Darcy stumbled forward, tripping over a root to land sprawled out on the dirt. Her palms and knew stung from sliding over the gravelly ground. She looked around in disbelief.

"Good god," she breathed. "I'm not even going to go near the Dorothy quotes. It would just be too easy."

She'd never been to Kansas, but she had an impression of farmland.

Jane's office was long gone, and instead of telescopes and fresh white walls Darcy faced tall, dark and handsome fir trees that reached up and up, thinly populated branches that grew thicker the farther up they got, finally blocking out most traces of the sky from view by it's piney canopy. The only light that reached her and allowed her to see were faint cracks of sunlight coming in unevenly through the needles. But most of what she could see was in shadow and sinister looking. The closed canopy above and the dark made it feel more like a tunnel than a forest. The smell of pine resin protested otherwise though. It was annoyingly strong, and gave her a headache. Or maybe it was partly from her method of travel.

Never one to simply wallow aimlessly, Darcy dusted her knees off and considered her options. Clearly Jane's prototype worked. Sadly, it had not journeyed with Darcy, so she was left somewhat stranded in god knows where when other dimensions could be involved, and with no means of getting home on the horizon.

She pursed her lips, ignoring the twinge of worry that maybe her stay would be permanent.

"Unacceptable," she said, nodding decisively. There was simply no way that she would entertain the thought. Besides, she'd gotten there hadn't she? There would be a way back. She just had to find some help and she wasn't likely to get it in the middle of a forest.

"Right." She headed in the slightly better lit direction, hoping for the best. She smiled wryly. "And at least I know enough to not eat any candy houses I come across. Although...fml if I'm not a little hungry already. I guess I should have had that tuna. Who knew."

Revenge. Loki's mind was eaten up with thoughts of it. The anger roiling inside him was never far from the surface- sometimes could not be ignored. The walls and the surrounding area bore the brunt of his anger when the night closed in around him too far. Then there were the other nights. The nights that loomed over him so threateningly and he had to retreat to a corner of his fortress and try to forget the way it yawned all around him like some great mouth, just waiting for him to slip up and then devour him. Just a trick of the mind, he would laugh nervously to himself. Just a trick of the mind. And he would know, master of tricks that he was. But it seemed even the great Trickster was not safe from himself.

He had retreated to one of his old haunts, a leaning tower of stones in the middle of the Forest of Souls. There he plotted by night, unable to eat, barely able to sleep. When day came he left, for Vanaheim, or Nilfheim, or wherever he'd been scheming alliances and deals during the dark hours.

He'd made countless deals already, all noted down in a large leather-bound book that he kept in his breast-pocket. It was amazing how wanting the world was, and how eager they were to get what they desired. And Loki was more than capable...

Out in the night an owl hooted low by his open window, it's great wings beating the air and Loki couldn't help throwing his fist against the stone wall of his study. It was memories always, that haunted him. The feel of his flesh ripped from his bones- the agony. On and on. And the way it's cold eyes had watched him. So unafraid. So uncaring. So...

He was outside. The night closed in around him like a vice but he had learned how to grit his teeth and breathe anyways. The darkness wanted him to give in. To give in and be crushed. But he would not. He had not lived through all that he had only to give in to death in the mewlings of the night.

It wasn't uncommon for him to lose time like this, though it happened less often than it used to.

His fists were bloody and aching, and feathers clung to them. He must have pounded them against the wall for a while before finally coming out to find the bird and killing it anyways.

He was getting better, he thought, clenching his hands. He'd at least put up a fight. When he was freshly released he hadn't put any up. He would have killed the bird as a mere reaction.

But he didn't want to be like this. He hated the loss of control.

What was left of the owl was scattered around him. He tried to brush the feathers off on his pants, disgusted by the way the stickiness of the blood made it difficult. Poor beast, he thought dimly. It was not the one that had tortured him so long. Yet it had payed for it all the same.

Look at what you've become. A monster who kills the innocent.

