Beneath
Chapter Thirty-Seven – Squeeze
Loki shoveled snow from the emergency stairs in the slowly approaching darkness, under the eerie red lights. It kept his muscles busy, but not his mind. He tried to occupy the latter by running through the steps that remained to get him off Midgard. They were very few, though: confirm the probe had made it to Asgard, adjust the probe's structural integrity field generator to his shape…and that was it. He couldn't think of anything else. She would probably come up with additional steps. Not now, perhaps. She might be willing to forego a few of her safety and testing protocols now that she knew whose life she would be risking.
"Mass murderer." Where are these masses I've killed? Ask your precious Thor how many he's killed. More have fallen to his hammer than have ever fallen to any weapon I ever wielded. Well. Except for that. But the Frost Giants didn't count, literally. They counted against Thor but not him, and Loki saw no injustice in his unequal evaluation of the Frost Giants Thor killed and those he himself had killed. What Thor had done was Before. What Loki had done was After.
And then he reconsidered. Perhaps he should count the Frost Giants he'd wiped out with the bifrost among his kills. After all, I am evil, am I not? Tony Stark said so. Odin surely thinks so, probably always has, his little Frost Giant runt in disguise, a disguise insufficient to truly hide what flows through my veins. Thor knows the truth now, even if he tries to pretend otherwise. And Jane…Jane is afraid to be alone with me now. She knows nothing about me and yet she sees the truth.
She should be afraid, Loki thought, in a mood rapidly souring, even though he knew perfectly well this particular menace was hollow. He needed to get away from her for his own sake, to prevent her from ruining him as she had Thor. But he would never hurt her, not now.
She had peeled back one of his layers, and it complicated things in some ways. She was cooperating, though, and in the end that really was all that mattered. He needed her silence, and he needed her help with adjusting the structural integrity field – SHIELD technology with which he was unfamiliar.
At the same time, her knowing who he really was simplified things in other ways. There would be no more overtures of friendship, no more undeserved kindness, no more naïve offers to contact his mother, no more efforts to try to fix him. Now Jane wanted nothing more than for him to depart as soon as possible, and that was for the best.
What if she changes her mind? came a voice from within, deep and rumbling. He didn't want to accept that possibility, but she had already tried it once, if rather feebly. If she refused with greater conviction, he could try a new lie, although he doubted it would have as much success, or he could threaten, although that would undermine the entire narrative he'd created for her. And if she called his bluff…that would be the end. He supposed he could restrain her somehow and force Selby to explain how the structural integrity field generator worked – he wouldn't mind hurting him – but there was no guarantee Selby, or anyone else here other than Jane, would know.
He needed Jane. And there was something rather appalling about that. Loki decided that as soon as he was finished with the stairs he would go back out to the jamesway and begin examining that particular piece of technology himself in greater detail; perhaps he could figure it out on his own after all. It would be best not to have to rely on anyone other than himself.
/
/
Jane had quite possibly just done something really stupid. She was sticking as much as possible to public areas now – first a lingering lunch in the galley with a few people who didn't know her enough to see how off-kilter she was, then working from the Science Lab along with several other scientists, mostly from the Clean Sector atmospheric projects. She tried to concentrate on her work, the project she'd come here to work on originally, but found it difficult. She still wanted to understand exotic matter and how it interacted with neutrinos – and now how it held Yggdrasil open for travel – but other things were more urgent now. Weirdly enough, that meant that she understood Lucas now – weird because there was no longer any "Lucas" to understand. Of course, that attitude of trying to ignore the scientific method and rushing ahead that had so frustrated her was actually Loki's own, she realized, not just from the made-up character he was playing. Loki didn't really care about science at all, it was a means to an end for him.
