Beneath
Chapter Forty-Three: Knives
His opponents stared down at him for long minutes. He could not bring himself to think of them as enemies – they weren't worthy of that designation. He saw no incongruity whatsoever in that judgement and the fact that he did not seem to be able to pull himself entirely up from the rubble the Hulk had left him in. He had not been able to apply tactics solely of his own choosing, and therefore the contest was invalid. Not that it mattered now.
No one seemed inclined to follow through on Stark's offer of a drink, so Loki's gaze eventually drifted to Thor, whose face was as hard and cold as he had ever seen it. When their eyes met, Thor stepped back, spun Mjolnir, and flew out through the new floor-to-ceiling opening that Loki had created by tossing Stark through the glass.
That was a surprise. Loki didn't know what to make of it, but neither could he be bothered to wonder much about it, not when his head felt like it must have been split in two like a melon. "I love what you've done with the place, Stark. A room with both a view and a breeze."
"Thanks, but for future reference, I do prefer to approve architectural changes in advance."
Loki smirked at him, then worked hard to hold the expression while he tried to hoist himself further up, out of the shallow pit and up the three stairs. His right ankle wasn't functioning at all, his right shoulder burned as though on fire when he tried to lift himself with his arms, Barton stretched his bow tauter, and the Hulk growled. Loki stopped trying to move.
He was wondering how much longer he might have to sit there staring back at them – and how long Stark would be able to hold back his incessant jabbering – when Thor flew back in through the former window. Loki narrowed his eyes at him. The others took a step or two to the left, eyes and weapons still trained on him, while Thor set himself down on the ground with a slight grimace that brought a cold smile back to Loki's lips. Thor left Mjolnir on the ground at his feet and reached his right hand into the brown leather bag he held in his left. He withdrew manacles connected by a forearm's length of chain and some other metal object Loki couldn't immediately identify.
"Do you submit, Loki?" Thor asked.
"You mean those gifts are for me? Why, Thor, it isn't even my birthday."
"I ask you again. Do you submit?"
Loki swung his head slowly toward Barton. Release the arrow into Thor, he willed, not that such direct instruction had ever been needed before. Barton did not flinch; his stare did not waver. He hadn't thought it would work, but it was worth a try. It wouldn't have hurt him anyway. Well, one of those exploding ones would have smarted. Loki turned back toward Thor. "Do I have a choice?" he asked in a friendly tone.
"Allow me, Thor. No. You really don't."
The voice was Barton's, but Loki no longer had any interest in him. The connection was truly gone, and without it the best he could do was plant suggestions that could be accepted or rejected – even that was a new skill, barely tested.
His eyes never left Thor's as he gave the tiniest incline of his head. Let them think he was unwilling. His pride made that part easy. For now the safest place for him to be was far away from the scepter that Romanov was holding, and he was too injured to see to that himself. These mortals may not realize the extent of his injuries, judging only from the surface evidence, but Thor would know he was in no shape to make some grand escape.
Thor reached down to pull him to his feet, and Loki grit his teeth against the pain that shot up his shoulder and straight through the rest of his body. Something bit at his chest, which wasn't rising evenly with his breaths; he suspected a broken rib had punctured a lung. That was probably his most serious injury – unless his skull really had been split in two – but it was easily treated on Asgard and didn't concern him at the moment. When Thor set him on the ground on his own two feet, though, he sucked in a breath at the pain and barely managed to stay upright, holding his right foot ever so slightly off the ground to avoid putting weight on it. He knew Thor had seen, but he vainly hoped the others hadn't.
When Thor brought the manacles toward the wrists he voluntarily raised, Loki could feel sparks of magic shimmering along the metal like electricity. Loathing for the metal cuffs and what he knew they would do to him travelled from a simmering cauldron inside him, through the chain, and up to the so-called brother who was pressing the manacles over his wrists. At the last second, before Thor could close the metal that would bind him in only one way that mattered, he jerked his hands away.
Firm hands immediately clamped down on his arms from behind; Loki didn't bother turning to see whose. Thor froze in place, eyes flashing. Mjolnir leapt the short distance to his hand; the sound of thunder rolled in unobstructed through the spaces where windows used to be.
"Wait," Loki said. Without moving his head he glanced down deliberately at his right foot. Everyone else was behind him; only Thor could see the look.