But he shook the thought off easily enough. He had not killed the innocent. He had killed a bird, nothing more. And in the end, he thought cynically, can anyone really be innocent?

A light rain began to fall.

"God damn it but I hate being right," Darcy groaned to herself as she wrapped her arms around herself to try and conserve what little heat her drenched body might provide. "And if I ever say otherwise then strike me down."

It had grown cold as night had fallen, and even the shelter of the trees did not dilute the downpour that had come out of nowhere. She had been walking all day, making no headway that she could tell. Each tree looked identical to the other in the dark of the forest, and then night had fallen anyways and she had sat down after the third time she'd tripped in the black, her back against one of the trees, and tried to sleep. That was when the first raindrop had fallen, to land, tauntingly, on her nose. She had blinked, exhausted, and blown it off. "I know how this works," she'd sighed. "If I'm as lucky as I think I am, then the sky are gonna open up any minute." Sure enough...

It was impossible to sleep. She didn't often get sick, but it would be a miracle if she escaped the annoying, stuffy anger of a cold this time. At least the kids would be fine- she was sure of that. Jane would take them. Thank god for Jane. Although, thinking about it, this whole situation was kind of Jane's fault. If Jane wasn't such a good scientist then she never would have developed the means for Darcy to get stuck in this cold, miserable place. She shivered. That wasn't fair though. It was as much Darcy's fault- in fact more. It wasn't like Jane hadn't told her not to touch it.

In the cold rain, her situation seemed insurmountable and depressing as all hell. But everything will look better in the morning, she told herself hopefully. I won't say things can't get much worse, because that's just asking for it. But...it has to get better.

The night passed in an endless , cold misery. The rain stopped at some point, leaving Darcy reluctantly thanking whatever god there might be, but the damage had already been done: she was soaked. And it didn't look like she would be drying off anytime soon.

Morning dawned. Barely. Just peeking it's head up out of the dark, not really wanting to commit itself. But Darcy was grateful for even the sparse light that came through the trees. As soon as she could see in front of her, she hauled herself up and trudged on. No point in delaying. The sooner she reached civilization, the sooner she could find out just where she was, and then how to get home.

Her feet were heavy, her socks drenched in rain and squishy. They squelched annoyingly as she walked.

She desperately wanted a shower. She felt like crap. Her hair was probably a mess, and she thought she might kill someone for a toothbrush. Or a sandwich.

Her belly growled demandingly.

"Really makes a girl appreciate the little things you could always count on," she grumbled to herself. "Like a Dunkin Donuts on every corner."

She'd been walking all afternoon and seriously starting to worry that she was truly in trouble- for all she knew, she'd just been walking in circles!- when the trees began thinning.

"Oh, Jesus Christ in heaven, you beautiful little angel." She almost fell to her knees with relief at the sight of an old, leaning tower in the midst of the clearing.

She was so relieved, in fact, that it took a few moments for her to realize that the clearing looked...kind of freaky. There were scorch marks on the grass around it, as if some strange kind of explosion had occurred in it, and a few of the trees around it had fallen down and bore scorch marks as well. A testing site of some sort, perhaps? Not that it made much sense, but...

She glanced at the clearing apprehensively. What if there were mines or something? And what if she risked it only to find out that no one even lived in the tower? It didn't exactly look habitable.

Her stomach growled again though. She hadn't eaten for twenty four hours, and as far as water went- a little piney rain the night before had hardly quenched her thirst.

The turf was simply scorched, she noted. Surely that was important? If there were mines they would have made a hole in the dirt.

Decided, she made for the tower.

Losing my mind. Loki blinked at the wall.

It was morning now. Dawn had broken hours ago. There were things to do, always, always so much to do. He'd meant to go to Nidhgar and check on his investments there. Malekith was a man who liked to be wooed to a cause, and left on his own too long would take offense. And then there was Griffin. Griffin, who had inherited the Frost Giant crown from Laufey, and the weapon that had left Odin so weak and sickened. Griffin who, being Laufey's son, was at least half-brother to Loki. He had to think of what they might want in return for it. Stealing was always an option, but that tended to close the door on an alliance down the line, and Loki was a long-game player. Short-term rewards seldom were sweet enough when winter came.

