea together that evening. At least, they were all very quiet. Part of their silence, it was true, was owing to concentration on their meal, a Moroccan recipe Loki had found while searching for foods seasoned with something other than the nearly-ubiquitous garlic. This being one of his split days, in which he went early to open the school, then back later to close, Loki had accompanied Annie to the house at mid-day and put the ingredients together while they told each other about their experiences of the morning. Annie had then set the meal to cook in time for everyone to gather that evening.
"This," Mitchell said at length, "is really good. Is that cinnamon?" Loki nodded, and Mitchell made a little humming noise as he speared another forkful of vegetables. "Nice," he said approvingly.
George used a piece of bread to mop up the last of the sauce on his plate, consumed it, and sighed. "I feel equal to almost anything right now. What are you up to this evening? Operation Haunt-the-Twat about ready to begin?"
"I think it might have started already," Loki said carefully, glancing at Annie, who sat at the other end of the couch. George and Mitchell turned their attention to her.
Annie shook her head. "Good news first, I think. Loki, tell them about the offer your deputy head made you this morning."
"It was not so much an offer as a suggestion," Loki corrected scrupulously. Turning to his curious friends, he explained, "Ms. Hamoudi- perhaps you have heard me speak of her- " it was apparent from their expressions of suppressed amusement that this was an understatement. By now, they probably all knew what each inhabitant of the school most preferred for lunch. Loki felt himself blush, and he hurried on, "I was leaving her classroom after cleaning up... something... and she stopped me, to ask whether I might be interested, at some point in the future, in pursuing- " he gulped a little, suddenly aware of the preposterousness of the idea, then blurted, "teaching qualifications. Apparently, there are means by which I may be able to compensate for my lack of secondary education on this realm, and having done so I may apply to the appropriate university programs like any other resident of this realm." He was aware, even after all this time, of a ridiculous little glow of pleasure at the notion of having rights "like any other resident."
There was a period of silence that doubtless felt longer than it was, and then both George and Mitchell began to giggle.
"What?" Loki demanded, looking from one to the other and trying not to feel hurt.
Mitchell shook his head, gesturing helplessly. "Sorry. Really, Loki, I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you. I'm just imagining... your lesson plans. The magical trips through history, or possibly the circulatory system. They'd be the greatest thing ever."
Slightly mollified, Loki pointed out, "There is, of course, a curriculum that must be followed- " for some reason this made Mitchell howl, and George giggle harder- "but I suppose there would be a certain amount of room for- "
"- Enrichment activities," George spluttered, and then, with a great effort, sobered. "No, really Loki, that sounds like a great idea, and a really good fit for you. I'm sure you'll be terrific at it."
Looking at his friends, Loki was suddenly stricken with conscience. There was a reason why George and Mitchell held the sort of inconspicuous jobs they did, and Loki had been meant to follow their lead: the idea was to keep what Mitchell called a "low profile," so as not to call attention to themselves, and thus to the local supernatural community.
Well, Loki argued to himself, it was not as though providing basic educational foundations to small children was exactly a glamorous occupation that called attention to itself. And besides, they had all attracted about as much attention as one could imagine, last summer, and still managed (with the aid of some magic, and a little assistance from Director Fury of SHIELD) to conceal George and Mitchell's identities, and also their supernatural status, from the general public. The nine-days-wonder aspect of their activities in New York had also passed, after the press-confounding charms on the street and their workplaces had made further information impossible to gather.
And anyway, the inconspicuous jobs had also been meant to avoid the notice of the local vampires, which had been a failure from the very beginning, long before Loki showed up. Still, since the death of their former leader, the vampires had been fairly quiet, making no recent efforts to subjugate the humans or bring Mitchell back into their bloody fold.
All of which, Loki realized, meant that George and Mitchell were as free as he, to pursue other employment if they wished. They should probably be encouraged to think about the idea.