Thor regarded him warily for a moment, then nodded. Loki immediately bent down and placed both hands over the ankle that still hovered half an inch from the floor. It was difficult work. Mjolnir was hammering away inside his skull, and he was exhausted and nowhere near full strength. But the results did not need to be perfect – the bones and ligaments merely needed to be sturdy enough so that he did not have to be humiliated by Thor being forced to carry him. Eir and the other Asgardian healers could do the rest, and Loki had little doubt he was headed back to Asgard.
Satisfied that his work was sufficient for its purpose, Loki let his foot touch the ground, slowly let his weight distribute evenly over both legs, and rose back up to again hold his hands out. Thor let Mjolnir slide back down to the floor and snapped the cuffs closed over his wrists; Loki felt an electric charge race down to his fingers and up his arms and his chest and down to his legs and up to his head, where it made him dizzy for a split second, and then it was gone, along with all his command of magic.
/
/
Loki snarled as the gag went on. It not only muffled sound by covering his mouth, it prevented him from forming most recognizable sounds at all by depressing his tongue. Yet he found it unexpectedly comfortable. It fit like his clothing: custom made. He wondered how long ago the All-Father had had it constructed. As long as he kept his breathing steady – and he knew how important this was from the time Thor had tried to beat him to a pulp after a little experiment with sealing Thor's lips shut hadn't gone quite according to plan – the gag should be nothing more than a minor annoyance.
The little band of opponents began to scatter, until only Barton, Stark in his metal suit, and Thor remained standing at the ready, watching him warily as though he were still capable of doing anything more dangerous than kicking out at them with his broken ankle. Which he was, of course. The chain connecting his manacles was for show only, he suspected – not necessary to the enchantment and too long to actually prevent him from using his arms and hands. He could make good show indeed of it by spinning, kicking, throwing his arms around Barton's neck, and squeezing hard. With Barton between him and the other two, "Hawkeye" would be dead on the floor before Thor or Stark could stop him.
But to what end? Barton's body would be a tripping hazard and Thor would start hammering and Stark would start blasting and Loki would need even more of Eir's healing charms when he got dragged back to Asgard. Still… He was just considering doing it anyway for the sheer satisfaction it would bring to remind Thor and these mortals that he was not truly defeated, that he was still a god compared to the mortals, when the others started trickling back in, Banner thankfully in his weak form.
Loki gave a short involuntary hiss when Thor grabbed his right arm and jerked him forward. Bracing himself mentally against the pain he knew it would cause, he twisted his body abruptly to the left and wrenched the arm free of Thor's grasp. He glared at Thor but continued walking forward, toward the stairs that led to the balcony area. I do not need to be led like a dog on a leash, he said with his glare, and Thor apparently got the message and stayed by his side but did not touch him further.
Everyone else was wandering in the same direction, then they paused just outside the building. Loki heard the helicopter approach before he saw it. He stared at it as it came into view past severely damaged buildings, remembering the last time he'd seen a helicopter like that. He'd blasted that one out of the sky.
/
/
They were in the air for only some seven or eight minutes, two helicopters actually, before landing atop a non-descript red brick building only a few stories high in a more industrial area of the city. Four men in dark blue jumpsuits stood there waiting for them, rifles pointed down but ready to be lifted in an instant, little wires wrapped around their ears. Loki tried to smile at them as he got out of the helicopter, but the gag prevented it. Instead he made it a point to look each of them directly in the eye. One of them blinked rapidly and worked his jaw. Loki wanted badly to be able to smile at this one, to watch him come apart from a mere look. For Thor and these "Avengers" to see him do it.
The group filed through a white door into a small vestibule that led only to stairs, and down they went until met by Nick Fury in a glass-lined hallway. "Well, if it isn't Loki of Asgard. Good to see you again. You must have really missed our hospitality." He paused, widened his eye a bit. "Too overcome with emotion to speak? When you get your voice back, I can still get you that magazine if you want it. You just let me know." Fury clapped a hand on his right shoulder as if they were old friends…and as if he knew that something was torn there and the pressure would cause severe pain.
Loki ground his teeth behind the gag and stared with unblinking eyes back at this insufferable man.
"Rogers, follow these men" – he released his grip on Loki's shoulder and indicated the two heavily armed SHIELD agents standing in front of the next flight of stairs down – "and escort Mr. Odinson down to his home-away-from-home. The rest of you, I want you in the conference room now."
Rogers, the man who looked like a hundred-year-old Aesir instead of the hundred-year-old mortal he really was, put one hand lightly to Loki's back and extended the other forward. Loki ignored him and followed the blue-jumpsuited agents, while Rogers fell into step a few paces behind. He strained his hearing to its limit and caught the phrase "back to Asgard" from Thor. Although there was little doubt in his mind, no doubt would be preferable when it came to whether Thor intended to take him, the tesseract, or both to Asgard.