He had all this to do, and the desire to do it as well. But he couldn't seem to find the will. Sometime during the night he'd managed to drag himself back inside, away from the remains of the owl. He was still where he'd pulled himself- an old armchair in the study on the first floor. He'd meant to get to his bedroom, but that was at the top of the stairs and he had not felt up to the task of them, nor capable of the focus necessary to flash.

What a pitiful, broken thing I have become, he sneered to himself. Prone to bouts of madness and depression. Unable to keep control of himself, or to match desire to action. And now on top of everything, hallucinating...

A knocking on the door. Even his ears were deceiving him now, on top of his brain and his body. It was perfect. It was all just bloody perfect. Perhaps he would just molder away in this bloody ruin of a tower in the middle of nowhere.

The broken tower for the broken man. Fitting.

A voice. He shut his eyes and tried to block it out. If I pretend I cannot hear it, maybe it will go away. If I ignore this madness maybe it will starve and I'll be able to get some bloody clarity for once. And maybe fate would smile on him. Maybe his parents actually loved him. Maybe pigs would fly.

His lips curled in disgust at his own weak thoughts. He could not truly say if he hated Agda more for what she had done to him, or himself, that he had been weak enough to break because of her.

Power. Power is everything. I will have it again. I will...

- was that?

Loki frowned, tensing. Yes, that had definitely been the door opening. But he was still hallucinating, surely- there was no one around for miles in any direction, there could not possibly be anyone here. Unless they were touched by magic as well.

I am indulging myself in my madness, he thought to himself angrily. Yet perhaps he should thank it, for it gave him the motivation to finally rise from his chair for the first time in hours.

The tower was narrow, and tall. It had two rooms on the first floor- a study at the back with an open stone archway that immediately became the kitchen that the front door opened into. Loki entered it silently, his mouth dropping open in shock.

"-nope. Not in there either. But why would there be food in a drawer, anyways? There wouldn't. Because his isn't A Series of Unfortunate Events. Except it kind of is..."

Loki blinked. There was a woman in his tower. And not just that, but a mortal woman. He could see it, clear as day. She was Midgardian. How could this be?

Of all the things he had expected to find, this...had not been one of them.

She had not noticed him. Her back was turned to him as she rooted through his cabinets and drawers, muttering to herself as she went. As she was no threat to him, he took the time to study her, or the bits of her that he could see anyways. She had definitely been caught in the rain last night. Her brown hair was tangled and damp, pulled into a mess at the top of her head, and her clothes- a close-fitted red shirt and blue pants- were sodden.

It was strange apparel, Loki noted, frowning at the appreciation he felt for the way the clothes hugged her body. Was this how Midgardian women dressed themselves now? Surely not... Perhaps she was a concubine of sorts. The last time he had been to Midgard, the only women who showed their bodies as such had been women of lesser morals. And what am I supposed to do with a whore? he thought angrily. He needed all of his focus bent on his revenge.

There was nothing for it. He would have to dispose of her. It was unfortunate, but there it was: she had wound up somewhere she did not belong, and he was not about to let her leave with knowledge of this place. There was a reason he had chosen to live in the middle of a forest.

But first, he would have answers. A Midgardian in Asgard. It had been an age since last this had happened.

"- too much to ask for a frigerator I suppose," she was saying mournfully. She seemed to droop for a moment, and Loki was annoyed at the slight whisper of pity he felt for her. But she squared her shoulders. "I am not going to die of starvation," she said forcefully. "I'm just not."

Well, that was true enough. He did not have any intention of waiting that long. In fact, he was done waiting at all. He would have his answers and be done with this creature, and maybe by then he would have found the will to continue on to Sfvardalfheim as he'd planned.

"Are you looking to lose a hand?" He said, unable to hold back the beginnings of a smile at her shriek of surprise.

