God bless the internet, Gwen thought, closing her laptop after having looked up ballet class times for ten-year-olds in Warwick. Time for the daily mantra. "I am not a stalker, I am not a stalker, she is my daughter, I am not a stalker."
"You know," said a voice from the doorway, "if you have to tell yourself you aren't something, you probably are. Also, stalker's practically your job description."
Gwen looked up to see Bobby leaning against the doorframe of her office. "No it's not," she said, "stalkers follow people for personal reasons. We do it professionally."
"Whatever you say, boss," Bobby grinned.
"I deeply regret hiring you sometimes."
Bobby shrugged. "We got that guy Martoni wanted us to," she said, and chucked a thick wad of twenty dollar bills onto Gwen's desk.
"I take it all back," she said, checking the money was legit, "you're employee of the month."
"So," said Bobby, picking at her nails, "why does a supposedly dead Norse god keep turning up?"
Gwen's eyes flicked from the money to the girl as she slowly figured out what to say. Denial would be pointless, as would trying to deflect the question, so it was best just to get on with it, she figured. "How many people know?"
"Just me and Jen, who's tailing Thor. Figured you wouldn't exactly want it broadcasted."
"How'd you guess?"
"Mysterious British guy who looks a bit like the bloke who tried to take over the world a couple of years ago pops up around the place, and one of us is tailing the only other Asgardian we know about. How does he make himself look different, anyway?"
"Magic," said Gwen vaguely. Loki no doubt would have come up with some elaborate and silver-tongue explanation, but she couldn't afford the words to spare.
Bobby snorted. "I honestly don't know what I was expecting. So why aren't we all dead yet?"
"Because there's no point, apparently," Gwen told her, locking away the money in her safe. "Which is only slightly reassuring. I'm going out tonight, will you keep an eye on the other Rats for me?"
"Sure," said Bobby, "for a fee."
Grumbling, Gwen pulled a few bills from a different drawer, scrunched them up and lobbed them at Bobby's head, who caught them one-handed with a laugh. "Don't spend it all at once."
"Yeah, yeah. Where ya going, anyway?"
%
By the time she arrived at the Museum of Natural History it was well past closing time, but that was the point. A woman in a suit was waiting outside, and smiled as Gwen approached.
"Good evening, Miss Muris, if you would like to follow me inside." She unlocked the door and held it open as Gwen, feeling very important, walked in with a slightly open mouth. "The museum is open entirely for your viewing pleasure, once you're finished, or if you have any questions, I will be right here at the reception desk. There is a security guard in the Hall of Minerals, but apart from that it's just you and the exhibits."
"Thank you," said Gwen, trying to tip the woman, but she just shook her head.
"It's Mr Botelli's and my pleasure, Miss Muris. And happy birthday."
When she was out of ear- and eyeshot, Gwen laughed and broke into a run as she entered the first hall of exhibits. She hesitated to pull up some music on her phone and, with old-school Rolling Stones blaring out of her back pocket at full volume, danced her way through the history.
She ended up in an exhibit about Vikings, and sniggered when she saw a frieze depicting the Norse gods. The caricature of Loki was pale-haired and hook-nosed, she was delighted to see, but his expression- a mix of malice and amusement- was surprisingly accurate. She blinked and noticed a fine-boned, dark-haired man's face reflected in the glass protecting the frieze, its sea-coloured eyes watching her and overlaid atop the caricature's blue ones. What if that's just another glamour? she thought. Like Gwen is just another false name. And even if it was, well, what did it matter? Even if they're not who we're supposed to be, I still feel a hell of a lot comfier being called Gwen than my birth name. Her identity, like everything else she had done since she lost Lucy, was her choice.
"Are you following me?" she asked the reflection, then turned around to stare at the man- god- himself. British sea, that was the true colour of his eyes- not the clear cerulean of the tropics, but a mix of blue and green and steel, freezing cold and ever-moving. Eyes like that were not to be trusted…
Old words came back to her, words that she had read long ago; "I am Loki, who is fire and wit and hate. I am Loki. And I will be under an obligation to no one." Words that had sunk into her subconscious and shaped her, guided her, made her of stone and loyal only to herself… and here she was, meeting the eye of the man whom they were crafted for, without fear or the feeling of inferiority.
"Why history?" he asked, "of all things."
"So I can learn from other people's mistakes," she smiled, "you didn't answer my question."
"No, mouse, I just happened to develop a sudden interest in human antiquities. Why are you here?"
"Birthday present from Ben," she said. "He pulled a few strings- it makes you realise how corrupt and festering this city really is. Dirtier than the superheroes make it look."
"Must be good for the rodent population, though," he remarked, and she smirked.
"Thanks for the present, by the way- oh wait! You didn't get me one." She clapped him on the shoulder.
He rolled his eyes. "Mouse, I need to talk to you."
"Talk away," she said.
He took a deep breath. "Your habits are revolting," he began, "you have no respect for authority and your attachment to that rodent is, quite frankly, disturbing. Your ego is as massive as you are small, you don't think before you open your mouth, you-"
He was cut off by Gwen punching him in the face, as hard as he could.
"Ow, shit!" she shrieked, wringing her hand. "Your face is like fucking… titanium diamonds!"
Loki appeared unscathed by the punch, but he looked fuming; he grabbed her shirt and pulled her close so that the tip of her nose was barely an inch from his.
"Please don't kill me," she said.
And then he kissed her. For the first time in eleven years Gwen was being kissed, and for the first time in her life she was enjoying it.
One of his hands was balled up in her hair, and the other was pressed against the back of her neck as his teeth dragged along her lower lip, pulling on her piercing, the tip of his nose knocking against her septum ring. Sod it, she thought, and wrapped her arms around him as she kissed him back, pressing her hips into him hungrily as his hand moved from her neck to slip under her shirt, skin against skin. She hooked her legs around his waist, he pulled her backwards and they fell, in a tangled heap, onto one of the countless stone benches in the middle of the hall.
"I want you to know," Loki said breathlessly as she tore away his shirt, "this was not part of the plan."
"Seconded."
A/N fiiinally. Updating early because Christmas. EDIT: forgot to mention earlier, the "I am Loki" quote is from Sandman, because why quote the Edda or other myths or Norse texts when there's cult horror comics from the 90s?