Three more flights down and one turn to the right later they were stopping in front of a metal door in an austere, utilitarian corridor of gleaming silver metal walls. One of the agents swiped a card through a machine on the door and it popped open. Rogers waited, but Loki stayed where he was, staring at him.
"I get that you're probably trying to make some kind of point here, but frankly I'm tired and really not interested. So can we just cut to the chase, assume you've made your point, and have you go on in?"
Loki cocked his head to the side and stretched his neck forward for a moment, keeping his expression neutral.
Rogers sighed. "Fine. The only person you can disturb in there is yourself, anyway. Hold still."
Loki did, and Rogers stepped behind him and did something to the gag that made it go slack. Loki reached up to pull the device from his mouth – and to try to get a better look at how it worked – but Rogers was already removing it.
"I wish to speak with Thor," Loki said as soon as his tongue was free.
"I'm not a genie and you don't get three wishes. You get a bed, a bathroom, and three squares. Now come on," Rogers said, gripping his left arm.
Loki let himself be maneuvered into his "home-away-from-home." Rogers was about to close the door when Loki repeated in the same tone and volume, "I wish to speak with Thor."
"I'll tell him you said so," Rogers said over his shoulder, the gag in his hand. The door closed.
/
/
Loki prowled his new prison, rather different from the ones he'd been in before. The only piece of furniture, metal with a white mattress and a gray blanket and two gray cushions attached to the wall along the bed's length, seemed to double as both a sofa and a bed. A toilet with a waist-high partial wall for privacy was in the back corner on the other side of the room. A tiny metal sink, no way to bathe. Not for long-term detention, then. The door was metal and heavy. The walls appeared flimsy but were no doubt reinforced; they didn't give when he pressed against them. Large mirrors covered the upper half of the walls on the left and right. The floor was some kind of textured rubber. The ceiling was opaque and appeared to be made of glass, but when he stood on the mattress and tested it with his fist it didn't shatter the way glass would. A small square in the center of the ceiling was different, open to ductwork above and covered only with a fine metal grating that didn't budge when he tried to push it up or pull it down.
Loki had no intention of trying to escape, but it didn't hurt to keep the mortals on edge. He was sure they had some means of monitoring him in this room. And escape attempt or no, it was always a good idea to know as much about your environment as possible, and these new accommodations had not come with an explanation – much less a demonstration – of security safeguards.
Several minutes later Loki was sitting serenely on the bed, his legs crossed and his back straight, the pose regal and elegant on his lanky frame. Now that he was off his feet, not using his shoulder, and breathing calmly and lightly, he realized that in fact there was not a bone or patch of flesh that did not hurt from the pounding he'd taken; the rest of the aches had simply been obscured by the more acute injuries. He was wondering if the mortals intended to feed him, if that's what Rogers's "three squares" referred to, when the door opened and Thor entered.
He stood uneasily, empty-handed just inside the door, letting it close behind him. "You wanted to see me?" he asked.
Loki was glad to see him without Mjolnir, but in a way insulted as well. Thor without Mjolnir meant Thor perceived no threat. Thor was naïve, always had been, apparently always would be. Three different tales were already spinning their way through Loki's mind, three different stories he could feed Thor, any one of which stood a good chance of convincing his former brother to help him escape. Mjolnir would be no defense against such an assault. He snorted. Rogers really should have left the gag on.
Thor huffed, turned, and pressed his palm against the door. Loki heard complex locks clicking, separating, preparing to open the door.
"Are you taking me back to Asgard?" Loki asked before the door could open, pushing himself up to his feet.
Thor removed his palm from the door; Loki recognized the pattern of clicks reversing themselves.
"I am. As soon as some final arrangements are made here."
Loki nodded. He wondered what those arrangements were, and how long they would take.
"Do you need a healer? They have one in this building. They call them 'doctors' here." The voice was business-like, as though Thor were taking him on a tour of Midgard. But Loki knew him. Knew him almost as well as he knew himself…these days knew him perhaps better than he knew himself. He saw the way Thor seemed to struggle to meet his eyes, the awkwardness in his stance. He was roiling with conflicting emotions, and needed only a few carefully selected words to push him in one direction or another.
"Loki?"
"I'm fine."
"Brother, you're-"
"I'm fine. Would you go see one of these Midgardian 'doctors'?"
