Sorry for the delay, dear readers! I was enjoying one fabulous - and very active - vacation. Typhoon Bopha missed the part of Palau I was in, but other parts fared worse; according to what I've heard there are villages that no longer exist but no known loss of life. It then went on to the Philippines where hundreds were killed.

But this is not what you came here to read, especially when I left you with a bit of a cliffhanger last time. You hopefully won't have long at all to wait for the next update; "Chapter 25: Discretion" was completed days ago in Palau, and I'm already on page 5 (of average 11) of "Chapter 26: Sunset." (12/15)


Beneath

Chapter Twenty-Four – Scars

Jane grabbed her tray and stood up. She turned her back on him without a word and headed around the corner to drop off the tray. Part of her was just as furious at herself for walking away as she was with Lucas for whatever ploy he was engaging in. Lucas was all she had here now, and she needed him, not just professionally, but personally. He was the only person who kept her from being entirely isolated. Still, she was at a breaking point, and was more than ready to jump off this roller coaster of not knowing who to trust.

"Jane," Lucas said from close behind her, then reached a hand out for her shoulder when he caught up to her, but she wrenched her arm away.

"Don't touch me."

She watched as anger flared on his face then just as quickly disappeared. "Jane-"

"No. You know what, Lucas? Or whatever your name is or isn't. You told me you don't like playing games, and I think I already told you I didn't believe you. All you do is play games. And I've had enough. I'm going back to my room now. I'll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast or if not then, then out at the DSL, and we can get back to work. But I'm done with the games. Do you hear me? I'm done."

"Allow me to explain," he said, more a demand than a plea.

"Fine, explain."

"Not here," he said. They were still in the corridor right outside the galley. Two men – an electrician and a materials specialist she'd once had breakfast with - were filing out of the galley, their own conversation dying off as they observed the drama in front of them.

"Fine," Jane said once the men had passed by. "We can go to the Science Lab. Nobody'll be there at this time. But I swear, Lucas, if you…" She trailed off, shaking her head. She really had no more words for him at this point.

They got to the Science Lab but Su-Ji was working there, and there was a meeting in the nearby conference room, so Jane decided to head downstairs, where they found the greenhouse occupied but the arts and crafts room empty.

"So, what's your real name, then?" Jane asked sarcastically once they were alone, almost challenging him to spin some new story for her that would top the last one. The last one…about Selby…about… Lucas stared down at her and she felt a headache coming on.

"I'm not going to tell you."

"Of course you aren't." She turned to leave the room.

"Because you would just go run a search on that name, and I don't want you to. I changed my name to Lucas Cane, that's what all my documents say now. I changed it for a reason. I wanted to be free of my family."

"You're on such bad terms with them that you legally changed your name?"

"Yes."

"How long ago? How long has it been since you've seen them?"

"A while now. Several years."

"So…are you just playing games with them too? Do they even know where you are? That you go by Lucas Cane now?"

"No. To each of your questions."

Jane stared at him as though he'd sprouted a second head. She'd had friends who hadn't gotten along with their parents, or their siblings, or their cousins, or whoever. She'd never heard of anyone going this far to truly sever ties. "How…how can you do that? No matter how bad they are, they're the only family you've got. If it's been years, maybe things have changed. You can't just-"

"I can, and I did. You don't understand."

"I don't understand," Jane said incredulously. "Yes, you're right. I don't. I woke up in a hospital room to my sick aunt telling me from her wheelchair that I was never going to see my parents again. So no, I don't understand how you can turn your back on your family, no matter how difficult things are between you. You know, I was a teenager, I got into fights with my parents sometimes, but I knew they loved me, and they knew I loved them. At least I have that comfort. But the day will come when it's too late for you to patch things up. And you don't know when that day will come, Lucas, whatever your name is."

"It's Lucas, now. You think things are so simple. They aren't."

"Weren't you the one who said if it were easy it wouldn't be worth doing?"

He sighed and shook his head. "This is really none of your business, you know. I told you I didn't want to talk about my family. You asked why you couldn't find information about me on the internet. I told you why."

Jane glanced down. He had taken his left wrist in his right hand and pushed his watch up and was rubbing his thumb over his pulse. "Because you hate your family so much you legally changed your name?" He was still rubbing his wrist. She looked back up at him.