At the moment, though, Loki selfishly focused on the potential future that had just opened up for him. It would be a lie to say he was not greatly tempted by the prospect. In fact, he could not, at the moment, think of any employment he would like better. It was only that he also found himself envisioning a great many complicating factors.
For instance:
"I fear, though, that my activities with the Avengers would present difficulties. Even if I am never kidnapped again- " he flinched as he uttered the word, as if superstitiously fearing that simply raising the possibility might cause it to actually happen- "I can hardly expect, were I responsible for a whole class, to be allowed to simply disappear on Avengers-related missions during the school year. It is bad enough now, even with Carol being so patient and willing to allow me to make up for lost time and neglected duties."
"Maybe it's time SHIELD started compensating you for your time and efforts," Mitchell suggested. He looked at his empty plate. "Does anyone else want seconds? I can just bring the dish in here." When everyone who wanted more food had some, Mitchell returned to his point. "Up to now you've been- I was going to say 'a volunteer,' but now I come to think of it 'abductee' is more accurate- anyway, admittedly Fury's been pretty good about helping you pick up the pieces after these adventures, but maybe what they need to do, if they plan to keep asking you for help, is to work out in advance how to cover for you. You know, send a replacement to do your work at the school when SHIELD or someone needs your particular abilities."
Loki studied his food, turning over a slice of courgette with the tines of his fork. "Yes, that would be much more convenient for Carol," he agreed slowly.
"But you don't like the idea," George prompted.
"Of course I do," Loki protested half-heartedly. And then he heard himself admitting, "I only thought... what if Carol and Mrs. Kingston decided- "
Annie extended her hand, and the pink spray bottle suddenly came flying through the beaded curtain from the kitchen to her. She squeezed the trigger once to prime it before aiming at Loki.
"If your next words are 'decided they like the other person better,' you are getting your face washed," she announced, firing a short warning burst. "When you vanished last summer, we didn't just go out and find another housemate, did we? And surely you noticed how quick the school was to give you your job back, when you turned up at last? Do you really think they'd have hired someone else in the first place, if you'd been able to let them know you were still alive and wanted to come back?"
"Well... " Loki began, then yelped as a jet of water splashed into the side of his head. "All right! They consider me irreplaceable and I have no reason to worry!"
"Good answer," Annie grinned, setting down the spray bottle. Loki, pushing his wet hair behind his ear, made a face at her.
"Incidentally," George spoke up, indicating the bottle, "that was pretty cool."
Annie looked startled. "It was, wasn't it?"
"It was indeed," Loki agreed, leaning over to congratulate her properly. Mitchell finally grabbed the water bottle and fired a burst to retrieve their attention. Loki sobered, and then somehow found himself spitting out the concern he had been unable to share with Ms. Hamoudi:
"The other problem is, of course, the whole matter of my... my criminal past. I have of course made a clean breast of it to the intelligence agencies who made the recommendation for my visa- " he had really had little choice, since they had consulted with SHIELD, and that agency had all the pertinent facts at its disposal- "but..."
His friends looked at each other, and then at him.
"I know I keep talking about it," Loki said, into their silence, "but it keeps being true. I know, beyond any doubt, that I would never do such things again, but… I did do them. And, surely, I will not be allowed to- " Mrs. Kingston and Ms. Hamoudi certainly did not know of the things he had done, and he had no intention of telling them, even though he had been pardoned for everything. There was a reason he had lied and cheated on his original criminal records check. But it occurred to him that, if there was another such scrutiny in his future, he would feel horribly compelled to be honest about it.
Everyone was thoughtful for a moment, before Mitchell said,
"Well, you don't have to worry about that yet. And not for quite a while, probably. The first step is to do something about your secondary school qualifications, and your… legal history... doesn't have any bearing on that."
"No?" Loki asked, hopefully.
"No. You have a perfect right to go ahead with that. And I don't think it'd make any difference to a regular undergraduate degree, either. It'll take you some time just to get through those steps, especially if you're studying part-time and still working. Years, certainly. And then, if you're still interested in applying to a teacher training program, well, maybe the best thing to do would be to go back to MI5 or whatever, and ask them exactly how much you have to admit to, about crimes you committed on other planets."
