by C. Gockel
“Ummm...” his gaze falls to something in her hand. His skin, normally a shade of warm caramel, goes sallow, and he jumps out and takes a few steps back.
She follows his gaze to Laevateinn, pulsing faintly in her hand. “Oh,” she says. “Don’t worry, we’ll just take it back to Steve and—”
“Are you a valkyrie?” he says.
“Pardon?” says Amy.
Holding up his hands, Bohdi backs a little further away. “Because, you know, there really is no reason a valkyrie would want to have anything to do with me...”
Amy’s brow furrows. Didn’t Steve tell her that Bohdi had an odd sense of humor sometimes? Nose wrinkling in disapproval, she shakes her head. “This is no time to joke. I just travelled to another universe and back and watched Loki die all over again and—”
“Loki?” he squeaks.
“—and it sucked.” Amy says, breath rushing out of her.
Bohdi just stares at her, his eyes wide under shaggy black bangs. He looks like a confused puppy.
Amy feels her chest constrict. Oh, no. “Do you know me?” she asks, tentatively.
Bohdi shakes his head.
She touches her chest, “Amy Lewis, does the name ring any bells? I was...” she takes a deep breath, fighting back a wave of panic. “...Loki’s friend.”
“Loki!” Bohdi says, taking a step back.
“Yes,” says Amy, looking down at her clothes. She’s covered in ash. “I know you don’t have reason to think fondly of him...”
“Errrr....” says Bohdi.
“...but to me, he was...”
“Um...” says Bohdi.
A voice with an audible smirk sounds from behind her. “To you, I was what?”
Amy turns her head. Standing in the alley near the street is Loki. He is wearing a gray suit with a pink shirt, no tie, and a long wool coat His hair is ginger and he’s sporting a tidier haircut than Amy’s ever seen on him. Her eyes widen. Beyond him the buildings are whole, and the sidewalk is crowded with people passing by in business attire. Cera—the battle on LaSalle Street, that hasn’t happened—she’s not home.
In a daze she slides off the cab’s roof. “You’re alive!” Amy says. Even if part of her mind is screaming, warning her that this is not right, she is not home, after watching Loki die not once, but twice, it feels like a miracle, a reprieve, just to see him again.
Raising an eyebrow, he puts a cell phone to his ear and speaks in Asgardian. “Yes, Skadi, I found the source of the disturbance.” His eyes fall to Laevateinn. “I think I’ll question her myself.”
Beside her, Bohdi whispers. “Hop in the cab, there’s still time to—”
Amy begins walking towards Loki. At first slowly, but with every step her feet gain speed, and suddenly she is running towards him, ready to wrap her arms around him as soon as their bodies collide. She reaches him—but their bodies don’t collide—instead she passes right through one of his illusions. Drawing to a halt, she looks frantically from side to side.
Immediately behind her, Loki says, “Were you really just trying to charge me with a sword?”
Gasping, she looks down. She’s still holding Laevateinn. Blushing and turning in the direction of Loki’s voice, she turns the blade so the handle is up.
Loki glares at her, cell phone clutched to his ear.
From his phone she hears a feminine voice speaking Asgardian. “Are you sure you can handle this?”
Wincing, Amy holds the handle towards Loki. “Here,” she says. “I really don’t know how to use one of these things.” She’s vaguely aware of Bohdi slinking back into his cab.
Taking the handle, Loki speaks into the phone, “No, I’ve got this.” Snapping the phone closed, he looks at the sword, and back up at Amy.
Bouncing nervously on her heels, Amy says, “It’s sort of yours anyway.”
With a sidelong glance at her, he raises the sword before him. In a reverent whisper he says, “More than my sword, I think. The only thing I’ve seen stronger is Cera herself.”
“Don’t touch Cera!” Amy exclaims. “She’ll kill you! I know it! I’ve seen it twice! Schrödinger’s cat, multi-universes, they’re real!”
Loki looks to her, both his eyebrows raised. “I think you and I may have a few things to talk about.”