"My father is an overbearing tyrant. With delusions of grandeur."

Lucas's eyes were bright and intense. She couldn't look away…or rather she was afraid if she did look away she would be looking down at his wrist again. At his scar. I was burned. Someone burned him. "Was…was he abusive?" Jane asked quietly, berating herself as soon as she'd asked the question aloud. He was right, this was none of her business. And he had said he didn't want to talk about his family, and she had promised herself she wouldn't mention the scar again. And you don't stumble into conversations like this with people you barely know, with people who barely own up to what country they were born in much less child abuse.

He didn't react to the question immediately. He let his right hand drop, turned his left hand, and stared down hard at the scar on his wrist. This time instead of his wrist she watched his face as it transformed into something hard and cold, a deep-seated anger and hatred that she'd had only the tiniest rare glimpses of before. Her breath caught in her throat. There was something frightening about his visage now. Something unsettling. Beneath his quiet exterior, his dry humor and good posture and polite mannerisms, he was restraining a great deal of rage, she realized. She also realized that he'd seen her looking at his wrist. And that he was standing between her and the door. And that he was about a solid foot taller than her. But that was her SHIELD-induced paranoia and trust issues talking, she tried to reassure herself. She glanced around her, remembering the last time she'd had a conversation with someone she thought might be slightly unhinged, Selby, in this very room. She remembered she'd been oddly comforted by standing next to a blow-up plastic penguin which was now nowhere in sight.

Then Lucas's features relaxed and he blinked and she almost thought she had imagined what she'd seen there a second before. Almost.

"It's a symbol historically associated with my family," he said, holding it out for her to see the raised pink flesh of the scar, though not long enough to make anything out other than a general T-shape. "I'd been talking about striking out on my own more and more, and my father doesn't appreciate dissent. One day we were arguing again, and he took an iron with the family seal on it from the fireplace and told me to give him my hand. I didn't think he'd actually do it."

"He…he branded you?" Jane asked, horrified. She glanced back down at his wrist, but he'd dropped the arm back to his side and his sleeve fully covered the scar.

"I suppose that's what you'd call it. He told me I now could no longer ignore my heritage. That was the day I left."

"I'm so sorry," Jane said, feeling the inanity of the words even as she said them. But she couldn't think of anything else. It was a story too horrific to believe, except she'd seen the burn scar, and she'd seen that expression on his face when he'd fixed his eyes on it. At least it wasn't child abuse, she thought in one second, then in the next wondered with a wave of nausea what he'd done to his son as a child if he'd branded him with a personalized hot poker when he was an adult. "You never went to the police?"

"He doesn't answer to the law. Only to himself."

Bribery? Friends in high places? Jane found herself wondering again who exactly this family was that they had so much power and wealth and cruelty. "But what about your mother? Does she know what your father did to you? And your brother and sister? You walked out on them all that day for something he did."

"My mother's heart is big enough to love anyone, no matter what they've done. Or what they are. She's always tried to…to be a conduit between my father and me, but there comes a point when no more can be done except to walk away. My brother…" A shadow passed over his face as his eyes grew unfocused and his gaze turned inward, but he seemed to almost physically shake it off and his eyes were back on hers. "He was there when it happened, and he hardly tried to stop it. I wasn't just leaving my father."

Jane shook her head at the horror of it. She didn't need to have siblings to know that she could never stand by while such a thing was inflicted on her brother or sister, or any other human being period. "Okay, I understand now why you say you had to get away from them, but Lucas, you love your mother. You should at least have her in your life. One day she won't be there anymore and it'll be too late. And believe me, you'll regret it."

"I know where I stand with her, and she with me. It will have to be enough. They're all from his world, and I can't be a part of it any longer."

His tone and expression were steadfast and reasonable; she wasn't going to sway him, no matter how convinced she was that he was wrong. And she did remain convinced of that, if not with the complete confidence she'd had before. Her family hadn't been perfect, none were, but it had been happy most of the time. Next to Lucas's it must have looked like perfection. She had no personal experience with whatever kind of abuse Lucas had gone through, and she couldn't pretend to understand the effect it must have on him. She only knew what it was like to have an "Erik" at her high school play or swim meet or graduation or Parent Day at college and not a "Mom" or "Dad." She only knew what it was like to watch as some of her friends got married and had kids while she shed random tears that her parents wouldn't be there for those things either, and her kids, if she had them, would never know their grandparents. How could Lucas not want at least his mother to be a part of his life? Maybe you only recognized how precious your family was once you lost them.

