When Loki woke up in the deep Midgardian night of the city that never seemed to sleep, Gwen wasn't there. The bed, the part where she should have been lying, was cold, but he could hear her soft breathing still, so she must have been nearby. He pulled on some clothes and walked out of the bedroom into her office, and found her curled up in her desk chair with a half empty bottle of liquor that had been full when he had seen it earlier that evening.
"You aren't in bed," he said.
"Nope," she replied, and her face twisted as she downed another mouthful of alcohol.
This wasn't like her. When Gwen had nightmares, she never ran away from them. "Are you coming back?"
"Nope," she repeated. Her voice was shaky.
Loki considered this for a brief moment, then sat down opposite her and poured a drink into a crystal glass for himself. "Tell me about the dream," he said calmly, leaning back in his chair.
Gwen sniffed, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "You know what's bullshit?" she asked him, "sex being treated like, like this precious thing that's the creation of life, and who cares if the woman actually gets anything good out of it, as long as the bloke gets off then it's okay, it's correct, because it's – it's creating life. And then when it actually, you know, when it does, when the bird gets up the duff, then suddenly that's all lies and how dare she, how fucking dare she, be a… fucking receptacle?"
Loki, who was perfectly aware of his prowess in all matters, sexual or otherwise, did not deign to think that this rant was aimed at him. "Are you considering celibacy?" he asked, and she spat. "It was him, wasn't it? Lucy's father?"
"Don't call him that," she snarled, "he doesn't get to be called that. He conned me into it and then he left. And I'm supposed to be over it, anyway."
"And yet," said Loki, "you are not in bed."
Gwen looked away. "I hate bad dreams," she muttered, "the rest of the world's shitty enough, I don't need my own head turning against me."
"My darling mouse," Loki sighed, "don't be an idiot."
"Bugger off."
"Nobody will ever do that to you again," he told her, and she raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.
"Oh, really?" she asked in a savage tone, "will you stop them, oh brave prince?"
"It's king, actually," Loki replied, "and no, I will not. You will." She huffed. "Gwen, I could take you to a crystal palace guarded by a thousand men where the winds themselves will sing your virtues, I could give you followers that sanctify the very ground you walk upon and decree it so that to so much as look upon you would be a crime of the highest treason. I could smite the man who gave you such a foolish complex where he stood, and I could make you my queen and love you as my wife, so that you cry my name to the heavens in gratitude."
"We've talked about this," Gwen began, but he held up a hand.
"Let me finish. I could do all of that for you and more, little mouse, but I also know you are as stubborn as the rest of your kind. Far too stubborn to let me do any of that, and besides… I trust you."
Her eyes were sparkling rather brighter than normal, and they both ignored the tear that carved a path down one of her cheeks. "I wouldn't," she said.
"Oh, you misunderstand. I wouldn't trust you with my riches, my empire and so on. But I would trust you with yours," he said, "because, you see, I consider you to be a person capable of making her own decisions. And you are a fearsome woman when the mood takes you, mouse. I do not doubt that the tides would turn at your word. And that is why you're being an idiot – you will never let anyone hurt you again. I trust you to ensure that."
Gwen stared at him for a moment, and then broke out into a melancholy little smile. "Thank you," she said.
"Well, it's the middle of the night. I'm very tired, and probably quite out of character. Now, let's never mention this again." He stood up, and offered her his hand. "The bed will not hurt you, Gwen. Not if you do not let it."
She exhaled, then took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. "None of the moaning about sex was regarding you, by the way. You're great."
"I know," he said, "but I'm glad you're aware." He watched her as she hesitated by the entrance to her bedroom again, and kissed the top of your head. "I'd appreciate the company," he whispered, "you aren't the only one to have nightmares, upon occasion."
"Yeah," she mumbled, "but yours are of things worth being scared of. Not beds."
"People have violated my trust just as they have yours," Loki said, "albeit in different ways. So while the way in which it is communicated may be different, my complexes are no more or less than yours. Gwen, please. I want to sleep."
He felt her slump against him, and thought about how he was most likely the only person in the world whom she would admit her weaknesses to, and vice versa. It took a great deal of faith for that, faith Loki did not know he was even capable of, and he wondered how much faith she had in him that she would let him into her home, the home of women she had sworn to protect, into her bed. That was what love boiled down to, in the end. Having faith in people, despite all their failings and your own.
"Fine," said Gwen, "but only 'cause you asked so nicely. But if you even vaguely allude to me being your queen or wife again, I will kill you."
"I would expect no less from you, little mouse."
%
"Explain it," Loki said to Gwen as she deposited Algernon on the table after a stressful meeting with the local mafia. "I've always wondered."
"Wondered what?"
"Your indulgence with the rodent."
"I like him," she said defensively.
"He doesn't talk," Loki pointed out, arms folded and a small frown on his face.
"Exactly!" she perched on the edge of her desk and, with difficulty, removed her fancy shoes. In reality, the little mouse had a similar story to hers – she had found him, a reject from a high-profile scientific experiment, sniffing around the bins near the research facility. "Haven't you got any lesser species companions?"
"My brother," Loki said, and she sniggered.
"A couple years ago, you would've said me."
"You are an exception to your race," he told her as she rubbed the balls of her feet.
"Cheers. Hey, you know what I was thinking about the other day?" she asked, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "You, being a god. Or, rather, not being one."
"Do elaborate," he said in a bored voice that didn't quite hide the interest beneath it.
"So – so you come here as a superior species and you, y'know, kill and shag and war on our land with all your superiority and that, and then you leave and yeah, we take you for gods because we're not advanced enough to know aliens exist yet. And, understandably, that goes to your head and you think, fuck yeah we're gods, blah blah blah, and we just sort of take that as fact, right?"
"Right."
"But – see, historians and that, they've gone back and they've proven that our ideas of what caused like, these mythological beings and that are just… people seeing sealions and thinking they're mermaids, and stuff like that. Your lot are just a different type of sealion, see? But we still talk about mermaids. The essence of the myth doesn't come from its source, but what grows up around it. So for all your extended lifespan and super strength and whatever – you're not a god. The only gods are the ones humanity created. So if we can conceive of these great and terrible things, and these epic myths and legends, while you're just assuming they're about you without having the imagination to come up with your own, then who's really the superior species here?"
"Are you done?" Loki asked.
"Yeah."
"You look very proud of yourself," he said, "and your half-boiled argument."
"I am, thank you very much. When did you stop listening?"
"Sealions."
"Ah," Gwen nodded, "that was a good bit. You were missing out." Loki laughed. "Y'know, I once read a version of a Loki where he actually really liked Earth history."
"Oh, really?" her lover asked.
"Yep. He wasn't as pretty as you, though."
Loki really was very pretty, Gwen mused, in a carelessly handsome kind of way. She had known very many attractive people in her life, and what set him apart from the rest of them was that, while he most definitely knew he was good-looking, he didn't… how should she put it? Take up as much space. When a beautiful person walked into a room, it was often all anybody could notice. But Loki somehow avoided that effect, and unless he wanted otherwise it was perfectly easy just to not notice him completely.
It must have been something to do with his trickster status, Gwen mused, and the same reason he did not seem to mind ruling under the guise of somebody else. People like Loki did not seek power for its fame and glory, but rather the power itself. She rather felt that it was purer that way, too. Gwen sympathised with that sort of motivation – she had fought for her position of authority because she disagreed with how everyone else on the bloody planet was handling theirs.
A/N two shortish filler chapters in one update.