“Yes!” says Amy. Maybe this Loki she can save.
He backs towards the wall, sword upraised, and turns his head. “But first to deal with that miscreant you were talking to—”
Amy follows Loki’s gaze down the alley just in time to see Bohdi’s cab jolt into reverse and turn backwards around a corner.
“Oh, he’s fine. I don’t think he knows me in this universe. I don’t think he matters,” says Amy. She blinks. “Not that he doesn’t matter, that sounds bad, I mean, I’m not sure.” Scrunching her eyes shut, she says, “Never mind, Schrödinger’s cat caught my tongue.”
When she opens her eyes, Loki is staring at her, one eyebrow cocked. He glances quickly at the sky and grabs her wrist. Reeling her in so her back is to his chest, Laevateinn’s blade uncomfortably close to his nose, he says, “Time to go.”
Her ears pop, there is a rush of air, they are in the In-Between for less than a heartbeat, and then they are standing in a rather well-appointed room, both taking deep breaths. Amy’s eyes fall on a leather couch with a magazine draped haphazardly over an arm, a free-standing fireplace, and an end table with a glass half-full of water. Her face falls a little. It’s obviously a living room, but it isn’t her Loki’s living room with bright floor to ceiling windows. The windows in this apartment stretch only from midway up the walls to the ceiling, and they’re covered in thick drapes. It is impressive, though. Opulent even.
She’s about to pull away from Loki, to look around a little more, and then remembers she probably needs to support him. Placing her free hand firmly on his forearm, she prepares for him to stumble and sway.
Instead he stands unwavering, blade upraised before him, staring down at her hands.
“You’re not tired by the trip through the In-Between?” Amy says.
Loki’s gaze moves to her eyes.
Blinking, she says, “Normally when you take me through the In-Between, it leaves you exhausted.” Her eyes go to the blade. “Oh,” she says. “You used Laevateinn as a battery!”
Loki tilts his head to the side and looks down where he’s still clutching her wrist. He meets her gaze again and then withdraws his hand as though she’s burned him.
She runs a hand nervously through her hair. It’s become tangled and—she looks down at her hand—it’s coated with grime. “Ugh, there was fallout in the last universe,” she says, her voice catching slightly.
“You know me, but I don’t know you...Miss?” Loki says.
“Amy,” says Amy, lifting her eyes. “Amy Lewis.”
“And how precisely do you know me, Miss Lewis?” he says, stepping in front of her and making his body a wall between her and the living space beyond.
Reflexively taking a step back, Amy’s eyes go unfocused and her stomach lurches. “I’m going to throw up,” she says.
With a sigh, Loki spins her around by the shoulders and says, “This way.”
x x x x
Amy pushes away from the counter, her arms shaking. She’s just spent the last few minutes dry heaving into Loki’s kitchen sink. Her body is still trembling from the exertion. Way to make an impression.
Covering her eyes with her hands, she turns and leans back against the counter. “Sorry,” she says. “I’ve just travelled through the In-Between to two separate universes. The walk through the In-Between with you just seemed to be the final straw.”
Dropping her hands she sees Loki leaning against the counter, one hand on his chin. At her words his head jerks as though he’s surprised, but he says nothing.
“Strange,” says Amy, looking at her feet. “That we stayed in the same universe when you held the sword...”
She looks up at him. “You know I’m not lying
but you probably think I’m crazy.”
Tilting his head, Loki says. “Maybe not.” And then he shakes himself and goes to a cabinet. “Where are my manners? Would you like some water?”
“Umm...yeah,” she says, suddenly feeling the dryness in her throat and lips.
As he pulls out a glass and fills it with water from a tap in the refrigerator, she says, “Maybe I should start at the beginning? In my world we met when Odin tried to execute your sons for political activism.”
Loki straightens at her words, the glass of water almost tipping over in his hands.
Holding up her hands, Amy says hastily, “I’m sorry, maybe it is uncomfortable to hear. I mean, I hope that they aren’t dead in this universe.”