Loki chewed on his lower lip, thinking about it.
"That is true," he said. "Except, well, they were not all committed on other planets."
"The worst ones," Mitchell said patiently. The ones where death was permanent, he meant.
Loki turned the suggestion over in his mind. His excitement had been rather badly dashed by the thought of this barrier, but now some of the enthusiasm began to creep back. Whatever happened, there was no harm in taking the first steps. He spent such a lot of time reading anyway that a set course of study could only be welcome, would give him an organized way of learning about this realm.
And, regardless of what happened, there was still warmth in the idea that someone who knew him now, someone he admired and looked up to, thought he might have the ability for such an important profession. That they would seek him out on purpose to make the suggestion. Even if it turned out that his prior actions really had disqualified him from such a future, the suggestion alone felt like a commendation.
And it would also be agreeable- and new- he thought, to have something to work toward, a goal, a thing he wanted for its own sake, instead of to take it away from someone (Thor), or to use it to gain the approval of someone else (Father and Mother). He would not even have to tell anyone in Asgard what he was doing if he did not want to- not because they would disapprove, but because it was his own and he did not need to ask leave of them.
He would confide in Thor, of course. Later. Sometime. But for the moment the idea made him feel uneasy, and he did not really want to think about it right now.
"Well, anyway, that was my morning," Loki murmured, finally spearing the courgette on his fork and consuming it. "Annie, yours was really the more important encounter." Annie picked up the spray bottle and shook it at him. Loki ducked elaborately, arms over his head, but Annie sobered as she turned to their two friends.
"We have to do something about Janey," she announced.
This pronouncement did not have quite the effect she probably expected.
"Um, Annie, I'm pretty sure Hogun's offer doesn't apply to her," George spoke up. Loki snatched up the spray bottle, but before he could fire it Annie glanced at the book case. The naval history came buzzing toward George's head, made a low pass, and then returned to its place on the shelf. Scamp and the kittens, in the armchair together, watched its progress with interest, but it was as nothing compared to the reactions of the housemates: George and Mitchell practically threw themselves to the floor, and even Loki was frankly slack-jawed.
"Now that really was impressive," he remarked, over George's mutter of, "That thing is going back to the library tomorrow."
Annie looked as startled as anyone, but justifiably proud of herself. "It was, wasn't it?" She took a moment to accept congratulations, then hastily told the others about her visit to the tanning salon, and her strange almost-encounter with Janey.
"Her friend is worried about her," Annie said, "and I reckon with very good reason. She really does look like she's ready to have some sort of breakdown. She's got to get away from him, but she hasn't the sense to go. We're going to have to do something."
Loki got up and began to collect his friends' plates. "Then tonight we shall arrange for you to interview her. I am certain you will be very convincing."
~oOo~
The street where Owen and Janey lived felt vaguely threatening by night, or perhaps Loki was simply oppressed by the atmosphere of the house before them, the misery that filled it. Janey was unhappy because her fantasies of love had turned upon her. Owen was unhappy because… well, of course, Loki only assumed Owen was unhappy, because he found it impossible to believe a creature who wrought such harm upon others could really experience happiness himself.
The house itself seemed to exhale sorrow, and as he and Annie approached it, Loki found himself thinking uncomfortably of a question that should have occurred to him long since. He loved the pink house, thought of it as the home where they were all so happy, but-
"Annie, do you object to living in our house?" he asked.
Annie blinked at him. "Excuse me?"
"Our house," Loki repeated. At her look of confusion, he haltingly tried to explain himself: "I just wonder… You know how I am about my old chambers in Asgard." There was no need for him to elaborate on that remark: Annie was perfectly aware what distress he felt whenever he was compelled to stay in those rooms. It did not matter that his relations with his family, with Asgard, were improving, not yet: inside those rooms he still could not escape the damp chill of loneliness, fear, and anger that had gnawed into his marrow when he lived in them.