"Ah! God in heaven- what! ...are you? Who," She babbled, brown eyes wide with surprise. But not fear, he noticed. Interesting. "I mean. Sorry- I knocked. You didn't...answer..." she trailed off, unsure, offering a smile.

He frowned. She was pale and tired-looking, but under that she might have been pretty, if one went for dark-haired, buxom lasses. Which he did not, he reminded himself angrily. It didn't matter. She was dying soon anyways.

"Who are you?"

"-gain a hand, actually- sorry, what?" She smiled again, this time apologetically. His frown deepened. She smiled too much.

"Who are you," he repeated in clipped tones.

"Oh. Right. Good question." She beamed at him. "Exactly the kind of thing I would ask someone who accidentally broke into my home too."

"Accidentally?" he scoffed, before cursing himself. He had not meant to engage in further conversation than necessary.

"Well of course accidentally!" She glared at him for the first time. "It's not like I make a habit of this! But I'm hungry and tired and cold and wet and a lot of other adjectives that I'm too tired to-" She stopped suddenly, blinking. "Sorry," she said, looking a little lost. "I'm Darcy. Darcy Lewis. It's...nice? to meet you, Mr...?"

"How do you come to be here?"

"Umm. Okay, I guess you're going with the whole 'mysterious' thing. Cool. Look, I'd love to chat or whatever- in fact, I've got some questions for you, too, but the thing is...I haven't eaten for like two days, so...Is there any way you could find some food? Help a sistah out?"

Feed the girl who had an expiration date of an hour, if not minutes? Loki smiled for a moment. But what could it hurt. She would likely give him the information he needed faster.

He tossed her an apple and nodded at the table in the corner.

"Fml," she moaned as the apple nicked her fingers only to fall to the floor. "This is why sports."

Fml?

She had picked the apple up though, and taken the chair he had pointed to.

"How did you get here?" He asked again, leaning against a cupboard, arm crossed.

She sighed with happiness as she took her first bite. "Actually, that's a funny story- see-" she stopped and gave him a measured look, pursing her lips. "Do you believe in...magic?" She asked hesitantly.

Do I believe in magic? Loki laughed, amused still farther when she didn't know what to make of that.

"Well, whatever," she said defiantly, misinterpreting his laughter "It does exist, or science acts near enough like it anyways, because my friend is a scientist and she made this bridge thing that's supposed to take you to another dimension or something, except she hadn't quite gotten it right before I touched it accidentally and it took me here and...where is here, anyways?"

He tensed.

Fascinating. She claimed to have actually been transported here by something near the Bifrost, which he knew for a fact was still broken, though he could have fixed it by now, finally. The urge to do so had left him though. It was to his advantage that he alone could travel between worlds.

"Is everything you do merely an accident?"

She frowned. "What? No. Where is this?"

"This is my home."

Her frown deepened. It was strange on her. As if she did not scowl often. "Well, yeah. But, like, what...country?"

"You are in Asgard."

"Asgard!" She looked alarmed. "Jesus criminy fuck all! Well, I guess Jane's thingie works."

"You've heard of Asgard before? How?"

Her eyes darted away for a moment. "I've read stories," she said. "Asgard. Like with the gods and stuff. Odin, and what not."

"You're not a very good liar. Don't make me ask again."

She made a face. "I know. I'm terrible at it. It's quite a problem. Anyways, I'd rather not say. It's not important anyways. Can you get me back?" She asked abruptly. "To my...um. Planet? City? ...Life. ?"

"Yes."

Relief washed over her face, and she brushed a hand at her eyes. "Really? Oh my god, because that would just be...Jesus." She took a deep breath. "Really really good. How would it work? Is it like-"

"I would like my questions answered first, though."

She blinked. "Oh. Right. Well, yeah sure. I didn't- okay. Ask away then, matey. Argh."

Loki regarded with confusion the curled finger she was waving halfheartedly, but he decided to ignore it. "Explain, if you would, how exactly you came to find my home when it is in the middle of the Forest of Souls and forgotten to most." A sudden thought came to him that had him scowling darkly. "Are you one of Agda's creatures? Did she send you to finish her work?"