Jaw going tight, Loki says, “Nari is...”
The words hit Amy right in the gut. She has a sudden vision that leaves her breathless: Helen dying in Loki’s arms. Loki loves—loved—his three children. Beyond distinct memories of them, there is a pervasive feeling, it’s wilder and stronger than anything she’s ever felt for anyone...even Loki. He’d gone to prison for 200 years to protect his sons from banishment and death. She clutches her stomach, suddenly hit by feelings of bitterness, shame, and inadequacy....A slow breath escapes her as a feeling of envy at all of Thor and Odin’s half-human children fills her. Loki is nearly infertile...That is something they’d never gotten around to discussing. He associates it with something about his nature, of him being akin to death and destruction. Loki’s words in the dark universe ring in her mind, ‘I destroy everything beautiful.’
Putting a hand to her mouth, she whispers, “I’m sorry.”
Dropping his eyes to the kitchen’s stone floor he says, “However, Nari did not die by Odin’s hands.” Lifting his gaze to hers, he says, “Valli is alive—imprisoned—but alive. Only by Odin’s grace. The Diar would have him executed.”
The Diar, Odin’s council. She swallows. “Oh. You’re on maybe good terms with Odin, then?”
A smirk twists his lips. “Oh, we have terms.”
“Ah—” says Amy, not knowing how to respond to that. “Not so much in my universe—”She stops as he presses the glass into her hand. “Take a sip,” he says. “Just a small one.”
She does. Her stomach doesn’t protest so she drinks a little more. Loki’s very close to her, his chest inches away. To distract herself from things that are probably inappropriate—like hugging him—she stares into the water.
“Where was I?” she mumbles. “Odin cast them into the Void, and then you followed them, but Nari still had the sheath of Excalibur in his hands, and Valli clung to it, and they didn’t die but they got sucked through a branch of the World Tree, and so did you...” She takes a breath. “But it wasn’t the same branch and you wound up on Earth and they went...somewhere...you heard me because I was being attacked by a serial killer and you rescued me.” She takes another breath. “And then we went to Alfheim to see if we could find where Valli and Nari went to...but actually before that there was a trip to the sheriff's office.” She looks up at him. “I don’t know if that part is important or not. How much should I tell you?”
“Everything would probably be best,” says Loki, his face inscrutable.
“Right well—”
Her voice stops as he puts a hand on her shoulder. “But first, perhaps you’d like a shower?”
Looking up at him she squeaks. “With you?”
His eyes go wide, and then he laughs. “I think I begin to understand the nature of our relationship.”
Amy blushes, even as a part of herself warms with the sound of his laughter. As he slips a hand to her back and guides her down a hallway, presumably towards the bathroom, she smiles tightly to herself. If he understands their relationship, at least one of them does.
A few moments later, Loki guides her into a pitch-black room, and just for a moment, Amy has a sensation of doubt so strong she actually shivers. Evidently sharing the feeling, Mr. Squeakers gives a shaky squeak in her pocket. Then the lights go on, and Amy finds herself in a huge bathroom with a shower behind glass walls and an enormous tub. There are lots of towels and—her eyes catch on a familiar looking bathrobe on the back of the door.
“Your pocket?” says Loki, staring intently at her side.
Reaching into her coat, Amy pauses as Mr. Squeakers crawls into her hand. “Just Mr. Squeakers,” she says, holding her small eight-legged companion out on her palm.
Loki draws back. “One of Hoenir’s creatures. They are extremely venomous. A bite from that would be enough to knock even me unconscious.”
Amy’s brow scrunches as she looks at Mr. Squeakers. His gray fur is a shade darker than normal, and his eight legs that are usually a glossy velvety black are dull and chalky looking. His back is towards Amy, his nose is lifted in Loki’s direction.