And knowing this about himself, why had he never asked it of Annie?
He was asking it now: "Once, you were unable to leave our- your- the house, but now I feel sure you could go elsewhere, if you preferred. If you would be happier in another place." Loki refused to think of the possible consequences to their household that might result from Annie's response. If Annie wished to leave the house, Annie must feel free to go- and to ask for what she needed from Loki, and all her friends.
But, to his immeasurable but (he hoped) concealed relief, she was shaking her head.
"No. It's not the same for me. I know you hate those rooms at the palace, but the thing is, you remember being miserable the whole time you lived in them. And now when you go back, that's the only feeling you have about them. I thought I remembered being happy in our house, when I was alive. And then, by the time I remembered differently, I really had been happy there, with the boys and with you. I have been. It's our house now, and… I don't think I've ever been so happy anywhere else. I don't want to leave."
Loki had tried to conceal his apprehension, but now he allowed a smile of relief to break across his face. "I am very glad. And now, I suppose, we should see what is to be done about Janey and Owen."
~oOo~
After a brief discussion, Annie decided that she should speak first to Janey: she freely admitted that, by the time she had dealt with Owen, she might have little in the way of patience or understanding left to soothe his victim. Loki found himself in wholehearted agreement with her attitude.
Loki led the way upstairs, treading softly down the hall and peeking into the rooms he passed. The occupied bedroom was at the back of the house, on the left. Through the parted curtains of the window, a streetlight illuminated the two sleeping figures in the bed. Annie, her whole body tense, held back at the door while Loki crept inside to cast his spells.
Really, the magic was the easy part: Loki cast a powerful sleeping spell- the same enchantment he had once used to immobilize the Hulk- on Owen, then a mild glamour on himself. The glamour was so that Janey would not notice him when she woke, even though he intended to have a hand on her so that she could see Annie.
When Annie was in position, he leaned down and called Janey's name.
Janey's eyes opened. For a moment she resembled a confused child, blinking and looking around. Loki quietly stepped behind her as she sat up, set the glamour on himself, and placed his fingertips gently on her shoulder.
"Hello, Janey," Annie said, with a kindly smile, from her seat at the foot of the bed.
Janey jerked backward with a little shriek, which was understandable: thanks to yet another layer of glamour, Annie looked greyish, insubstantial, and exactly as one would expect of a ghost. Janey, who was wearing a peach-coloured negligee which made her look rather like she was dressed in her mother's finery, clutched the quilt to her breast and quailed backward. Loki could see her face reflected in the mirror on the chest of drawers: her eyes were wide and her mouth hung foolishly open.
Annie refrained from rolling her eyes, and held to the friendly smile. "We need to talk."
Janey's reaction was predictable: first she screamed, then she tried to wake Owen, then she pulled the quilt up around herself and whimpered. It was piteous, and aggravating, and Loki suspected he found it so because there was nothing he could do for her, his role being to keep quiet while Annie did the talking.
Fortunately, Annie was more than equal to the task.
"Janey, calm down. I'm not here to hurt you," Annie said, her tone filled with the same reassuring warmth with which she had once addressed a lost creature in outlandish clothing, as he sat on the edge of her sofa wondering what was to happen to him next.
Janey sniffled. "What do you want from me?" she quavered.
Annie shook her head, her smile almost motherly. "I'm here to help you."
"Help me? How?" Janey's eyes were wider than ever.
Annie leaned forward a little, and Janey did not recoil. In a perfectly gentle, matter-of-fact tone, Annie said, "I think you already know. Janey, you need to leave Owen."
Janey's mouth fell open again, and then colour rushed into her face. Loki could feel heat flushing her skin where he touched it.
"Oh, no," Janey argued childishly. "No. You just want him back, but you can't have him, do you hear me? I won. I won. Owen is with me now, and he loves me, and you can't take him away from me."
Loki kept his touch light as he fought the urge to seize Janey by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. He vaguely wondered how often his own activities had engendered the same urge in those around him.