Which only confirmed her suspicion about him, that he hadn't learned anything at all here. Even if it were true that he'd been sent here to learn to use Earth's science instead of magic – and Jane was hardly convinced of that, since Thor had never mentioned it and Loki's crimes here were hardly against science – he hadn't learned to value scientific discovery in his time here. Jane rolled her eyes. The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded. She didn't know much about Odin, but she knew Thor, and she knew how much he admired and respected his father, and she knew Thor had supported his father's decision. There was no way the grand purpose for Loki coming here was to "lay down his magic" and build his own bifrost. Not that that changed her decision to help him in the slightest. She still questioned the morality of it, but she hoped the greater good would be served by getting Loki away from her and keeping herself and the other station residents safe.
And so, as she'd decided when they were waiting for the probe to return, she would do her best to make sure he learned something before he left here. It was rather passive-aggressive, what she'd done, not really her style, but she was still too scared to go aggressive-aggressive, or whatever that was called.
She wasn't stupid, either, even though the more she thought about how completely he'd manipulated her this whole time she felt like she was. She wanted him to learn something, but she was also mad, and getting madder. She had calmed down, the fear had settled into something manageable, and anger rushed in to fill its place. Anger at him for what he'd done to her; anger at herself for falling for it.
But she wasn't stupid. She couldn't be in public places twenty-four hours a day. Thor had said something about some kind of "enchantments" that would prevent Loki from hurting anyone; it was why she'd agreed to keep the secret of Loki's presence on Earth in the first place. But he hadn't exactly gone into details about it, and Jane wasn't going to trust her life to it. A flat-head ax was hidden underneath her mattress now.
/
/
Loki stomped back over the packed snow to the station in a foul mood. The day was wearing on him. Jane had set things off on the wrong foot with her unexpected refusal to assist, with her sanctimonious hatred and disgust. Deserved or not, it didn't mean he liked it. And what had he ever really done to her? He'd lied, so what? It put her in good company. He'd never met anyone he hadn't lied to at some point. It shouldn't surprise him, and it didn't, really – he'd always been judged by people who didn't know him, people who merely knew his name, his reputation. Deserved or not. He used to try to fight it. That was before he knew they'd always been right. She was right. But he still didn't like it.
And now, after hours of examining the structural integrity field generator, he still needed her. It was far more complex than the battery and involved computer programming. He had no real baseline for this technology, no prior experience with it. He wasn't even sure he needed a structural integrity field in the first place; his own inherent "structural integrity" was considerably stronger than a mortal's. He had no idea what the bifrost equivalent of this was; certainly he'd never heard anyone question the safety of traveling by means of it, except for himself, as a young child. Did the bifrost provide some sort of protection during travel, or did the Aesir simply not need any protection? Loki suspected the former, though, based on his own experiences. He'd never felt temperature differences or a lack of air on a normal trip through the bifrost, but when he'd fallen and been stranded in Yggdrasil, he'd felt unbearable extremes of hot and cold and a tortuous lack of air. And that meant he couldn't risk traveling without some kind of structural integrity field. Extreme temperatures were one thing, having one's body ripped apart by extreme gravitational forces were another entirely.
The analysis programs were still running on the probe's data, too. Loki knew it would still be at least a few more hours, but he'd been unable to stop himself from checking repeatedly anyway. In a way it didn't matter. He was confident that an undirected journey would lead to Asgard. And if it didn't, almost any place was better than here, where he was so restricted in what he could do. Even if his miserable luck continued and Yggdrasil somehow deposited him on Jotunheim, he could simply make himself invisible, take the secret passageway to Asgard, and from there on to Svartalfheim. At least he would be well-dressed for the journey this time, he thought, remembering Heimdall's condescending "You're not dressed warmly enough."
He hadn't eaten anything today, nor the day before, he realized, not since breakfast. His mouth watered as he thought suddenly of perfectly seasoned lamb chops and an array of fresh steamed vegetables. He was unlikely to find a meal of such fine quality as he'd grown up with when he reached Svartalfheim, where they tended to dry their foods before cooking them. It was better than freezing them first, at least. Loki was used to settling for something less than what he wanted, though. He could deal with it a bit longer.
