This current semester is finally in full swing, so updates might get a little sporadic. I'm aiming for about 9 chapters, so we're almost halfway.

Chapter Four: Baby Fever

Either through magic or fate working against him, Death became pregnant on the first try.

In the most excitement he had seen her display, Death practically danced into Loki's chambers to announce her pregnancy. Her face beamed as she pressed a hand against her belly even though she had yet to show any growth.

Loki sat on the window seat and stared out to avoid her gaze. He had no idea how to feel about having another child. Sure, he loved his sons and would eventually love this child, too. However, he wished the circumstances of his children's births had not been fraught with turmoil. Every single one of them came into being from increasingly worsening affairs, and this one turned out to be the worst.

His children had yet to ask about their origins, and Loki had no idea how he would explain it to them. Already, Odin expressed his dislike of Loki's children and the decisions leading to the creation of the 'monstrous beasts'. If Loki explained his predicament to his father, the king of Asgard would brush it aside and blame Loki for making hasty, passion-fueled choices instead of acknowledging that a woman—no matter how formidable and terrifying—exploited a man.

"Why won't you speak?" Death questioned, jarring Loki from his rumination. She drifted closer to touch his bicep. The moment her fingertips skimmed his sleeve he drew his arm away.

Death brought her hand back to her chest, affronted. "Say something!"

Loki shook his head, sparing her only the smallest glance over his cold shoulder. "What do you want me to say? 'Congratulations?' It would be a lie if I said I'm excited for you."

Death chewed her bottom lip, her arms folding across her chest. "This is your child, too. You should celebrate."

"There's nothing to celebrate!" Loki hissed. He slid off the window seat and drew himself to his full height. It didn't faze her. "You got what you wanted. Why don't you let me go?"

"I still need you," Death answered, unbothered by his sneer.

"For what?" Loki spread his arms out and gestured wildly around the room. "I gave you what you seek, through means I did not enjoy. If you think I would stay by your side as your faithful and loving husband, you are mistaken."

"You made a vow."

"A vow you forced me to swear!" Loki growled. He pushed past her to stalk toward the other side of the room. "I would never love you. If you truly loved me, you would never have put me in this position."

"And what if I do love you?" Death asked, her voice catching in her throat. Her eyes watched Loki's pacing, the green eyeshadow sparkling in the pale light of the candles.

Loki stopped his pacing and stared incredulously at Death. "Do you?" he asked. "Do you love me?"

"If I did not, I never would have married you."

Loki threw back his head and laughed at the ceiling. Straightening, he glared at Death. "It's not love, it's obsession! You only needed the wedding to ensure the legitimacy of your heir. Love of power drove you to bring me here to father a child, not the love of a person.

"There is a difference, one you would not understand because you are so determined to stay on your throne that you're willing to cross any line to keep it. Power has blinded you. I don't care if you're a cosmic entity incapable of dying, there are certain wrongs in this universe, and you have committed at least one of them the night you brought me to your chambers."

Loki sucked in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair to calm his nerves. Death stared blankly at him, her expression unreadable.

"I am only doing what is necessary," Death finally replied. Not for the first time, her voice had a threatening calmness like the quiet of a forest before a fire razed everything into ash. Most people would stop there and keep their wise mouths shut. Loki, as he tended to when riled, charged past the warning signs and let his silver tongue run unfettered.

"What is 'necessary' and what is 'right' are two different things. You could have picked another man to marry."

"There is no other man," Death said. "I have watched you for a long time now; I picked you for a reason, Loki." She slowly approached him, moving whisper-quiet. "The way you parent your children, whom anyone else would deem monsters, is one of the reasons why I knew you would not treat our child as an abominable product of an unholy union."

Her fingers snaked along his wrists to pull his hands toward her chest. She angled her head back to gaze softly at him, their lips inches apart. "You have cunning and power, but most of all you have love. Love for your brother and your parents, for your Sigyn. Love for your children, another of whom is right here, waiting for you."

Death guided Loki's hand to her stomach and flattened his palm against the silky cloth. Once again, the warmth from her body instead of the expected coldness of someone caught between life and death surprised him. He shivered at the memory of those same fingers touching him and her body pressed against his in ways he sought—and failed—to keep intimate solely between him and Sigyn. A baby bump had yet to show underneath the flowing layers of her dress, and yet Loki could feel something calling from within her.

If this child was even half as powerful as Death, then Norns help them all.

The way Death regarded him, her eyes shining and affectionate, sent another shiver down his spine. He pulled his hand away and glared, his palm burning from her touch.

"I want an annulment."

-oOo-

Once Death announced her pregnancy, the entire Afterlife celebrated. Thank the Norns she did not force Loki to attend the resulting baby shower nor to greet the many well-wishers and death deities who traveled from adjoining realms to bestow plentiful, lavish gifts to the queen.

The celebrations must have lightened Death's mood because, over the next nine months, Loki, ever so slightly, gained some freedom.

Instead of remaining confined to his room like a petulant child grounded by his parents, he could wander the palace—mostly—unrestricted. Guards accompanied him at all times, though. As a prince with guards stationed at every entrance back home, he should not have found it insulting. The guards here, however, were not there for his protection. It did not take long to discover their ever-present watch included stupidity-intervention such as trying to escape via a window in the dining hall.