"Oy!" Darcy shoved at him and he blinked but did not release her. He did not remember moving, but somehow his face was now inches from hers, his hands tightly gripping her shoulders. "This is a no-touching zone! Get the fuck off me. I don't know who this Agda person is but I can definitely understand why she'd want to piss you off. Because you are out of your mind!"

Out of your mind. Out of your mind. Out of your mind.

Loki closed his eyes briefly. He was losing it. When he opened them again the girl was looking at him strangely. But it didn't matter, he told himself. It didn't matter.

He was surprised to find he was still gripping her shoulders, and released them abruptly, backing away from her. His heart was beating too fast and his mouth was dry.

"Are you...okay?" She asked timidly. Her eyes were so soft now. Hadn't they been flashing a moment ago? His throat was so dry. Losing it...

He turned away from her. She was not one of Agda's minions. The girl knew nothing. If there was one thing Loki had always been good at, it was sensing mischief. Sensing lies. And this girl was as genuine as he'd ever come across. But then again, I haven't been the same since that bitch. He saw traps where there were none. Who was to say he would not miss one that was right in front of his nose? He could trust nothing. He stared at his hands. Only hours ago they had been ripping an owl limb from limb and he hadn't even been aware of it to stop himself. He could trust nothing; not even himself. Because he wasn't himself.

Losing it...

He could not even control his own body.

"Jesus..." The soft exhalation caught his attention. The girl had backed herself into the corner...?

"What?" Was that his voice? It was more of a croak. His throat was so fatesdamned dry... Why was she staring at him like that? He scowled. "What?" He asked again, harsher. She just shook her head, eying him warily. He clenched his jaw angrily. What was it about her that made him so furious? So- no. That could not be right. She was nothing. Nothing. And he would not be made ashamed by some slip of a girl who was probably working to bring him down. He would not-

His hands were bleeding. A looming, crushing sense of futility struck him: he had added a few more holes to the walls. His chairs lay in pieces on the floor. And he could not even remember doing it. He could not even remember it!

"I'm gonna...go." The girl again. She was edging towards the door and he scowled that she treated him like some rabid dog. To be afraid of him- yes. That was good. She should be. He was Loki, the god of mischief, and there was much he had done that would inspire terror in gods, let alone mortal females. But she knew nothing of that. This girl was simply afraid of him because of his lapses. She was afraid of him for his weakness, which infuriated him.

"No," he said, and stepped in front of the door.

She stopped, backing away from him a little, always her eyes watching his movements. That was good. She was smart to do so. Only the fates knew when he might lose time again.

"Okay," she said slowly. "I'm a bit freaked out right now and I don't want to stay here. I don't like that you're not letting me leave, and I would appreciate it if you would please step away from the door."

"No." She didn't quite seem to know what to do with that, but annoyance was quickly overriding any lingering fear. For some reason he felt like putting that fear back into her eyes. "I can't let you leave," he said. "You've seen too much."

"So then send me home," she said challengingly. "You said you could."

"And so I can. But I don't think I will."

She narrowed her eyes. "So then it looks like we have a Mexican stand-off."

Loki cocked his head but decided to ignore that. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you," he said. "It would be quite a bit easier."

He felt a moment of intense satisfaction at the sight of her mouth dropping open, and he was hard-pressed to keep the smile from his face. Anger quickly overtook shock once more though, and her eyes flashed.

"You actually need a reason not to kill me!? What the fuck!? A little human decency wouldn't be amiss here. Look at me! I'm wet and cold and hungry in a world I don't know, and you're the only person I've seen for like a day, and you want to kill me?" She was certainly a feisty little thing- and she was little. Her head was level with his shoulders, as he found out definitively when she got up in his face to yell at him decently. She even had the audacity to poke him with her index finger. "Well I won't let you."

She was quite an intriguing little thing. He had to give her that. Never would he have thought so to look at her, all wet and mousy. But she didn't react the way he would expect. By all rights she should be properly cowed and cowering- and yet...he had never known brown eyes could be so stormy.