An early supper, then, he decided as his stomach growled and his hunger grew in response to his train of thought. He entered the station at Destination Alpha, then went upstairs to the second floor and made his way down the corridor to the other end. The galley was to the left but he turned instead to the right, to cast off his ECW gear. His head and hands were already free, and he was unzipping Big Red as he opened the door to his chambers.
He spotted it immediately. Something on his desk that had not been there before. Experience had taught him to be aware of such things, but as his desk was entirely clear otherwise, anything on top of it stood out immediately. Someone had been in his room.
Hypervigilant now for anything else – sight, sound, smell – not as it should be, Loki stepped forward slowly, silently. The desk, against the wall to the right, was only a few steps away. The foreign object was a thick packet of white printer paper, bound with a single large clip of metal and black plastic in the upper left corner, and placed precisely in the center.
There was no sign of any danger or of anything else amiss, and Loki had nothing to fear here from anyone except Jane. No one would have come into his room like this…except Jane.
Loki picked up the papers as though they might burn him, full of trepidation. Whatever this was, it could hardly be good. She'd gone into his room. His eyes flitted around it again, quickly reviewing its meager contents, but even if she'd rifled through all of his belongings she would have found nothing of note, just clothing – Asgardian and Midgardian – and an astronomy book. The only thing of real value was in his black satchel, slung around his neck as always.
He skimmed the top page. A numbered list of names. Juanita Abalos. John Abshire. Beverly Abshire. Marshall Adams. Jacob Adelstein. Varsha Aggarwal. Rhonda Allen. The names continued into a second column, 84 total, and two dates followed each name. The second date was the same in each. He recognized that date.
Everything in Loki's face dragged downward. Uneasiness and mild curiosity gave way to that familiar constrained ball of rage that sat in his stomach and yearned to explode. He turned the page. More names. He turned another page. More names. Page after page after page, name after name after name.
He flipped to the back, opened to a random page. A color image of an older dark-skinned man with close-cropped hair smiled at him. Gabriel Washington was the Chief Financial Officer of Powered Up! software design firm. An alumnus of Fordham University and Columbia University, he is survived by his wife, Vondra…
Loki gripped the packet of papers and spun on his heel, leaving his room without bothering to close the door behind him. He strode over to the room two doors up from his and threw it open without bothering to knock, then closed it and threw up a sound blanket, yanking at the one recalcitrant corner.
"What. Is. This."
Jane gave a small startled cry and whirled around when the door burst open. She'd been putting away laundry in her armoire; the shirt she'd been folding had fallen to the floor. It took another second before she fully processed what was going on – that Loki had barged into her room, that he was holding out a familiar stack of papers, and that he was demanding to know what the papers were. And that he looked really, really, angry.
"I think you know exactly what it is," Jane said as calmly as she could manage.
"And yet I asked you to explain it to me," Loki said, his voice cold and hard like steel.
Jane swallowed. I-statements, she told herself, for some reason flashing back to an article she'd read in a teen magazine once about how to express your feelings in difficult situations. "I feel…that you haven't learned as much as your father would want you to before you go home. So I thought I should help you see the impact of what you did when you were on Earth before."
"My father? What do you know of my father? Of what he wants? Of who he even is?" Loki demanded, shortening the already small gap between him and Jane.
"I know what Thor told me, that your father wanted you to come here so you could learn, like Thor did, and-"
"Like Thor? I'm not like Thor. And you don't know me. How dare you presume that you have anything to teach me? Have you even lived thirty years? I've lived over one thousand and thirty. You know nothing of the life I've lived, or who I am."
"I know who you are now. I don't care who you were when you were learning to walk at a hundred and fifty-"
"I'm told I learned to walk before my first birthday, thank you. And that it was rather impressive since Thor insisted on trying to carry me everywhere and gave me little opportunity to practice," he said with a disdainful sneer. Stupid presumptuous mortal.
"Congratulations on that, then. What I was going to say is that I know who you are now. That's all that matters."
"Oh? You're quite confident of that, are you? Who am I, Jane?"