Annie, meanwhile, was a hero: she shifted herself to sit, cross-legged and apparently at ease, at the foot of the bed. Then she examined Janey with her head tilted gently on one side, and said,
"Of course I don't want him back. I'm a ghost. Jealousy, passion, lust- I'm past feeling all that."
Based on the sofa incident the previous afternoon, Annie was lying, but her words seemed to convince Janey.
"Well, if you don't want him yourself, why do you want me to leave him?" she asked.
"Because he's not a safe person to love," Annie said, still in the calmly factual tone, as though listing the principle exports of Italy. "He hurt me, the whole time I was with him. He's hurting you now."
"That's only because he- " Janey fell abruptly silent, although whether out of loyalty to Owen or in self-protection was hard to tell. Quite probably Janey did not know herself. Annie certainly seemed to understand. Even Loki, though his experience of shielding those who hurt him had occurred in a very different context, could comprehend her motivations.
"I know," Annie sighed. "He's having a rough time at work. The move was stressful. He had an argument with someone else and you asked a question at the wrong time. You should have known better than to bother him just then. And then he's sorry, and it'll never happen again. Until the next time. I know all about it."
Janey did not reply right away, but her expression made it clear Annie's words had found their target.
"He doesn't mean to hurt me," she finally mumbled. "He just... he's not thinking when he does it. And then he's sorry."
"If he was really sorry, he wouldn't do it anymore," Annie said remorselessly. "Let me guess, he has you convinced he needs you, you're helping him to change, and if you only could do a better job at it, he wouldn't end up hurting you. That's it, isn't it?" Janey's mouth compressed, and Annie leaned forward again, expression intent. "It's funny, I've learned quite a lot since I've been dead. And one really interesting lesson is this: nobody can change anyone else. You can support them, and you can love them, but they have to make the changes for themselves. And if they're serious, they accept the responsibility is on them to stop hurting other people, not on the other people to make them stop. Owen isn't going to stop hurting you, because Owen likes hurting you, just the way he liked hurting me."
Janey's voice was a breathless whisper. "That's not true. He would never- " She fell abruptly silent.
Loki held his breath, barely resisted his own urge to flinch. Annie sat up straight again, eyebrows lifting. It was not hard for either of them to complete the sentence Janey had been about to utter.
Still softly, she said, "You know what he did to me. You know he killed me."
Janey went smaller, clutching the covers harder. Her silence was all the answer they needed.
Annie shifted again, this time pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. The posture made Loki want to release Janey and go to Annie. Instead, he gave her the most comforting look he could manage, and held his post with his fingers on Janey's shoulder.
"I don't think he meant to do it," Annie said, after a moment. Her tone explained rather than excused. "He was really angry. He misunderstood something I had done, and he was too angry to let me explain. We just happened to be at the top of the stairs when he caught me." Annie paused, as if to remember. Loki took the moment to imagine, but had to push the images from his mind, in case he did something to Owen that would completely put paid to any chance of his being accepted into a teacher training program someday.
Annie, with monumental self-control, shrugged and repeated, "I'm quite sure he didn't mean to do it, but he certainly isn't sorry about it."
"It wasn't his fault. It was an accident," Janey whispered, as if that excused everything: not being sorry, failing to tell the truth to the police, lying to her family, going on with his life as if nothing had happened.
Picking out another victim, and starting over.
"It wasn't, you know. Not really. He might not have exactly meant to kill me, but he certainly didn't throw me downstairs for my health," Annie said, with an edge to her voice now. "And anyway, who's to say you won't have the same kind of accident?"
"He wouldn't really hurt me," Janey protested, big tears welling out of her eyes and beginning to stream down her little round face.
"Why not?" Annie asked harshly. "Because he loves you so much? More than he loved me? He asked me to marry him. Whatever he felt about me, he wanted me enough to want to keep me, and then he hurt me anyway. He killed me anyway. He might never kill you, Janey, but it won't be because he loves you so much. Normal people don't deliberately hurt anybody- strangers, people they don't like- let alone people they love.