Jane thought back to the one thing she'd seen him get emotional about until now: work. To how eager he was to see their project brought to fruition. Jane was eager, too, but she felt like she was dragging her feet compared to him, and sometimes he seemed to feel that way, too. His eagerness at times seemed to border on desperation. As though he needed this more than she did in some way. "You're doing this to prove yourself to your family," she blurted out without explanation.

His mouth fell open slightly; he needed no explanation.

"You want them to be proud of you for what you can achieve on your own, apart from them."

His mouth snapped shut and he looked angry. But Jane wasn't frightened this time – this was not the raw rage of before, just the normal temper flare-ups he sometimes had. "I don't need to prove myself to them. I know who I am. They have their ways of doing things and I have mine, and they've never thought much of mine. Nothing's going to change that."

"Hmmm. I don't know. Nothing says 'I'm my own person' quite like being part of the team that invents Earth's first wormhole generator."

The anger faded again and a smile appeared, albeit a bit more predatory than friendly. "I'm not opposed to making statements with my work."

"Me either. And I have a few statements to make to some professors. And some journals. And some professional associations. And a certain secretive organization with a really long name."

"Shall we start working on our statements again tomorrow morning then, Dr. Foster?"

"Respect or annoyance?" she teased at the return to his use of her title, flooded with relief over the change in the tenor of the conversation despite the slight discomfort of emotional whiplash. She was still upset for Lucas – and maybe even a little with Lucas – over ending his relationships with his entire family over the actions of his father and the indifference of his brother, for she could not help but view such a thing through the lens of her own profound personal loss. He had made his decision, though. Much as she might like to try to help fix this, she supposed she couldn't. But maybe if he got his name and face in the news for his scientific discovery, it would lead to reconciliation, at least with his mother, maybe his sister, maybe even his brother.

Lucas, meanwhile, was watching her carefully. His eyes flickered down to her feet and quickly back up, which felt slightly awkward to her, as though he were sizing her up for some reason, which should be entirely unnecessary since they'd been working together for over a month now. "Respect," he finally answered, with a slight bow of his head and without the slightest trace of humor.

The awkwardness shot up to the roof and Jane gave him a goofy grin before letting her gaze drift away toward the model airplanes hanging from the ceiling. She absently wondered if they'd been there since the summer or for years. "Well," she began, turning back to Lucas, "I guess I'll go get that e-mail to Tony Stark typed up. I'll send it as soon as we have the satellite in the morning. And you…get some sleep. You look kind of beat."

He answered only with his standard "mmm" that meant…whatever it meant. Jane had largely ceased trying to guess. At least now she understood why he sometimes evaded her questions – some of the answers were highly personal and highly unpleasant. She raised her brows and smiled, then left him alone in the arts and crafts room.

/


/

The door safely closed behind him, Loki crossed the miniscule chambers to peer out the narrow window. Tension slowly poured out of him – tension from being Lucas, from being here, from being restricted in his use of magic, from being constantly alone no matter how many people surrounded him. Schooled posture melted into slumped shoulders and leaning against the wall to take the weight off his right foot.

"If there's anywhere you can leave behind all formality and be yourself other than in your own private chambers it's here. Even if 'yourself' is entirely uncultured and uncivilized," his mother said as the two of them sat in the family's private garden, Loki having just apologized for wiping milk from his mouth with his sleeve.

"I'll tell Thor. He can get it out of his system here and stop acting like that everywhere else."

"Oh, you two are so horrible to each other," Frigga said, but Loki knew she was only teasing and flashed her a big toothy grin.

Loki let his eyes drift closed. He had always loved that garden. The area around the palace was full of gardens, but only in that one could he be assured of privacy and truly be himself. How much he would rather be there than here. He pictured it in his mind, every detail of it – the benches and picnic table, the pond home to colorful fish, the trees enchanted to attract songbirds and squirrels and other small creatures, the flawlessly manicured lawn, the topiary bushes that would transform into the animals they resembled at the touch of a hand, patches of sunlight and shade perfectly planned for all times of day. At least here he had one utilitarian room to call his own, where he could safely leave Lucas behind and be himself.

