iamartemisday asked you: Loki and Jane go out on their first proper date. Darcy and Thor 'secretly' tag along to make sure it goes well. Awkwardness ensues.

Wherein Loki and Jane get spied on. A lot. (Humor/Borderline crack. PG.)

This is the most ridiculous thing I've written in at least three years.

"Is it alive?"

"No. Nineteen."

"Was it alive?"

"No. Eighteen."

"Is it smaller than a breadbox?"

"Yes. Seventeen."

"Is it something a person could reasonably expect to see on a daily basis?"

"No. Sixteen."

"Oh, come on. We agreed on common objects."

"I never said it was uncommon. Just that it wasn't something you could expect to see daily."

"That's what uncommon means."

"That is not what uncommon means. You don't see rain every day, but you wouldn't call that uncommon, would you?"

"Is it rain?"

"No. Fifteen."

Agent Hakim adjusts her sunglasses. High noon in New Mexico is hell on the eyes. "Three more days on this detail," she says to Agent Dion, "and I'm going to shoot you."

"Three more days on this detail," says Agent Dion, "and I'm going to shoot myself. Base'll want a report in the next few minutes."

"Fine. Tell them Subject A and the intern have been mixing Slurpees at the 7-11 for the last hour. And details on the scientist and Subject B cost ninety-nine cents a minute."

Dion shakes his head. "The Slurpee thing sounds good. You want one?"

Hakim focuses her binoculars to get a better view through the convenience store windows. "I think they've got blueberry," she says after a moment. "If they do, get me a large. But none of that cherry crap."

"You have something against cherries now?"

"Real cherries, no. Cherry-flavor, on the other hand— hey, wait. Subject B and the scientist are on the move."

"They usually are."

"No, I mean, they've actually left the laboratory. In daylight. Together."

"No shit?" Dion sits up to peer over the edge of the roof. "Huh. They never come out unless the intern is dragging them. Think it means something?"

"Hell if I know," says Hakim, passing Dion the extra set of binoculars. "But it's more interesting than your stupid-ass guessing games."

"You only think they're stupid because you always lose."

"Shut up."

"And this one," announces Darcy, "is Mountain Dew."

Thor blinks. "What sort of harm befell your Midgardian mountains," he says, "that could turn the waters to such a green?"

"It's not real dew. It's just a name. You'll like it."

"I recall you spoke similarly of the Apple Schnapps."

"But it was good, right?"

"It tasted nothing of apple."

"That's not the point." Darcy starts filling up another Big Gulp cup with Dew Slurpee. They're starting to get dark glares from the guy behind the counter, but she's got twenty dollars in her pocket and that'll cover everything they've had already, plus some Snickers on the way out. No big deal.

Okay, so this probably isn't exactly what Jane meant when she asked Darcy to go grocery shopping. But apparently they've got fruits and vegetables and lean chicken breasts on Thor's planet. They don't have Slurpees or Snickers. Who's going to teach him about those, if not Darcy? This is vital stuff.

"When we return to Asgard," says Thor, watching the Slurpee mixer churn with a seriously skeptical look, "it is I who will introduce you to the succulent delights of another world. Piquant dishes from the most distant realms, meads with a hundred flavors — wonders the likes of which even you, Darcy Lewis, have never conceived."

"Sounds cool," says Darcy. She passes him the Slurpee. "Don't drink so fast this time."

"You are going to pay for that," says the guy behind the counter.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry." Darcy glances out the window as Thor starts to slurp — and, hey, wait. "Is that… Jane and Loki?"

Thor looks up and follows her gaze out the window. "It is," he says after a moment, sounding stunned. "They have left the laboratory."

Loki and Darcy's — supervisor? Is that what Jane is? It's probably on a form somewhere — are walking down the street and talking to each other like… like they're normal people.

What the hell is going on?

"Quick," Darcy says to Thor, heading for the exit. "We're following them."

"My brother does not require supervision with his consort."