The fresh air and earthy scents of flowers, plants, and other natural aromas outside offered little relief from his rather luxurious life as a prisoner. One look at where the wedding had occurred in the palace garden sent Loki high-tailing it back inside to wallow in self-pity in his bedroom.

His chambers had not changed much. More hand-tailored clothes designed to his taste and build—though he had not seen any tailor nor knew how they knew his size—appeared in the closet. At his request, books filled the shelves. The guards stationed outside his door must have preferred his silence because before he received the books, he had taken to pestering them with complaints. They had tried their best to remain silent and straight-faced but he had gotten one of the guards to crack and cuss at him for being 'a little bastardly pain in the ass'. He supposed he could better tolerate his confinement and leave the guards alone as long as he had access to decent reading material.

It still didn't make him any less angry about his captivity, though.

Death came to visit every night, her mood varying from cold and angry to warm and almost cuddly. They often ate meals together in the dining hall and judging by Death's progressively swelling stomach, the pregnancy seemed right on track.

She hit the 'weird food combination phase' sooner than expected. Her...concoctions distracted her enough to not steal food from Loki's plate anymore. It did, however, mean she often left a few snacks tucked somewhere in his room for the next day. Loki had to toss out the worse-smelling ones because he couldn't sleep well when his stomach decided to practice backflips all night.

Worst of all, she wore Loki's robes whenever she got in a cuddly mood. Loki tried his best to ignore her advances; thankfully they never got intimate again. Yet, occasionally, Loki would awaken to find Death lying beside him, her arms wrapped around his waist and pressed against him as if her livelihood depended on it.

He hated sharing a bed with another woman. Once he got out of here, he would have some unpleasant explaining to do if he ever wanted to declare himself worthy enough to court Sigyn again without the shadow of Death lingering above them like an unwanted stormcloud. If everything went well Sigyn might understand his situation and will not leave him for this. Death had yet to agree to an annulment, but Loki swore he would not stop fighting for one until she relented.

At this rate, she seemed wholly captivated by him and practically glued herself to his side whenever she did not have other duties to fulfill. Loki blamed it on the hormones affecting her and hoped her fascination would fade once she gave birth.

In the meantime, the obsession, either from love or some twisted attraction to his power, led her to summon him daily to her throne room. Guards positioned themselves on both sides and at all exits to box him in and hold him upright. Loki struggled every single time while Death drew some of his magic from him. She claimed it would help the baby grow strong.

Loki could not confirm it because he never knew what she used the glowing, green ball of energy for in her secretive spell. He had suspicions about the whole thing being a hoax to keep him weak and too unmotivated to do nothing more than spend his time reading. For all he knew, she could have tossed the sphere of magic into the air and let it disperse once the guards dragged his half-conscious form out of the throne room.

Throughout the day, his magic would replenish enough to give him some energy to fuel his daily walk to the library instead of staying in his room all day. Except, once he reached a level where he could try to break the damn dam containing his magic, the process would repeat all over again the next day.

Loki learned a great deal about how the Afterlife worked in his extensive time spent either in his room or the vast library. The library on Asgard paled in comparison to the one in Death's palace. Anyone who thought the royal Asgardian library held the precious title of having the most books ever contained in one place was an absolute fool. Every book ever written, every letter, note, or piece of literature—from a few words to lengthy texts—were stored in neat rows on the near-boundless bookshelves.

The first time he stepped foot in the library and saw the sheer amount of information available at his fingertips, Loki damn near fainted from staggering, awe-struck giddiness. It was a reader's unattainable dream he had the unabashed pleasure to witness—and a reader's worst nightmare because no living creature could ever find the time to read and comprehend everything before succumbing to the inevitable end. Here, he could learn about anything including, if he wanted to, the infinite collection of lives once lived.

Each soul upon entering the Afterlife had their entire life story—down to the last, minute detail—written in a book and kept in the palace archives. From the moment of their conception to the final second of their death, everyone in the Afterlife had a book. For anyone other than to whom the book belonged, reading it required special permission from either the person, the corresponding death god, or Death herself. In a rare gesture of generosity, Death granted Loki access to the archives so he could read to his heart's content.

He barely made it a third into the first one—his paternal grandmother, Bestla. It felt weirdly intrusive to read someone else's life as if they were a character in a story, and he wouldn't want someone—even if related—to know everything about him. He stuck to more educational books after that one.

Newfound access to unlimited knowledge unlocked, Loki, naturally, satisfied his restlessness by plopping himself onto a comfy sofa in the library and reading until Death interrupted his silent bliss.

Out of all the things he expected her to do, Loki did not anticipate Death being a talker.

During their meals, she would explain the plans she had for their child and answer any questions Loki had about the Afterlife. At the dawn of time, she emerged to keep the balance between life and death, and for the most part, she did this entirely on her own.