"I could have killed you a hundred times over," he said, staring from the finger that was mere centimeters from his chest. She quickly drew her hand back, scowling at him as she crossed her arms.

"You could have tried," she snapped, and he raised a brow.

"I would have succeeded."

"Well yeah. " She rolled her eyes. "Jesus. But it doesn't hurt to at least pretend to have some confidence in my own self defense. What did you want me to say? 'Oh yeah, you could have snapped my neck like a twig'?" She smacked his chest. "Think about it."

He caught her hand tightly. "Don't touch me."

"What, it's fine for you to threaten to murder me in cold blood but I can't touch you without getting pissiness?" She scoffed. "What are you going to do, murder me twice?"

"If I have to."

"Well luckily you don't. And that's not possible. And...you're rude and I don't like you. And for someone who doesn't like to be touched, why are you still holding my hand!?" He dropped it as if scalded and she flexed it testingly, scowling at him. "You," she sniffed finally, somehow looking down her nose at him, "do not play well with others." She shook her head,coming back to herself. "And your craziness is catching, because that's the only reason I would stay so long with a man who has promised to send me to the grave. Well, I'm not dying today, buddy. I'm going home. There's got to be someone else around here who can bring me back."

"There isn't."

"You don't know that!"

He raised a brow. "I promise you, I do."

She rolled her eyes. "You're not god. Or Edward. You can't read minds. You don't even know my name, not that it matters except that it does because my point is so proven that you look like a fool. And I look really cool. And- will you just scoot? In case you didn't realize, there's just the one door, and you're blocking it."

"Why do you think I'm standing in front of it?" he asked, bemused.

Darcy inhaled deeply, reaching for calm. On one hand, this man was certifiable, and possibly murdericidal too. Homicidal. Whatever. But on the other hand, she was trapped in another dimension and he seemed to be the only ticket back.

She exhaled, decided.

"Alright then," she said reluctantly. "I guess I'll stay."

Psycho-pants quirked a brow. "Stay?"

"Yeah. So how long before you can send me home? Is there like a portal or something? How does that work? Portkeys!" She exclaimed excitedly, remembering Harry Potter all of a sudden. "Oh my god! That's pretty funny actually, because Jane made a Portkey- sorry, what?"

"-happen." He crossed his arms, looking down his nose at her. If Darcy had ever bothered to think of a man to represent the whole 'tall, dark, and mysterious' phrase, this guy would have been it. He was lanky, and hard. Very brittle seeming. But attractive, in a deranged sort of way.

"When's the last time you got a massage?" She asked. His muscles were probably tied up into Celtic knots if he was anything near as tense as this for long periods of time. He just frowned at her. "Manicure? Pedicure? Acupuncture? Kittens? Something?"

"I am not in the habit of repeating myself." There was something funny about his tone of voice, but Darcy was too tired to really examine it.

"Look, if you're gonna kill me, can you just start? I really just want a bowl of soup and to sleep right now." She was tired to her bones. Her clothes had never fully dried, and they clung annoyingly to her skin so that she wanted to just rip them off and be done with it. "I'm sorry," she blinked, trying to focus. He had just said something, but it had just flowed over her head. It was partly his own fault, because his voice was so pleasing to listen to that her tired mind had simply forgotten to comprehend what he said.

He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something else, but then shut it. If she hadn't been so tired, she probably would have felt a little awkward about the way he was looking at her. He seemed to be making a decision about her. She wished he would hurry up. Her mind was being very annoying, and was amusing itself by taking stock of his features and telling her how much it liked them, which she didn't appreciate.

Finally, he nodded and strode to the doorway. "Follow me."

Darcy pursed her lips. The door was now free...was she really sure she wanted to stay with him? It won't be for very long, she tried to rationalize. Besides, she really needed food, and she had missed the squirrely genes. She would be as good at foraging plants as she was at growing them. And Jane had nicknamed her thumbs 'Merchants of Death'.

She followed him.