He could see Thor seriously considering it, though not for long; the answer came quickly. "No. I've encountered them before. I wouldn't do so again if I had another alternative. And you do. We both do," he added, giving Loki a pointed look.
Loki let his eyes settle on the side of Thor's abdomen where he'd slipped a knife inside him. It was little more than a distraction, in one sense. He knew it wouldn't seriously hurt Thor. Not physically. He also knew that in another sense it had utterly crushed him. He had rejoiced in it, in his power to inflict agony deeper than the physical, in his ability to shock, in his momentary triumph. And when Thor's stunned gaze met his, he had also felt a burning pain himself, as if someone had slipped a knife between his ribs. But that was easily pushed aside. He was skilled now at pushing things aside. He'd left Thor to bleed and lament his lost brother, and thrown himself from the building before the fight could continue.
"How long?"
"I'm not certain. A couple of days, perhaps. Father says we can use the tesseract. It's less stable than the bifrost, but it will work."
"I have missed Eir. It would be good to see her again."
Thor looked confused, but then nodded. He understood, thankfully. Loki did need to see a healer, but he would never admit it here. He had additional reasons for wanting to leave soon, but those he would keep to himself.
"Your Director Fury spoke of hospitality, you know," Loki said a moment later, his voice open and friendly, as though things were as they always had been, full of comfortable lies. He sat back down on the bed and pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged. "I remain unimpressed."
"What do you need?" Thor asked, still standing by the door.
"One of your new sparring partners offered me a drink. I've yet to receive it."
"What would you have?" he asked after a brief hesitation.
"Do they have mead here?"
"Loki…"
"It's a simple question, Thor. I'm sorry, I don't think I can find a way to make this one any simpler for you."
Thor frowned. But he acquiesced. "I don't know. They have beer and something stronger that they sometimes mix with it, not mead."
"What is beer?"
"Kind of like apple juice. But bitter instead of sweet."
Loki made a face. "They must have other things. Stark had quite a collection on his shelves. It would be most hospitable of him to share. We should try them together, Brother. I have no need of magazines if I have the mighty Thor with me," he said, mocking the way Thor occasionally liked to introduce himself.
Thor took a deep breath, then glanced up at the mirrored glass on the wall across from where Loki sat. "I will ask," he said. He turned and pressed his palm to the door again.
Loki watched him go. And now he knew the vantage point – at least one of them – from which his opponents monitored him, via camera, he suspected, though it was always possible they were all piled in the next room watching him eagerly in person. He smiled pleasantly for them. They wouldn't trust the smile. But they would be intrigued with the change in demeanor. Some of them, anyway. Certainly the one who owned the alcohol.
/
/
Loki suspected an hour or so had passed – an hour during which he sat as still as a statue, smiling at the spot on the wall Thor had looked at – before the door opened again. Thor strode in, looking less awkward than before but still sufficiently off-kilter to give Loki a bit of dark amusement. A shiny metal shelved cart trundled in after him filled with bottles and glasses, pushed by none other than Tony Stark, sans metal suit. The smile fell from his face as he looked on with genuine curiosity.
"Okay, Rudolph, I do have a reputation to maintain, even among evil bad guys. Tony Stark offers a drink, never let it be said he fails to provide. What would you like? My deepest apologies, I'm fresh out of mead. If you were going to be here with us longer I'd be glad to special-order you some, but Thor here tells me you've already booked tickets home. I've got whiskeys, vodkas, brandies, gin, rum, if you really want to go the sweeter route I've got port and a lovely California cream sherry. Scottish, Irish, French, Polish, Portuguese, made in the good-ol' U.S. of A., you name it. I've even got a bottle of Russian stuff here that I'm told translates to something like 'self-immolation.' If it's not on this cart I can get it from Stark Tower. Except mead."
Loki let the words wash over him. They didn't have these drinks on Asgard, so how was he supposed to select one? He was stuck on the word "evil." Is that what I am? he asked himself. The corner of his lips turned up into a hint of a smile. Why not? It is my birthright, after all. If only I could have realized it sooner. All those years spent struggling to live up to something I never could…how liberating it would have been to know I was simply evil and there was no need to try to be anything else?
"We don't know of these drinks. Perhaps you could suggest one for him to try," Thor supplied, then gave Stark a look of some sort. A reminder. They had discussed something about this before they arrived.
"The strongest one you have, if you wouldn't mind," Loki said in his most polite voice.
And there was that look again. Loki had guessed correctly.