The hierarchy went in order from her at the top, to the death gods who oversaw individual realms, and then to the reapers who collected and guided souls into the corresponding Afterlives. Death rarely interfered with the natural order of life, preferring to have a 'hands-off' approach to souls. Her mere existence allowed everything to die on its own terms; she only killed those she had a personal vendetta against or posed a threat to the sacred balance.

For a complex network of all the 'heavens, hells, and everything in-between', Death had the system working smoother than any artificially-crafted machine. There were a few bumps, like the occasional complaint leading to small factions intending to usurp her, but Death easily squashed any opposition. Death merged Valhalla, the Duat, the Underworld, the Ancestral Plane, and so forth and so on into one conglomerate where she had total control and could access each depiction of eternal paradise or infinite suffering at ease.

It made sense, for people to arrive at their respective places, even having the ability to travel between the different heavens to visit family and friends who believed in something different or just to see something new. Death's palace reigned supreme in the capital of the Afterlife. The city around it only had buildings for official business and no souls resided here.

Yet again, the Afterlife put Asgard's rule over the Nine Realms to shame. Death had jurisdiction across the entire universe. Every living thing eventually led to her. Empires could rise and fall for all eternity and she would still have sovereignty over the Afterlife and all the souls who would ultimately come into her possession.

For someone so powerful even the most immortal gods feared her, she looked rather innocent when curled up in Loki's bed. She rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes focused on her hands massaging her round stomach. Loki had a book propped on his knees to ignore her, but her sickly sweet voice distracted him from reading about the Japanese Shinto afterlife, Yomi.

"Do you think it's going to be a boy or a girl?" Death asked. She wouldn't stop fussing over her clothes in a vain attempt to smooth out the wrinkles of her black silk dress stretched across her front. Five months had passed and her protruding stomach became the source of complaints concerning her appearance and back pain for a while.

Loki didn't bother to answer her.

"I don't mind either way," Death added when Loki did not respond. Her cheek dug into his shoulder as she rolled her head to look up at him. "As the father, you will choose the name."

Oh, joy. Another thing he didn't want to think about.

It fell quiet for a while and Loki returned to his reading. The feeling of eyes watching him betrayed her studying gaze.

"You're unhappy," Death finally noted aloud.

Loki spared her a sharp glance and tried to move out from under her. She counteracted by snuggling further into his side. From where her round belly pressed into his leg, he could feel a faint heartbeat fluttering inside her, and not for the last time, he felt the strange sensation of someone calling to him.

"I wonder why," Loki said, shoving all thoughts of the infant's attempts to communicate aside. The baby might have a terrifying powerset if the ability to already assert its presence and possibly read his mind or his aura was anything to go by.

Death pouted, unaware—he hoped—of the cold sweat breaking out across his skin. "Don't be so ridiculous, Loki. There is much to learn here and if you finally accept your role, you will have unlimited access to everything the Afterlife has to offer."

"What I want is not here," Loki snapped. Annoyed enough to leave the comfort of his bed whilst tired from the morning's energy-removal ritual, he slipped out from underneath Death. Pacing helped relieve some of the tension boiling inside. It didn't last long and he moved past the bed toward the desk near the wardrobe—a recent addition to his room. He dropped heavily on the chair, pointedly aiming his back toward her to ignore her pouting face.

"Are you really going to abandon your child?" Death asked. The blankets on the bed rustled from her shifting to sit on the edge to watch him.

"I have more than one child. I know you haven't forgotten that, considering it's one of the reasons why you chose me," Loki said to the wall. "You are keeping me from my sons."

The whisper of robes squishing against the floor glided to a halt behind him. The experience of Death's clinginess over the last few months stopped him from jumping when a pair of hands landed on his shoulders. Death began massaging his shoulders, her hair brushing against his ear when she leaned in.

"We're over halfway there, mi amor," Death purred. "You should be excited."

Loki shrugged off her hands and whipped out of his chair. The movement toppled the wooden seat and it banged loudly onto the stone floor, the tip of the uppermost part of the backrest landing on the mossy carpet.

Loki stepped backward to place the chair between them. The distance, though insignificant if she decided to attack, gave him enough confidence to give her a livid scowl.

"I wish I could say I hope you die in labor, but I doubt you will," Loki spat.

Death's painted lips dropped open and her face contorted into an offended expression. She let out a small wounded noise.

"How dare you!" Death snarled. She flipped her robe angrily and spun on her heel. The shape of her stomach made the dramatics less graceful than she probably intended, but she didn't let the slight off-balance nor the waddle in her stride stop her from stomping to the door.

She flung it open, shot Loki an icy glare, and slammed it behind her hard enough to rattle the hinges. A few petals from the vines around his room fluttered down onto the floor and the candles on his dresser flickered from the gust.

Loki hoped she wouldn't return.

I got the idea about the library books of souls from Supernatural, but the library in this Afterlife is a lot prettier than the one depicted in the show.

For those who are wondering why Death likes Loki instead of Agatha, this story is set way, way before Agatha was ever born. And before she met Thanos...and Deadpool...and whoever else she ever dated in the comics. I'm not sure if Lady Death and Loki ever interacted in the comics, but I couldn't pass up this opportunity to make them meet (in circumstances that Loki doesn't like but I digress).