"You're a murderer who refuses to take any responsibility for what he's done." Jane cringed a little, but hoped the reaction didn't show. The words had come tumbling out so fast she'd forgotten to use an I-statement…but she wasn't sure how far I-statements went when you were calling someone a murderer.
Loki gave a cold, humorless laugh. "Well, I must say it's nice to hear someone speak from the heart for a change. Although I must be rather incompetent at my job. So far as I'm aware, all station personnel are present and accounted for."
"You know what I mean."
"Yes, I know well the meaning of the word 'now.' And I know where I've been living since early February."
"You can dissect the semantics all you want. You know exactly what I'm talking about. You killed people, Loki. You killed two of my friends."
"I wasn't aware you had so many friends in SHIELD. And by the way, why do you assume that was my decision in the first place?" he asked, glossing over these supposed "friends." She may have known people in SHIELD, but as far as he was aware the only friend she'd had there was Erik Selvig, and he wasn't dead.
Jane was shaking her head in confusion and at the same time rejection. "What are you saying? You're going to try to tell me it wasn't?"
"Your friend Erik wasn't the only one acting under someone else's orders. I had no free will; I was forced to do what I did. I was controlled as much as Erik was. I had Asgard. Why would I want this planet full of creatures who live and die in the space of a breath and occupy their infinitesimal lifespan with constant squabbling?"
She shook her head now in amazement at his sheer audacity. When one lie falters, invent another one, hm? No more, Loki. "Have you ever heard the story about the boy who cried wolf?"
"No. Have you ever heard the story about the impudent mortal who called a god a murderer? In a room all alone with him, so that no one could hear her scream?" he spat back, throwing the papers to the floor.
"You're no god. Don't even try that with me." And…point taken. But she couldn't stop now. And it was true, what he'd said before – if he'd wanted to kill her he'd had ample time and opportunity. Empty threats, she told herself. She continued, the only sign of her fear a difficult swallow over a dry throat. "Suffice it to say you've cried wolf way too many times, Loki. I saw SHIELD's footage. Nobody was controlling you. Nobody except yourself."
Loki's jaw tightened for a moment. "You don't know what they were like, those others. I was tormented. I was forced to do what I did. I had no choice in the matter." And even though there was some measure of truth in this, he knew the words would ring false as soon as he said them. He was off-balance, his anger too close to the surface. He was reacting and not thinking.
"Uh-huh. Want to try Version Three? Oh! I have an idea. It wasn't you at all. It was your identical twin brother. Whose role in life is to go around making you look bad. How about that?"
There was something grossly ironic in that, but Loki wasn't in the right frame of mind to think too deeply about it. He felt the muscles in his face straining, pulling the skin taut over hard, angry features. He would like very much to hear this story about the boy who cried wolf. He was guessing it paralleled an Asgardian story that could easily be referred to as "the boy who cried bilgesnipe." Jane wouldn't believe anything he said now, even if it were the unadulterated truth. "It's true I'm known as the god of lies," he finally said. "Then again…I suppose I could be lying."
Jane watched as he smiled some awful smile in which she glimpsed his teeth, and she almost could have believed it was him the boy saw when he finally really saw a wolf. "No, that I believe. Do you just genuinely not care at all, then? No remorse whatsoever for all of the lives you took?"
"Your nation fights in wars, does it not? Should your warriors be remorseful over the enemies they slay in battle?"
"I think you're comparing apples and oranges. You-"
"Am I the apple or the orange? I prefer apples. Though not Midgardian ones."
"How can you joke about this?" Jane demanded, all thoughts of I-statements gone, all reminders not to antagonize him forgotten. "Is it all just one big game to you? People's lives?You…you're…you're a heartless monster!"
Loki closed the remaining distance between him and Jane, and she took a step back, bumping into the wardrobe. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to show her how much of a monster he really was, and still he restrained himself. "I was fighting a battle. When one does battle, one kills. I don't relish it, but I don't shy away from it, either. And I certainly don't apologize for it. Not to you, not to anyone."