"Everclear's about the strongest you can get, and I do have the occasional taste for low-brow but that's a fast-pass to the porcelain altar. I don't stock it. Why don't we go for something more sophisticated? Even failed dictators should have a chance to try a vodka martini. I mean, if it's good enough for Double-Oh Seven, you know?"
Loki nodded his head once. He really had no idea what Stark was talking about, but it didn't matter. Thor was watching with confusion, mouth open slightly, as Stark started reaching for bottles on the cart. He was trying to decide whether to ask for a translation. Imbecile.
Thor didn't have the chance to ask, because once Tony had placed two bottles, two small squat metal containers, a taller metal container, and an oddly-shaped glass on top of the cart, he picked up his monologue again, explaining that Grey Goose was overrated and while he had that, for his special out-of-town guests he would recommend a special-collection Belvedere. Loki listened without listening. He had nothing better to do at the moment; Stark could prattle on all he wanted. At last he handed him the strange glass.
Or tried to. Loki stared at it, putting no small effort into not letting his expression match Thor's. "What is that?" he finally asked.
"Haven't you been listening? Vodka martini. I took the liberty of making it dry. Vodka and vermouth, on the rocks, one olive. Oh, and shaken, not stirred, of course." Stark held the drink out further. He seemed to prefer to stretch his arm rather than step any closer.
"Is this the child-sized glass?" he asked, wondering if Thor had talked Stark into lying and serving him some version of beer, which sounded like it must be a children's drink.
"Uhhh…no. Did you miss the 'sophisticated' part? You don't chug this. You sip. You savor."
Loki sighed and took the glass between his thumb and pointer finger, at the top of the stem, careful to avoid touching Stark. The angle of the part of the glass containing the liquid was extreme; one could not simply guzzle it down without spilling it everywhere, Loki suspected. He sniffed it. Slightly odd, not a strong smell. But he had no idea what he was smelling; Stark had mixed two different drinks into the strange tiny glass. On Asgard the only mixing he'd ever known of was the occasional woman who added a little water to dilute her wine. Prepared from the inauspicious start to dislike this drink, he removed the olive on its little stick, brought the glass carefully to his lips and took a tiny sip. He wrinkled his nose, then drained the glass and handed it back to Stark. He ran a thumb over his lips to catch the drops that had come over the side of the bizarre glass.
"Perhaps you have another recommendation?" he asked.
"Okaaaay. Let's go Frank Sinatra. Manhattan. Appropriate, don't you think? You bring an army to destroy it, we defeat you, we serve you a drink named for it. Now you could go single malt here on the whiskey, but since we're mixing it with vermouth let's go for the Johnnie Walker blended stuff. Blue Label for you, Real Power. And we can use a lowball since you clearly aren't a fan of the cocktail glass."
Loki watched as Stark again mixed alcohol from two different bottles, this time into a more reasonably-shaped glass, if still rather small. "Did you just put fruit in that?" he asked.
Stark stopped what he was doing, closed his eyes, and sighed melodramatically. Then he turned to Loki and handed him the glass. "This was fun for a few minutes. It's getting old now. Here."
Loki took the glass, sniffed, sipped, downed it. He decided to eat the bright red cherry; sweet and unusually tangy, he would have liked it had it been served in a dessert instead of a glass.
He gave the glass back to Stark and stood up, noting with satisfaction that Stark took a couple of steps back. Not so brave without the metal suit nearby, hm? "I agree. This is getting old." He began lifting bottles and sniffing them, starting with the vermouth. Vile. In the vodka he detected very little scent. He took one of the short glasses Stark had called a "lowball" and filled it to the brim. It looked like water. It did not taste like water, he found when he downed the contents. He didn't care for it. He sniffed the whiskey. It had a subtle aroma, reminiscent of smoke and peat, but there was no burn at his nose. He filled a new glass. It was incredibly smooth, and somehow reminded him of leather. He suddenly pictured himself taking his favorite horse, Lifhilda, out on a long ride through a damp fallow field. The horse he may never see again. The horse who had probably been given to a new owner by now – perhaps to Thor.
"I like this one," he stated.
Thor stepped in closer to pick up the bottle and take a look. Loki felt Stark's eyes boring into him.
"I don't think I usually look like that when I like a drink," Stark observed.
Loki ignored him, refilled his glass, and sat down again.
"A lot of people like it over ice," Stark said.
"Tony…perhaps you should leave us now," Thor said as Loki's expression darkened even further and his eyes locked on Stark's.
"Uuh, right. Okay. Hope you're okay with playing chaperone, big guy. Something tells me he's going to need one. Anything changes, you know what to do."