"Owen likes hurting people, and he likes having girls like you and me in his life, because he can hurt us and get away with it. Because we make excuses for him that let us keep imagining we're important to him, and we tell ourselves that if we could only figure out the right thing to do, everything would be fine. As if we have any control at all over what he does, or feels. He feels nothing. Not for us, or anyone but himself. I don't think he knows we're even real."
Janey was obviously neither as bright nor as insightful as Annie, and of course she also suffered under the considerable handicap of still being within Owen's orbit, her own needs and wishes not even secondary to his, but nonexistent. Even so, it was clear from her expression that she was having difficulty resisting Annie's arguments. She opened her mouth, probably to bleat once again that Owen loved her, but then closed it without making a sound.
Annie gazed at her for a moment, her expression one of strangely detached compassion, and then, unexpectedly, she moved forward and kissed Janey on the forehead. She drew back, looking for a moment strangely like a fairy godmother in a modern legend, and said, her tone gentle again,
"You have to leave him, Janey. You know you do. For your own sake, and for your own safety." Janey gave no response. Annie glanced at Loki and nodded.
Under the spell, Janey did not register the presence of anyone behind her, any more than she felt the hand on her shoulder. Loki mentally pressed down on her mind, casting the sleeping spell. Tomorrow morning she would probably believe this was indeed all a dream, but unlike many dreams she would remember it clearly. And, Loki hoped, she would also remember the suspicions- or perhaps knowledge- it had drawn out of her concerning Owen's guilt.
Janey lay docilely back down, and Loki pulled the covers up around her shoulders.
"Well," he said, "short of abducting her ourselves, I think that is all we can do. Do you need a moment before- ?"
Annie nodded. "I think so." She moved away from the bed, and Loki toward her. She let him wrap his arms around her, leaned her head into his shoulder. He hoped the gesture was comforting to her- it certainly reassured Loki that she would permit it, considering the similarities-
Annie spoke again. "I don't think it's going to work. I think she needs him- needs someone- too much. I don't think I would have gone, either, if someone had tried to help me. I only got away by dying." Loki tightened his arms. Annie squeezed back, and said, "You were luckier."
"I?" Loki repeated stupidly.
"Yes. They- especially Thor- really didn't mean to hurt you, and they really do love you. That occurred to me, while Janey and I were talking. How much, aside from that, the three of us actually have in common."
Loki, who had of course been reflecting on the resemblance between himself and someone else entirely, found himself too flabbergasted to make any verbal reply.
Annie did not seem to expect one, and so they stood in silence for a few moments, until she felt ready to confront Owen.
~oOo~
Owen opened his eyes to find himself standing halfway down the stairs, his hand on the railing. Below him was the entry hall.
But it was not the entry hall of the house he lived in with Janey. The banister under his hand was scuffed, in need of refinishing. Below him, the flooring was black-and-white tile.
And lying on the tile, a twisted little figure, eyes half-open, one arm outflung and the other hand up next to her head.
Owen, without noticing the hand on his shoulder any more than Janey had, muttered a curse and started forward. "Am I never going to be rid of you- ?"
He reached the bottom of the stairs, leaned over the body, and then recoiled as the half-open, staring eyes suddenly focused on him.
"Hello, Owen," Annie said, without raising her head from the pool of blood that had collected under it.
Owen gaped. "What are you- ?"
Annie smiled. Even Loki, looking at it over Owen's shoulder, found it in the present context a rather creepy expression. "I think we need to talk. About what you did. What you're doing."
Under Loki's hand, Owen was rigid. Just for a moment, it felt like fear- of being caught, perhaps, if nothing else. But- perhaps- it could be remorse. Realization. A dawning awareness that he had hurt a real person, someone who was more than her role in Owen's comfort, his convenience. Perhaps-
The shoulders under his hands were shaking, and Loki realized, to his horror, that Owen was laughing.