"You were doing battle against shopkeepers and dog-walkers and sanitation workers and stay-at-home moms and insurance company workers and lab technicians?"
"If those people work for SHIELD or any other organization that was trying to stop me from gaining what was mine, then yes. Otherwise I have no idea what drivel you're spouting."
"Maybe in your version of the truth they all work for SHIELD, but no, Loki, they didn't. They were just going about their lives when you and your army blasted up their businesses and their cars and the cafes they were eating in and the offices they were working in and the apartments they were living in. You killed over 1,200 people."
"You lie," Loki said slowly, dangerously.
"You're the liar, remember? God of lies?"
Loki clenched his fists and drew himself up to his full height. If he put enough effort into it he thought he might actually be able to step on her. "I killed no more than twenty. And every one of them would have killed me first if given the opportunity."
"Oh, I see, you're using selective math. You're only counting the ones you physically stabbed in the back with the tesseract staff. All the others, Loki, all the ones who died on the streets and in the buildings, all the names on those papers you threw on the floor like trash, who do you think we should blame those deaths on?"
"Not me," he growled, his voice so low it was barely audible, his face so close Jane could feel his breath.
"You want to blame it on those creatures that fought for you? You're delusional. You let them in. You brought them here. You brought them here knowing exactly what they were going to do. Or did you think you were inviting them to a concert and cocktails? You brought them here and they had one purpose – to destroy everything and everyone in their path. We didn't even have any military there. So who exactly did you thinkyou were fighting a battle against?" Jane paused for a quick breath, heart hammering, some voice of wisdom screaming at her to stop as Loki's face reddened with rage, but her own anger overrode wisdom and propelled her forward. "The youngest victim was two months old, Loki. How exactly was he planning on killing you?"
And that was it. Loki snapped, the last tattered bits of his restraint evaporating into the dry air. His hands flew up and found her neck to silence her insolent grating voice. She tried to back away but the armoire blocked her escape. His fingers folded around the base of her skull and over her ears while his thumbs pressed lightly into her throat, enough to stop her, to shut her up, to show her her place. He would have ruled her, her and all the rest, and she had no right to say such things to him. She gave a squeaking, hitching gasp, and he was gratified because there were no words.
As quickly as he'd lost it though, his control started to return. He stared at his hands as though they belonged to someone else, and leaned away from her, ready to release his grip. But in the same moment that his sanity snapped back into place, somehow she had worked her own hands up around his throat and now she was squeezing with a pressure he hadn't imagined her capable of. Instead of letting go, then, he dug his thumbs in deeper, tightening his grip and compressing her airway until the jerking gasps she'd managed ceased and no air at all made it past his fingers.
Jane struggled frantically but felt strength draining from her body more rapidly than she could have imagined, the strange scientific part of her mind that never really shut off cataloguing it and finding it rather fascinating. It was all happening before she'd even realized he was reaching for her. Her eyes strained to stare to her left, at the bed, wishing desperately she could somehow will the ax to her hand the way Thor willed Mjolnir to his. It was so close and yet laughably out of reach, useless. This isn't happening, she told herself as the terror became overwhelming.
Her eyes started to bulge and her face was turning bright red and her grip tightened around his neck; Loki couldn't imagine what inner well of strength she must be drawing on. The voice he'd become used to ignoring screamed at him to unclamp his fingers and let her go, that this was going much further than his momentary outburst of rage, much further than he ever intended, but he would not be the one to release her first. She was struggling, trying to get away from him, but she wouldn't let go. Surely she didn't think she could actually best him in a contest of strength.
Jane's world shrank to Loki's hands and the desperate need for oxygen. Everything else was a reflex. Automatic. Her vision was beginning to dim. Her eyes fixed on Loki's and as her thoughts began to grow fuzzy she realized his steel blue eyes were probably the last thing she would ever see.
"Stop!" Loki commanded with great effort behind the word, but still it came out as little more than a wheeze. The pressure on his throat grew, and he squeezed harder in return. She would get the message, she had to, even if he could no longer say it aloud. Do not fight me. I will win. She was puny, pitiful, her eyes wide with panic. Her hands feebly grasped and scratched at his. He lowered his gaze to the weak efforts of her fingers. He couldn't breathe at all anymore; he was growing lightheaded and black spots appeared over her hands.