"Oh, like they've ever cared about supervision." Thor gasps and grabs for his head, and Darcy rolls her eyes. "I told you not to drink too fast."

"What is this pain? Another hangover?"

"It's called a brain freeze. Hurry up, or we're going to lose them."

Heimdall's watch is never-ending. He has witnessed the greatest of ecstasies, the deepest of pains, the most brutal cruelties known to living creatures. There is nothing that he does not see. There is nothing that he cannot see.

But for now, for this heartbeat of time, his watch is focused on but two lives. For this is what the ruler of Asgard has ordered.

If the Queen commands, the Gatekeeper of the Bifrost obeys.

(As Frigga commands, so Heimdall obeys.)

For now, he guards that which is most precious to Frigga in all the realms: her sons, one of her body, one of Jotunheim (for Heimdall was watching the day the All-Father took Laufey's son from the temple, watching as Odin laid the baby in the Queen's arms, always watching, for this is his glory and his curse). If the Princes of the Realm Eternal come to peril, Heimdall will sound for aid. If aid does not come quickly enough, the never-ending vigil will end, and the Queen's children will be saved.

If the Queen wishes, the Gatekeeper will leave his gate.

(As Frigga wishes, so Heimdall obeys.)

But peril has many definitions, many interpretations to many beings. There is peril for the Princes on Midgard, but not the sort for which Heimdall is meant to intervene. He has watched the Aesir prince grow easier; he has watched the Jotun prince grow softer. There is good in this, but yes, there is danger as well. There is danger in growing to need that which they must one day lose.

The Queen's younger son walks a Midgard street with his mortal lover, and he smiles.

The Queen's elder son creeps a Midgard alley with his mortal friend, and he smiles.

If Heimdall were the one to define such things, he would define this as peril. But he is not. Heimdall does not define, he does not decide, he does not desire; that burden belongs to others. The Queen has made it clear she does not consider these smiles to be of concern.

If the Queen declares, the Gatekeeper will accept it as law.

(As Frigga declares, so Heimdall obeys.)

And thus does Heimdall watch.

Chester leans out his window as the free-porn people pass by his house. This could be even better than the roof thing.

After another hundred yards, Loki can feign ignorance no longer. "Brother," he says aloud, coming to a stop on the pathway, "have we not long established that scouting is best left to my purview?"

From the alley there is an Asgardian curse, and then Darcy Lewis's: "Oh, shit."

Jane Foster wheels about. "Huh? What's going on?"

"We're being observed," Loki informs her. "From several fronts, actually."

She blinks, then — for reasons he does not understand, since he's not remotely at fault — smacks him on the chest. "Oh, my God. What did I tell you? This is what I've been talking about!"

"I fail to see—"

"Of course you do! You and your windows!" Then Jane Foster steps out into the middle of the street. "We're going to get thumbtacks!" she shouts into the open air. "And some more printer paper! That's it! That's all! Are you satisfied, you perverts?"

Well.

Clearly Loki's ministrations were inadequate the previous day, if his lover has fallen into such a irritable state so quickly.

That will have to be rectified.

"Someone didn't get laid this morning," Agent Hakim says to Agent Dion.

"Nope."

Chester opens his windows a little wider. He can't think of what they're going to do with those thumbtacks, but he sure as hell doesn't want to miss it.

Better turn off the radio, too.

Thor facepalms as Darcy pokes her head around the corner. "Dude," she says, "take her back to bed, will you?"

"Darcy! You— you're— damn it, why were there no other applicants for this position?"

"Because you have great luck. Give me the cash, Thor and I will go shopping, you guys go be science-y sex addicts. It's what we're all best at."

"You won't get paper, you'll get Oreos and a copy of Skyrim, and that is not—"

But they're interrupted by the guy from the 7-11 running down the sidewalk. "I knew it!" he yells. "I knew you would leave without paying! Fourteen dollars and fifty-six cents worth of Slurpees!"

"Oops," says Darcy.

Heimdall's impassive watch continues.

Peril.