Loki watched in silence as Stark left. Drinks over ice. He shook his head and took a long draw from the glass. "Are you going to just stand there all day?" he asked his former brother. "I don't actually need a chaperone, you know. Haven't for a good one thousand and…twenty years or so?"
"I've agreed to stay with you to make sure you don't cause any trouble. We know you were looking for a means to escape."
"I've no need to look. I've already found one. More than one, in fact. I'm looking forward to a visit home, though. The reunion with your father will be delightful, I'm sure."
"Our father. Your father, Loki. Who else would you call 'father' if not him?"
"No one, at this point, I'm afraid. I know you were a little late on the scene, but surely you've heard. I murdered my father. Don't grieve for me, Thor, we weren't terribly close."
"I grieve for you more than you know," Thor said, pausing to swallow. "I grieve for my brother. I know he's still in you, somewhere beneath all your anger and irrationality."
"You seek a shadow. Shadows disappear when the light shines directly overhead. And when the light disappears," Loki said softly but matter-of-factly, staring down into his drink. He took another swallow. "You should try this. It's not disagreeable."
Thor pushed the cart away from where it was blocking the other side of the bed. He sat down beside Loki, far enough away that he could turn and easily watch him. "Why…why did you do this, Loki? Why did you seek this? You know you have no claim to Midgard."
Loki swished the amber-colored liquid in his glass. "Were I willing to explain it to you, you would not understand."
"I would try," Thor answered in an uncharacteristically subdued voice.
Loki was unmoved. The conversation was beginning to feel familiar. "You cared little for my other claims."
"What other claims? To Asgard? You were given the throne while Father slept, Loki. That was the extent of your so-called claim. Do you care nothing about what you did when you had the throne? About the devastation you brought to Jotunheim ?"
"And I'll ask you again, since when do you care what happens to the Frost Giants? Have you confused the definitions of 'ally' and 'enemy'? Did you keep count of how many you killed during your last little visit to that wasteland? Do you even remember your last words there? Something to the effect of, 'We'll finish them'? Perhaps I misunderstood, but I was certain you meant you wanted to kill them all. Oh, that's right, I'd forgotten, you've changed. Your three days in this quaint little realm tamed your bloodlust. Perhaps I should stay here after all, then. Do you think your precious Earth will tame me as well? Turn me into a spineless-"
Thor shot up from the bed and grabbed Loki, lifting him and pinning him against the wall with two giant fists pressing into his shoulders; Loki's nearly empty glass fell onto the floor but did not break. "Do not compare us, Loki. I've made mistakes. But this…this…to try to destroy one realm, to try to enslave another…"
Before Thor could figure out what exactly it was he wanted to say, Loki started to laugh. Flames shot through his chest and right shoulder but it felt good in some perverse way, reminding him what was reality and what was Thor's fantasy. "There's the brother I know and hate," he said through his laughter. "Just when I was beginning to grieve for you."
Thor grit his teeth – Loki saw the jaw muscles moving – and released him.
Loki smoothly retrieved his glass, set it on the cart, took a new one, and filled it from the bottle of Johnnie Walker. He took his place back on the bed, cross-legged, as though nothing had happened. Thor followed after a moment, and the two sat in silence for a while as Loki nursed his drink.
"You said you wanted me to go home with you," he said after some time had passed.
Thor, who'd been staring vacantly ahead, turned to look at him but said nothing.
"How did you want me to go back to Asgard?" Loki was still staring straight ahead himself, but he could easily see Thor out of the corner of his eye, and he watched him closely.
"Willingly," Thor said after a moment. "Not like this." He waved a hand toward Loki's shackles. "Before things went too far."
Loki turned his body fully, putting his back to the door and facing Thor directly. He lifted his wrists. "These weren't made on Midgard. And Mjolnir didn't take you to Asgard and back in the few minutes you were gone from Stark's building."
Thor faced forward again and did not answer.
"So you came prepared. In case I was unwilling."
"Which you were," Thor responded with a sharp nod. "Will you find fault with me there as well, Brother?"
"And how long did it take the All-Father to prepare this gift for me? This and the gag your captain kindly relieved me of?" Loki asked.
Thor closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know, Loki. I wasn't involved in it. He gave them to me when he sent me here, in case I had need of them."
Loki watched and waited, but once Thor's eyes opened his expression remained otherwise unchanged. It was entertaining, in its own sad little way. The fool had no idea these items were prepared well in advance of his arrival on Midgard. Loki wondered just how far in advance they had been prepared. His shape and size had changed little since around age 22 when he'd reached his full height.