Over her hands…
He jerked away, releasing her and holding his hands out in front of him, trembling fingers spread wide. Sweet air rushed into his burning lungs.
He had inadvertently pushed her when he pulled away, and she stumbled back and downward, collapsing immediately in a gasping, choking heap on the floor while he stared at her in horror and growing comprehension. She huddled in on herself, coughing, gasping, crying. He should check on her. Reach out a hand. Help her to her feet. Carry her to her bed. Apologize.
He turned and walked past her and pulled hard on the doorknob to get out as quickly as possible. He gasped in a ragged breath and forced himself to take measured, normal steps to his chambers. Once inside, he threw up another sound-blocking blanket, stood in the middle of the room, realized his legs were decidedly unsteady, and was unable to stop himself from sinking to the floor, where he leaned at an awkward angle against the bed. His throat still felt constricted, his fingertips were numb, and each breath left him shaking from his mouth to his chest.
He stared, dazed, at his hands.
/
/
Jane sat for what felt like a very long time hunched on the floor with her back to the armoire, occasionally coughing and continually reminding herself that she was alive and that air was flowing freely through her larynx, even though she could still feel the hands squeezing her throat.
But she couldn't stay down there forever. She refused to stay down. So with intense determination she pushed herself up on unsteady legs. Dizziness hit and her room swam like a mirage. She clenched her fingers on the black metal bed frame as tightly as Loki's fingers had dug into her flesh and bit down hard on her bottom lip, willing herself not to black out. When she didn't, and her vision returned to normal, she grabbed Big Red from where it was hanging on her door and pulled it on over the light green New Zealand T-shirt she wore. She opened the armoire and pulled out the gallon-sized Ziplock bag that held her bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and soap, removing the toiletries and putting them back in the armoire. She pulled out a clean pale blue towel, then stepped over the stack of papers Loki had left on her floor and dropped the towel and empty bag onto the blue comforter – she'd actually made the bed today, because of the ax, whose handle would be visible if the comforter weren't there. Stupid. Like an ax was going to do anything anyway.
She sat down at her desk, then pulled her bunny boots out from underneath it. She swallowed, and found it hurt. All the more reason to hurry. Jane was hardly a doctor of medicine, but she'd been in a fairly serious relationship with one for a while, and had picked up some basics; she knew she had bruising and swelling to worry about. Ice would help with both, and for better or worse, ice was one thing here that wasn't in short supply. The galley had ice, but it was dinner time, and there was no way she was going there now. Club Med would have been the smartest place to go despite the questions that would be asked, but it never even occurred to her. Nor did making a dash for a satellite phone. All she could think about was the intolerable prospect of wearing the imprint of Loki's hands on her throat for two weeks.
Boots on, she grabbed the towel and plastic bag and shoved both in her backpack, which she slung over one shoulder, then headed out the door, steadfastly refusing to look to her right toward Loki's room. She had no idea where he'd gone after he left, so she simply forced one foot in front of the other, her eyes locked straight ahead. If she saw him, her big plan was to ignore him and keep right on walking.
She headed toward the galley but instead of turning to the left to enter she continued straight, toward the exit that had some other formal name but that everyone called the Beer Can. The stairs there were unheated but enclosed in a cylindrical covering that vaguely resembled its nickname, and provided access to some of the closer outbuildings and the underground ice tunnels she'd never gotten around to getting a tour of. Behind the thick joists on which the station was raised Jane found a spot with sufficient newly drifted snow and a bonus of shadows. She concentrated very hard on the awkward process of scooping snow into the baggie with her heavily gloved hand, so that she would not have to think about anything else.