His thoughts turned inexorably to the encounter he'd just had with Jane. Unexpected laughter pealed out from behind closed lips. Unexpected, because nothing that had just happened in the hobby room was funny. Entertaining, perhaps, in a sense, for he always found a certain degree of entertainment in observing people's reaction to his manipulation of them, but not funny.

When Loki lied, he lied with conviction. Anything less and the lie might be met with suspicion. And so, once he was certain Jane had noticed his scar and made the intended connection, he'd decided to look at it for the first time since Odin had put it there, having kept it covered with long sleeves and, usually, a watch. She wouldn't recognize it for what it was; it wasn't a literal rendition of the hammer she'd seen, but rather an almost artistic depiction of a hammer, a royal symbol going back at least as far as Odin's long-dead father Borr, predating the forging of Mjolnir. His reaction to it had been entirely unfeigned.

The mark of your heritage, Odin had called it. If Loki could burn it off, freeze it off, scratch it off, or simply erase it with a thought he would have done so in a heartbeat, but it was part of an enchantment Odin had placed on him and there was nothing Loki himself could do to remove it. One in a string of cruel jokes this hammer imprinted on his wrist was. Asgard's royal line was most assuredly not his heritage. Once Odin had added an extra enchantment to Mjolnir, created as the physical embodiment of that ancient symbol, Loki could no longer even lift it. He recalled his attempt to, on Midgard. He was the King of Asgard, the greatest authority in all the Nine Realms, and he could not lift it. Not with one hand, not with two. The King of Asgard, but he was not worthy. At least then he'd had the minor consolation that neither was Thor, mortal though he was at the time. But later, on the bridge, when Thor had placed the hammer on his chest and he'd been pinned there, unable to remove it, and Thor walked away, turned his back to him with such faith in his complete helplessness…that had been the height of indignity.

And now this symbol of his disgrace, of the heritage that was not his, was seared into his flesh.

"Allow me to introduce you to Loki," he said, softly for the walls were thin. He recalled the fear he'd caught in Jane's eyes when he looked up from his wrist. It both gratified and further angered him, in a conflict of reactions he barely recognized and certainly made no effort to untangle. He had not always been so full of rage. But it had been a very long time since it was not at least simmering, hidden somewhere underneath the surface.

Jane and her questions. Jane and her deductions. He'd given her a carefully spun version of the truth, and from that she'd come disturbingly closer to the real truth than probably anyone else; he'd wanted to repair a necessary relationship, gain her sympathy, and reaffirm his ability to manipulate her to his own ends, not let her quite so deeply into his head. She was so very close – just a bit behind. He tried to imagine Odin being "proud" of him for helping create a device to carry him to Svartalfheim and getting the enchantments removed. It would be an impressive feat…but he was quite certain that Odin's reaction would not be pride.

He had already tried that – proving himself, making them proud. After a millennium of failing to live up to his father's expectations, an opportunity of unimaginable proportions had fallen into his lap, begging to be put to use. He had tried to show himself the most Aesir of the Aesir and that had not been enough. Odin's reaction had been disappointment and rejection. What more could he possibly do? And although he refused to accept much of the blame for it, Midgard had been an utter failure. No, there was nothing more he could do to prove himself now, not the way he would have chosen. Nothing except wrest control from Odin permanently by utterly destroying him. As appealing as the idea was at times, as much as he hated Odin for the deception that was his entire life…he could still feel that warm, calloused palm as he tentatively reached out for and held it after Odin collapsed in the Weapons Vault. He could still feel the loathing and rage and resentment and indignation and pain…and worst of all the longing. Longing so deep it hurt, and hurt even more because he had to conceal it. Then hurt more again when he opened it up as he did now to examine it after so long hidden away. Longing for the closeness that Thor had with him. For the trust he enjoyed despite having done little to earn it other than proving the physical strength he'd been born to. To be considered worthy as Thor always had been outside of a three-day blip and as Loki never had been in over a thousand years – at least now he knew why.