"You haven't changed at all, have you?" he sneered. "My God, not even being dead can stop your whining. Owen, I want. Owen, I need. As if I care. As if a little bitch like you is good for more than one thing, as if I couldn't replace you like that." He snapped his fingers and laughed again. "What you need, what all of you need, is to understand that you're lucky I looked at you twice. A fashion student. A shop girl. You were lucky I ever bothered with you, you and that stupid little cow Janey. As if I don't deserve better."
It abruptly came to Loki that Owen's interpretation of this supposed dream was exactly the opposite of what had been intended. Owen apparently considered this a golden opportunity to deal a final punishment to the victim who had dared escape him before he was finished destroying her.
He glanced past Owen's shoulder toward Annie, who was frozen in place. Perhaps she recognized the triumphant expression on the face glaring down at her. Whatever the reason, she seemed incapable of further speech.
Before Owen could say another word, Loki intervened.
"Annie," he said urgently, "go home. Please go." To his relief, her eyes flicked to his and regained focus. He nodded. Annie, without changing her position, vanished, taking the black-and-white tile and the scuffed old staircase with her. Loki and Owen were left standing in the modern entrance of Owen and Janey's wretched new dwelling.
Owen, under the dream-spell, did not turn to see who was behind him. Loki let his hand slide from the shoulder up the back of Owen's neck, allowed his long fingers to wrap themselves around it. Loki was not as strong as his elder brother, but even without ever having done so he knew he could, with a single squeeze, crush the spine of the creature before him.
Not enough to kill him, mind. Just to ensure the rest of his life was spent at someone else's convenience, and someone else's mercy. How long would it be, before anyone who called Owen friend found they could manage quite nicely without him, before Owen's world became limited to the walls of some facility, and the impersonal ministrations of professional helpers with other, more engaging, responsibilities?
It was a terrible thought, an evil thought. Loki felt no shame for it, none at all. One does not need to feel shame for entertaining such fantasies, if you do not intend to carry them out.
Loki permitted himself two breaths in which to cherish his ugly fancy. And then he took in one more deep breath, exhaled, and as he drew in his next he called on another spell, one given extra strength by the anger that filled him.
In the blink of an eye, they were standing outside Temple Meads railway station, under cover of a glamour. Loki let it gradually fade from Owen, so that passersby would find themselves with confused but convincing memories of the sleepwalker, clad only in boxer shorts, walking up to the station under his own power.
There were people enough present to ensure Owen would not freeze, even on such a cold night. Loki had enough confidence in the general decency of humans to be certain of that. Owen was an exception to the general rule of this realm, and he would come to no real harm. He would merely regain his senses in a situation that confused and embarrassed him, and probably the police would take him home. It was a stupid, pointless act of spite, and Loki did not regret it in the slightest.
Still wrapped in the glamour and so hidden from mortal eyes, Loki left Owen standing on the pavement and took himself back home. He arrived in the entry hall, on the black-and-white tiles. Annie was huddled up on the sofa, obviously waiting for him. Loki approached her, moving cautiously.
"Annie? I am sorry, Annie. I confess I did not foresee things going quite as badly as that."
Annie wiped the tears from her eyes and sat up straighter. "It's not your fault. I should have realized it was likely- I'm the one who knew him. I just hoped... Thor was so sorry he'd hurt you, when he realized... and you were, too, when you did... I just hoped..."
"Thor is not the same sort of creature as Owen," Loki murmured, dropping to the sofa beside her. Annie moved over to cuddle into him.
"Neither are you," she said softly. "Don't think that for one minute. You aren't, and you never were." Loki wrapped his arms around her, and after a moment Annie said, "I suppose that's it, isn't it? There's not much more we can do, if he doesn't even have as much conscience as Macbeth."