/
/
Loki's gaze drifted from his hands, still splayed out on top of his legs in front of him, to the satchel at his side, the bottom of it resting on the floor. It was all over for him here. Jane would never be willing to work with him after this. She would call for help from SHIELD and that would be it. But inside this black leather satchel was another option. A quicker and easier means to Asgard, and from there on to Svartalfheim by his own means. Escape. He pictured himself downing the liquid in the vial hidden away inside the satchel, though, and the downside of that option reared its ugly head. His eyes slowly closed.
It was not so much that he would be taken to Asgard, rather, he would be taken to his mother's side. Loki was many things, few of them good, but he'd never physically hurt a defenseless woman like that. Though Jane would apparently disagree, he thought with a small sardonic laugh that turned into a painful cough and sobered the sarcasm right out of him.
If he hadn't looked down at her hands on his, and in his increasing oxygen deprivation realized what that meant, he wouldn't have stopped. He wouldn't have stopped until he killed her, and he would have told himself it was entirely in self-defense. And yet it wasn't self-defense, not really. He'd never tried to pry her imagined hands from his neck. He'd never tried to get away from her, as she had struggled to get away from him. He didn't want to get away. He wanted to win. He wanted to defeat. He wanted to conquer. He drew in a shuddering breath that didn't deliver quite as much air as he expected. He would have conquered her straight to her death and followed her there.
He couldn't see his mother right now. He would never be able to look her in the eye.
Loki set aside all thoughts of putting the vial's contents to use. And that meant his solution for reaching Svartalfheim still lay with Jane. How can I convince her? he asked himself, and a few minutes passed before an answer presented itself. He could tell her that her little "lesson" had worked, that he understood now that he'd caused the deaths of all those people, that he was consumed with immense guilt, that this overwhelming guilt had pushed him over the edge and he'd briefly lost his mind to it and taken it out on her.
He looked up at the ceiling and ran a hand through his hair. Even if he gave his best performance yet, she wouldn't believe it.
Still, there had to be a way. There was always a way. Maybe it wasn't all over. Maybe there was still hope. Maybe he could try the truth. Maybe she'll say you're crying wolf. Maybe she's already on the Iridium phone now.
Loki pushed himself up on legs that were still disconcertingly shaky and swallowed over a throat that was still disconcertingly tight. He was many things, few of them good, but he was not a quitter. Surely he could sell honesty at least as well as he could sell deception. But it was hard to say; he was out of practice.
He checked Comms first, then the Science Lab, and at last a bit of luck went his way. Although Jane hadn't been to either of those locations, Su-Ji had seen her headed for the "Beer Can." Loki hurried in that direction, zipping up Big Red as he went. He was just about to pull on his balaclava when he found Jane crouched on the ground underneath the building.
She heard his crunching footsteps and looked toward him, then shot up and grabbed onto the gray metal support pillar, eyes flashing.
"We have to talk," Loki said. The words came out as a croak.
/
/
Thor swung Mjolnir around and was just bringing it into a downward arc when the Vanir warrior before him stumbled backward over the body of one of his fellows, his blade falling from his already injured and weakened hand. He had fought well, this man in Vanaheim's blue and gold, and was one of only a few dozen Vanir still fighting on a hilltop overlooking the city. Thor managed to change the angle of his swing and Mjolnir whizzed by the Vanir's left shoulder. The man eyed his blade on the ground next to the fallen warrior.
"Don't. You are defeated."
The man glared at him, but then his posture sagged. Going for the sword would cost him his life and gain him absolutely nothing, and he knew it.
Thor nodded, but he had been at battle now for a full night and a full day, and he felt no particular pleasure in the victory. He mostly felt irritated that he now, with the fighting dying down in this location, had to take the time to figure out what to do with another prisoner before he could move on to where he was next needed.