He sighed and stood, downing the last of his drink at the same time. He refilled the glass, leaving perhaps a fourth of a glass in the bottle, inspected the contents of the cart, and brought both the bottle and the glass back to the bed where he sat again. When the glass was empty he brought the bottle to his lips and drained it, feeling Thor's eyes on him.
"Get me another."
"You're in no position to make demands."
"I'm not demanding a realm, Thor. Just another bottle of this…Johnnie Walker. Blue Label. I hardly think it's too much to ask." He paused for effect. "In light of what's to come."
Thor had the decency to avert his eyes as guilt flashed on his face. Loki knew Asgard was better than here in Manhattan, near the scepter, but both knew nothing pleasant awaited him in Asgard. A minute or two later Thor stood.
"Perhaps several bottles. They use such small containers here."
Thor frowned and repeated his palm-to-door routine. Plan #3 for escape. Smash bottle over Thor's head. Slash his neck with the broken neck of the bottle. Press his limp palm against the door. Use him as a shield to get out of the building. Loki watched him leave and waited without moving for him to return.
"Tony was reluctant to provide more than three bottles," Thor said when he did come back. "Even though I assured him this would be nothing for the Aesir…for…for the Aesir constitution," he finished, glancing up several times toward the mortals' viewing point.
Loki had tensed at the near stumble, but relaxed once Thor recovered. It shouldn't matter, but it did; he didn't want these new little friends of Thor's, or anyone else for that matter, to know what he really looked like. Thor, the worst secret-keeper in the Nine Realms, hadn't told them, not yet anyway. But Loki had always known what birthday present he would receive from Thor as soon as he obtained it, without regard for when his actual birthday was.
Halfway through the second bottle, the continued silence had become almost comfortable. Loki felt warm, and the drink had relaxed him. There was security in Thor's presence, and Johnnie Walker helped him feel at ease with that fact. He was safe, or as safe as he could be under the unfortunate circumstances. Thor might threaten him with Mjolnir, but he wouldn't stand by and let him…do whatever it was he might desire to do in retaliation for Loki's failure.
And now that the silence was comfortable, he was also ironically comfortable breaking it. "Thor, enough of this. You must try this," he said, standing up and pulling another glass from the bottom shelf of the cart. He filled the glass and held it out to Thor.
Thor frowned – if frowns were words he would have recited a saga by now – but after a moment stood and took the two steps necessary to reach the cart. He accepted the drink and Loki actually smiled.
Metallic noise and buzzing suddenly came from overhead, through the metal grate in the ceiling. Loki could make out Fury's voice yelling in the background. Stark's voice then came through clearly. "Hey, uh, Thor, Loki can drink himself into oblivion if he wants, I don't really care as long as he's still neutered. But you're on the job."
Thor's and Loki's eyes met. Thor frowned and set the glass down on the cart. Loki sighed and walked over to lean against the door, leaving his own glass beside Thor's. He let his eyes drift closed.
"Brother…are you in there?" Thor asked softly after the silence returned. He had gone back to the bed; Loki could tell by where his voice was coming from.
"I've always been in here," he answered. "You simply have a remarkable talent for seeing what you want to see." His eyes snapped open and his hand darted inside one particular fold of his tunic and yanked, the single green thread easily breaking and the knife pulling free. Before Thor could react it had buried itself to the hilt in the bed's mattress, in the small space between the thumb and pointer finger of Thor's left hand.
More noise, shouting, high-pitched squeaking came from the ceiling. "I thought you said you searched him, Thor," Fury said once things settled again.
"Any more knives, Loki?" Thor asked, sitting perfectly still.
Loki shrugged. His eyes were closed again. "I think that was the last one. This whiskey must be having more of an effect than I thought. My aim was off." His aim had been perfect. And he was fairly certain Thor knew it.
Loki made his way through more bottles, while his knife – truly his last one – made its way into a sheath in the side of Thor's boot. He opened the fourth bottle, the last one they had, poured a glass, and breathed in deeply. He could almost imagine he could breathe smoke from his own nostrils. "Your hospitality is drying up, Stark," he said, exhaling his imaginary smoke up toward the metal grating.
When that bottle was gone, he shouted "Another!" and threw it hard against the mirrored wall, shattering it, and yes, there was the hidden camera. No longer so hidden anymore. Some kind of transparent material, a thick reinforced plastic of some sort, remained there, and the room beyond was dark, but the lens of the camera was discernible if you were looking for it. Loki was.