That longing, that childish weakness, made him angry at himself, at Odin for creating and perpetuating the wretched circumstances in the first place, at Thor for his ignorance and arrogance, and even at his mother for going along with it and thinking that one more hug would make everything all right. There was plenty of anger to go around. Enough for many Aesir lifetimes. Enough for eternity.

The anger needed an outlet. Trapped inside him indefinitely it would explode. Loki had nothing against explosions, occasionally even enjoyed them. But if he exploded, he would pay a heavy price. If he killed a mortal, he would himself be killed, if Odin could be believed, and thus far everything Odin had told him about his curses had proven true, though sometimes still difficult to predict. If he lost control, then Heimdall, assuming he was still looking – and Loki suspected he'd never stopped looking at him ever since Baldur's death – would know how close he was to Jane and Thor would put an immediate end to his plans.

His plans…get to Svartalfheim. Free himself of Odin's curses. He had already decided he would first go to Brokk, whom he'd known for centuries. Unfortunately not all of their encounters had been friendly, but the two bore a certain grudging respect for each other. Brokk was the most powerful master of dark elven magic Loki knew of, so he saw no reason to start with anyone lesser even if others may be more inclined to assist him. Besides, as he'd already realized, Curse Number One would not harm him for forcing the non-mortal Brokk to do what he needed him to if he could not let bygones be bygones.

And after that…

After that…

Loki swallowed hard. He almost pushed the thought away as he had many times previously, but this time, for the first time really, he let it play itself out.

After that he did not know.

He'd not always known on Asgard. It had not always mattered. When it had, when Thor had known exactly what he was to do and Loki had been adrift, he would sometimes pick fights, sometimes leave on long journeys alone without telling anyone where he was going. Then he would set himself on some new course, or else settle lazily into the old one, and all would be as it always had been.

But at least on Asgard he'd had a place he believed to be his. A comfortable place for the most part, a familiar place at least, a place that was his, even if he still sometimes chafed against it. And if he ever forgot it, Thor was there to remind him.

It doesn't matter now either, he thought. I am young; my life is long. I don't need to plan everything. I merely need to prepare for anything. Another opportunity will come. And the first step is to reach Svartalfheim.

He took a deep, calming breath, ready to believe these self-assurances. He thought again about Jane, and her intention to send an e-mail early tomorrow morning to request the data from the "failed event," his failure to destroy Jotunheim that had been visible from Midgard through the branches of Yggdrasil. That data should help them pinpoint the exact location of the branch that terminated over Midgard, and also identify exactly what form of energy was expended right at the mouth. That, in turn, should show them what they needed to replicate, what exactly they needed to direct up to connect to that mouth. Then Loki would need to either discover what adjustments needed to be made to send him to Svartalfheim instead of Asgard, or journey first to Asgard and then to the hidden portal he'd learned to use in his youth to travel onward to Svartalfheim.

They needed that data, and they needed it quickly. Loki would need to rise early, to be ready to approve Jane's e-mail as soon as she sent it.

He would need to sleep. Five nights now he had not, except for perhaps an hour or two before the dream had started last night. He knew that his mind would very soon lose its sharpness if he did not sleep, and that right now he had little more than his mind to rely on. His eyes slid slowly to the left, to stare at the bed as though it were an enemy. But the enemy was not the bed. The enemy was not here.

"You have no dominion over me, filthy creatures," he proclaimed, a little more loudly than he should have, probably. He was worried about what his neighbors might hear, he told himself, not…. Let Thanos hear. Let his lapdog hear. He cannot touch me, he thought, shouted really, only without his physical voice. He sucked in a breath afterward, questioning the wisdom of the impetuous outburst.

Fate has been harsh enough, he reminded himself. Do not needlessly tempt it further. Not now. Not yet.

/


/

Odin returned from Svartalfheim confirming what Gullveig had warned – that he would hear no different. He'd been met by black- and gold-clad warriors standing stiffly at attention, weapons at the ready, while other shadowy figures lurked nearby, blanketing the area in the mists of magic. From the open golden plain where the bifrost had traditionally deposited travelers and the tesseract now did the same, to the underground stone fortress that was Svartalfheim's seat of power, the entire route was lined with these soldiers and sorcerers. He returned without progress.