Loki leaned his cheek against her hair and said, "It is much too early to give up. We might not be able to make him feel remorse, but I have not yet abandoned the idea of punishment. However, we must decide what form an acceptable penalty would take. I confess, at the moment my mind is turning more toward mythology than British justice. I think I could probably find a suitable serpent, but I am stymied by the matter of the entrails. Quite apart from not wishing to harm some innocent person, if the requirement was for them to come from someone beloved of Owen, I must assume the only candidate is Owen himself."
Annie laughed weakly. "I should tell you that's a horrible thing to even joke about."
"Oh, I know it," Loki agreed readily. "But as long as we have no intention of actually doing it, the joke is mostly harmless." He sighed. "No, this is not something we can deal with tonight. We should leave it until tomorrow, when our minds are a little clearer."
"Okay," Annie agreed.
"I should go to bed," Loki said, without moving. "I have to work in the morning."
"Right," Annie said, also without moving. Loki finally began to shift, and Annie caught him by the hand. "Stay with me tonight?"
"Of course," he replied, pressing his lips against her hair. Annie turned in his arms, and- between one thing and another- it was some time before either of them made another attempt to rise from the sofa.
It really was just as well George and Mitchell were safely asleep in their rooms.
Loki was in a state of considerable dishevelment when his mobile phone, in his jacket on the floor beside him, began a cheerful racket of loud music and voices singing:
"Ev'rybody- ev'rybody- ev'rybody wants to be a cat!"
Loki made a grab for the device before it woke up the household, tumbling off the sofa again and wondering why in the Nine his brother would be calling at this hour. Of course, if Thor was in Midgard, he was certainly somewhere in the United States, where it was still daytime. Thor was no better at converting times in his head than Loki.
"Hello?" he said.
"Brother?"
Only a few hours ago, Loki had quailed from the idea of speaking to Thor. He was still unsettled by the thought of what conversations might be occurring between his brother and Jane, still uneasily aware of his own guilt. But at the sound of Thor's voice, to his relief, he suddenly felt a rush of pleasure. Scrambling back onto the sofa next to Annie, Loki held the mobile in both hands and repeated his greeting.
"Hello, brother, it is good to hear your voice."
"Yours, too," Thor replied. "Loki, I really am sorry to call you so late, I assumed I would be leaving you a message for you to receive in the morning. I wanted to invite you- there is a holiday, here in the United States, this weekend. Tony Stark and Steve Rogers have told me of it. It is... a day for giving thanks, for the people and circumstances for which one is grateful."
"That sounds like a very good occasion for a holiday," Loki said.
"It is, is it not?" Thor replied warmly. "Tony plans to celebrate it with a dinner- only not on the actual day, because apparently Agent Coulson intends to spend it with his mother."
"With his what?" asked Loki, stupidly.
Thor laughed. "That was also my reaction. Regardless, Tony has invited all the Avengers to stay with him for the weekend, and dine together on Saturday evening. And... " Thor paused for a moment, and then said awkwardly, "And since the purpose is to think of all for which we are grateful... I thought I would ask you to come celebrate with us. You and your friends."
Loki closed his eyes for a long moment, swallowed, and replied quietly, "I would like that very much, brother. Thank you for the invitation."
"Good, I am glad," Thor said in a tone of restrained warmth. "Can you come on Friday? Tony has offered to send an aircraft for you- "
"May I send you a message tomorrow, after I speak to George and Mitchell? I think they may be scheduled to work this weekend, and if they cannot come, I am quite sure I can manage passage for Annie and myself." He paused. "I will be very glad to see you again."
"As will I," Thor replied. "Good night."
"Good morning," Loki corrected.
"I told you it would be my turn to wake you next," Thor reminded him with a chuckle, and ended the call.
Loki looked at Annie. "Tony Stark has invited us to dinner. Would you care to go?"
Annie laughed. "Apart from the little detail about me being unable to eat or drink, that sounds like a wonderful idea. And a change of scenery- "
"Also sounds wonderful," Loki agreed. He consulted the time on the screen of his mobile. "And now, I really think it is time for bed."
"Right," Annie said, and took his hand. Loki blinked, and then smiled at her.
"Oh. Right."