Thor bolted up and went into battle stance, his right hand reflexively gripping for Mjolnir, though he somehow had sufficient good sense not to call it to his hand. Loki laughed. Escape Plan #4! Make Thor call Mjolnir through the wall and walk right out through the holes it makes on its way here.
Loki was still laughing when more bottles were delivered, signaled by a knock on the door. He reached for them and Thor gave him one, which he proceeded to open and drink from, foregoing the glass entirely.
/
/
Loki sat up woozily, squinting his eyes against the harsh lighting. As the fog over his mind lifted slightly, he took in the empty bottle on the floor beside his narrow bed. He began to remember where he was and what had brought him here. He noted the absence of broken glass; someone must have swept it up and removed it. He glanced around the room, then looked more carefully a second time and a third, even though it wasn't as though he could have missed anything in such a small open space. He noted the absence of Thor. Anger bubbled up and sought an outlet, but something was dead inside him. He looked down at the shackles on his wrist, and he remembered the entirety of his ability to use magic had been suppressed. He'd been in a deep sleep, perhaps even unconscious, surrounded by mortals who likely did not have the means and definitely did not have the will to defend him, and virtually powerless to defend himself. He'd even given up his one remaining knife to Thor. To Thor. Thor was walking around somewhere with his knife in his boot.
He eyed the cart. There were two unopened bottles of Johnnie Walker on top. Given how much he remembered, given how much he was still able to think, clearly he had not drunk enough, Loki decided. He made a quick trip to the toilet, then settled down with Bottle Number Whatever, full of smoke and leather and peat and hopefully amnesia.
/
/
When Loki next woke, Thor told him, "Good morning."
Loki had to take his word for it; they were in a windowless room several stories underground. A brief moment of unpleasantness in his stomach followed, but quickly passed, except for a moderate headache that for the moment largely blotted out the myriad other aches and pains. Loki steadied himself and reached inside his own head to heal himself, but he could not. Everything came rushing back again. Thor's absence. Thor's presence. A chair had appeared at some point, and Thor had been sitting on that while Loki had sprawled on the bed. Loki stood and walked over to Thor, who watched him steadily, looking somewhat refreshed. "Where were you?" Loki asked.
"I had to go out for a little while. You were asleep."
Loki breathed deeply. He could smell the whiskey on himself. But he could also smell some kind of unfamiliar food on Thor.
Hatred welled up in him but he forced his face into an expression of indifference. "A thousand years have passed and nothing has ever changed."
Thor asked what he meant, and other questions followed. Questions from Thor, but also questions from Fury and his minions. Loki never said another word. The next afternoon he stood next to Thor beneath Midgard's sun, manacles and gag in place, while those he'd fought against got to enjoy their triumph. That disagreeable moment was in seconds replaced with one even more so, as Asgard took form before his eyes, and along with it the stern visage of Odin.
/
I'm hiding behind Thor at this very moment; he's vowed to defend me from frustrated readers! ;-)
But this time you get previews & excerpts - but this is a bit more spoilery than normal, so I'll put it at the very end. In the meantime, I put three "chapter one's" to stories I have in mind (and on my profile page) up on my blog - if you're interested, please read, and if you let me know your preference (however you like, in a review, in a PM, in a comment on the blog) and there's widespread preference for one in particular, I'll aim to focus on that one as my secondary story. (Beneath will always remain primary and written every day until it's complete.) The blog is indepthblog. wordpress. com (just remove spaces). But I can't make any guarantees, please understand.
So, if you didn't want any spoilers for the next chapter, now would be the time to stop reading.
Previews: Loki takes a trip at last, and Yggdrasil sends him exactly where he expected...well...almost; things on Asgard are not exactly as Loki expected them to be; Jane has some decisions to make when Loki doesn't show up in the agreed-upon time; Loki's time on Asgard comes to an end.
Excerpt:
The Einherjar advanced slowly toward him, but a little to his left. Loki tracked him with his eyes. When the man was just passing him to the left, Loki flew into motion, jabbing an elbow sharply into the man's side – armored so it did not harm but instead startled – then the straightened stiffened side of his hand into the guard's throat. The Einherjar's hands flew up to his throat, and Loki caught the grip of the sword the other man released to do so. The Einherjar fell to his knees gagging and Loki raced into the stream and through the curtain of water, emerging on the other side in water just above ankle-deep, in front of a wall of slick, polished light gray stone.
It wasn't really stone. It was magic, and Loki had discovered its secret over a thousand years ago.