He overruled the near-unanimous voice of his advisors and went on alone to Jotunheim, speaking first with Helblindi, then with Byleister, then with Dirnolek, the former two Laufey's sons, the latter his Prime Warrior. Each was engaged in a struggle for power and control of Jotunheim's meager remaining resources, and each insisted on the same thing: Loki and the Ice Casket must be surrendered to his faction, and the tesseract must be given to Vanaheim's safekeeping. Odin strongly suspected Helblindi and Byleister in particular had never even heard of the tesseract before. The Dark Elves, then, had planted that part of the ultimatum. The Jotuns themselves didn't seem particularly concerned about the tesseract, but mentioned it almost as if by rote every time Loki and the Ice Casket were mentioned.

"Did they say what they wanted with Loki?" Frigga asked from where she leaned in the doorway between the throne room and the private study, where Odin and Thor stood. From her position she could see both rooms, and she nodded to Sif, who inclined her head respectfully but anxiously, glancing off to her left as though she could see through the wall into the study. Thor's friends and her husband's advisors, many of whom were also friends, were anxiously gathering in the throne room to hear the All-Father's report. Her eyes flickered around the milling crowd. Why are there no friends here for Loki? There were a few he might have called "friend," but none who were terribly close to him, as far as she knew, and none from the court. She refocused her attention on the study as Odin answered.

"I didn't ask. I stated our position and saw no need to legitimize theirs. Prisoner exchange was never a part of our truce, even if our truce were still in effect."

"Did either side take prisoners?" Thor asked. He knew that had occurred during the Vanir-Aesir War, but he'd never heard of such a thing in the Ice War.

"No," Odin answered curtly. "There was no point. Asgard is not suited to caring for Jotun prisoners, and Jotunheim is not suited to caring for Aesir prisoners."

Thor caught the look Odin and Frigga exchanged, and knew immediately what they were thinking. One Jotun had been taken and cared for on Asgard, and he had adapted well. Thor wondered how many such looks about the secrets of Loki's birth he'd missed over the centuries.

"What do you think they want to do to him?" she persisted.

"I don't know, Frigga," he snapped, and Thor saw another look.

Their tempers were fraying. So was his. So was everyone's. He stepped between them to warn of something that had occurred to him while his father was on Jotunheim…and to distract from the friction. "There's a hidden portal to Svartalfheim in a cave behind a waterfall on the River Boll. Loki and I found it when we were young. We used to sneak off there seeking adventure. It requires innate magic to use, but Loki was able to do it even as a youth, so there must be many others who can as well."

"I know of it," Odin said.

"You do?" Thor asked, surprised, but then realized he really should not have been. There was probably very little in Asgard the All-Father did not know of.

"My brothers created it with the help of a Dark Elf. It doesn't require innate magic; each of us had a key. But sufficient innate magic will do. You boys weren't half as clever as you thought you were, Thor. Two stealth Einherjar followed you every time you used that portal. The Dark Elves are capable of forging their own new portals with sufficient effort, but I'll order that one sealed and guarded."

"I've already done so," Thor said, still reeling from a revelation that really, truly should not have mattered at this point, but part of him, he feared, would always react as a little boy around his father, afraid he was going to find himself in trouble, ready to defend himself against it. Each time he and Loki returned from Svartalfheim he'd nearly shaken apart in fright, feigning illness and hiding out in his chambers to avoid his father reading the guilt in his face. Loki had been afraid only the first time, when he hadn't yet been certain that his new trick of hiding himself – and by extension Thor – from Heimdall's gaze had worked. Loki had claimed not to have been afraid even the first time, but upon their return the brothers had both holed up in Thor's chambers and not left each other's sides for three full days except for quick runs to the bathroom. Now Thor wondered if Loki's trick had been quite as perfected as he'd confidently proclaimed then; he'd been prone to declaring a new skill mastered only to discover a flaw once put into actual use, often at Thor's expense.

"Did you hear me?" Odin was asking testily. "I want you to leave for Midgard in the morning."

And no, Thor had not. "I'm ready," he answered with a firm nod.

"While you're gone, I'll address the citizens. Rumors are flying. That must stop. Our people must know what we're facing. They must know how to prepare. The Vanir among us must know that we trust in their loyalty."