He stepped forward and kicked at the sword's hilt, putting it out of reach of the prisoner, who didn't flinch from the sudden movement. Now inches from the man's face, Thor narrowed his eyes. He looked familiar. It was no surprise, really. Many of Vanaheim's finest warriors came to train on Asgard to further improve their craft. It had been a concern in fact that Asgard's warriors would not fully commit in a battle against Vanaheim's warriors. Killing the Frost Giants who'd tormented you in your childhood nightmares and wreaked havoc across multiple realms was something entirely different from killing Vanir, whose kin you may call neighbor, teacher, friend, even wife. And while some loyal Asgardian warriors of Vanir background had chosen to serve in other capacities for the duration of the war – many as healers' assistants, public welfare workers, and cooks – many others were fighting alongside their fellow Asgardian citizens. If anyone was holding back, Thor hadn't seen it.
Just as Thor was turning to search for an Einherjar or jailer to take custody of his prisoner, a voice boomed through the sky, with a slight echo that clearly distinguished it from Asgard's wartime communications. Thor looked up but saw nothing other than darkening sky with its swirls of galaxies and nebulae. He looked back down at the prisoner – whom he'd seen move in the periphery of his vision – as he listened.
"Meet our terms, Odin. They are simple terms. They cost you little and your people nothing. Do you think it was by accident that you, your queen, and your heir were not in your throne room? We could have ended you, but it is neither our intent nor our desire. You have our respect. You do not have our subservience. End this, All-Father. The power is yours and yours alone to do so."
The message ended. Despite the echo and a slight tinny quality along with the overly loud volume, about half-way through Thor had recognized the voice as that of King Gullveig of Vanaheim. His face set into an expression that had likely contributed to him occasionally being referred to as "the thunderer." A message to Odin should be delivered to Odin, not to all of Asgard. He had made it public for a reason. Gullveig was attempting to break Asgard's spirits, to turn her people against their king. Does he think us cowards ready to revolt at the first weapon raised against us?!
His eyes had grown unfocused, and that had been a mistake. His supposed prisoner, emboldened by his king's voice or by Thor's distraction, dropped to the ground and grabbed something from the body he'd tripped over earlier. The Vanir thrust the object upward toward Thor with both hands – a long knife of some sort. Thor pivoted to the side and the knife raked across his shin, just above the protection of his armored boot. It was a minor wound, especially considering the man had likely been aiming for his femoral artery. Dodging another strike he grabbed the warrior's wrist and twisted hard, suffering only a superficial cut along his thumb, and the knife fell to the ground. Thor dropped Mjolnir as well – the Vanir was already on his knees – and swung his right fist, still holding onto the man's wrist with his left. The Vanir fell, unconscious but alive. Thor grabbed him by the back of his armor and began dragging him through the trampled and uprooted grass toward another group of prisoners nearby, his expression unchanged. But this time there'd been a little pleasure in felling his enemy.
/
I confess, I'm kind of quaking in my boots right now. This has been coming for a long time, and it's the story as I want to tell it, but I do hope it doesn't put off too many of you. Loki is full of rage and has given in to violence again...I will in one breath defend him (in a sense, because he really did not intend for that to go so far, and he was horrified by what he did even if he can't fully process it and admit it) and in the next condemn him (because, you know, he put his hands around someone's throat and squeezed). It also speaks to him not being in such control of himself as he thinks he is. In any event, this is part of my acknowledgement that yes, Loki is capable of real violence; I'm not shying away from who he is in Avengers. And then, that there's also way more to him than that. I could write many pages on my thoughts on all this, but...I'll leave it at that and write a really long fanfic instead. ;-)
Previews from Chapter 38 (haven't decided on the title yet): Well, it's really one thing and one thing only. Jane and Loki deal with what happened in this chapter. I initially planned for an Asgardian section as well, but there wasn't room. So, actually Ch. 39 is about half-written already, which means with any luck you'll have an update in half the time!
And the excerpt:
Loki steeled himself. No more procrastinating. The performance of your life. The truth. Mostly. "Did Thor tell you about the" – Loki paused, swallowed with difficulty – "restrictions on me when I was sent here?"
Jane thought back to that conversation in her hotel room in Tromso. She nodded. "He said his father…your father…put some kind of enchantments on you. He said you wouldn't be able to hurt anyone." She took a quick breath. "I guess he got that wrong."