"Do we?" Thor interjected. He'd heard the rumors as well, through his friends. Regular travel through the portals between Vanaheim and Asgard continued, and with it traveled news and suspicious glances.

"We have no choice. They're as much Asgardian citizens as their neighbors, and we can hardly treat them as anything less without cause."

"I have many good friends among the Vanir of both Asgard and Vanaheim," Frigga put in. "I'll speak out as well."

Odin nodded his appreciation to her. "There's one more thing. Frigga, would you mind…"

She frowned, but nodded back to him and went out into the throne room, closing the door behind them.

"Thor," he said as soon as they were alone and the door closed. He stepped from behind the rectangular table to close the small gap between them. "Can your friends on Midgard find Loki?" he asked quietly.

"They did before," Thor answered, a slight rise in his intonation indicating the question behind the words.

Odin nodded. "Ask them to find him."

"Perhaps it's best we don't know," Thor said, though it wasn't himself knowing that concerned him.

"We need all of our options."

"Turning Loki over –"

"Is one of our options."

Thor straightened his back and filled his lungs, drawing himself up to his full height.

Odin cut him off before his temper could explode. "Not our first option. But it is one of them. I need to know where he is."

"I will not allow Loki to be sent to Jotunheim," Thor said, as though repeating a mantra. Nothing, nothing his father or anyone else said would budge him on this.

"You forget your place, Thor. Do not try me."

Thor's jaw trembled and his eyes narrowed. If he closed them he was certain he would believe himself back in the destroyed observatory, calling his father a fool while Loki watched from the side. He ground his teeth tightly together to avoid giving voice to the fury that coursed through his veins. He couldn't afford to get himself banished again. Asgard couldn't afford it. Loki couldn't afford it. Even if this were the first option, the best option, even the only option, even if his father deemed it the right decision for Asgard, he would never accept it. He had made a promise. He couldn't keep it if he were thrown out of Asgard and made mortal, or removed from his father's inner circle in some other way. He held his tongue. His breathing slowed.

Odin watched and waited until Thor was calm again. "There's another reason I need to know his location. If any from the other realms know it and we do not, they have an advantage over us. If we know it and they do not, we have an advantage over them."

Thor considered that for a moment. He wanted to know where his brother was so he could protect him, but his father had said several times now that information was a form of power, and right now Asgard had a dearth of that particular form. Everyone knew where the Ice Casket and the tesseract were, no secret had been made of it, but no one – so far as Asgard was aware – knew where Loki was, other than that he was one among some seven billion people on Midgard. And surely the others were searching. He nodded, acquiescing. There was no need to fight this battle now, anyway.

"Go, Thor. Meet with your friends. Find out all you can. But be discreet. Don't allow any others to learn what you have. I still no more want him hunted by Midgardians than by any other realm's inhabitants."

Thor nodded again, more slowly this time. "Discreet" wouldn't be easy. It didn't come naturally to him the way it did to Loki. He would have to put some thought into this.


/

So, did you think Loki was really going to tell Jane the truth (the actual truth)? He's not going to tell her anything that's not in his best interest to do so, or at least what he perceives as his best interest at the time. But he certainly sounded like he was going to tell her! I've actually already written a "pre-version" of when Jane does finally learn the truth, and it'll be a bit more dramatic.

The next chapter was a tough one for me to write, at least internally - for the most part the actual words came out more or less smoothly. It's kind of an odd chapter too...I'll be very curious to hear what you think of it. Plot-wise it kind of has to be there.

For teasers for "Chapter 25: Discretion," I'll have to leave it at "Thor goes to Midgard with a difficult message."

And here's an excerpt (Thor's POV):

But it wasn't until his recent visit to Vanaheim – which he could not consider a success, except in that he didn't take a swing at anyone – that he'd borne any real responsibility. And even that was not the same – when Odin slept, he spoke for Asgard. With Odin awake, he spoke for Odin. The difference was not just semantics; his duty now was to convey what Odin wanted conveyed and to learn what Odin wanted learned. Thor's freedom lay only in how he would accomplish the assigned task.

Thanks for reading, and extra thanks for reviewing. Your comments and questions are always greatly appreciated.