“Huh,” she says, not really believing him. Turning Mr. Squeakers around on her palm, she lowers her face so he can touch his nose to hers. He likes to do that. “You gave him to me. And he’s never bit me or even my dog, Fenrir. ” And sometimes Fenrir’s affection for Mr. Squeakers involves a sloppy tongue and carrying him around in her mouth.
Sure enough, Mr. Squeakers pushes his tiny nose to Amy’s. She smiles as his whiskers tickle her cheek.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” says Loki. Going to a vanity he pulls out an unopened toothbrush and some toothpaste, sets them on the counter, and then walks to the door. Pulling it shut behind him, he pauses long enough to give her a wink and a smirk. “I’ll leave you to it.”
In her hand, Mr. Squeakers gives a squeak.
Amy looks down at her mouse. “I think he means you, too. We both stink.” As bad as she did last time she was trapped in a fire at ADUO’s old HQ. Her stomach does a nervous little jiggle.
Mr. Squeakers gives a squeak that sounds distinctly forlorn, but he doesn’t spin a web and leap away. Setting him on top of the vanity, she reaches for the toothbrush.
x x x x
Rinsing off the last vestiges of soap from Mr. Squeakers’ fur, Amy holds the mouse in her palm out of the shower’s spray. He jumps for the showerhead, climbs from the nozzle up the pipe, and then casts a line to the ceiling. A few moments later, he is hanging comfortably upside down at the level of her eyebrows, just out of the spray’s reach.
“I don’t know, Mr. Squeakers,” she says, massaging some shampoo into her hair. “Maybe we’re here for a reason? Maybe this time we can keep him out of trouble?”
Mr. Squeakers lets loose a squeak, and Amy snorts. “Okay, maybe we can keep him from getting himself killed. Keeping Loki out of trouble is probably impossible.”
Finishing rinsing her hair, she peers through the clear glass walls of the shower. Speaking of...she narrows her eyes. To the room at large she says, “You know, Loki, you can go ahead and make yourself visible.”
She feels a tickle, low in her gut, and a projection of Loki dressed in suit trousers, and the same pink shirt he was wearing earlier, walks out of her body and turns to lean against the shower wall, arms crossed over his chest. She feels a warmth flush through her, considerably lower than her gut that she hasn’t felt since, well, before. If she didn’t know he was immaterial right now—
Shaking her head, she meets his gaze, hoping the shower is hiding her flush. She expects a smirk, but instead his lips are slightly parted and his eyes are strangely soft.
Amy should be embarrassed by her nudity, or angry about his spying, but he doesn’t feel like a stranger. Even if he isn’t her Loki, it’s wonderful to see him alive—and actually, the spying is just confirmation that it is him, even if his eyes are gray, and his hair is ginger and a little too neat. If his wonder-struck expression is strange, well it is probably echoing her own.
“How long were we lovers?” he asks.
Amy’s heart flutters at the word, at the idea that lovers was the conclusion he drew, not...a half-dozen other less flattering descriptions for their relationship flitter through her mind. Licking her lips, Amy say
s, “We were...” she hesitates. Loki hates to be lied to. As much as she wants to claim the title he’s given her, she settles on something closer to the truth. “...intimate, for only three days, just towards...” The end.
“Only three days?” Loki whispers, and there is no mistaking the awe in his voice. “How is that possible?”
Amy tilts her head, unsure of the meaning behind the question. “But we were...friends...before that,” she says. “For a few months.”
“Friends?” he says, head cocking.
Shrugging, Amy says, “You came over, hung out, watched TV—Star Trek, TED Talks, you know. And we went to dinner.”
Loki’s brow furrows. “We were courting?”
“Errrr....” Suddenly Amy is conscious of her nudity. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I think you were more fishing for information about the government agency I was working for.”
Illusionary forehead dipping closer, Loki gives her a smirk. “I can think of faster ways to get information.”
Looking away, Amy says, “Yes, well...”
“Only 3 days,” Loki says again, his voice hushed.
Nodding, Amy uncrosses her arms and wipes water from her eyes, mostly so she doesn’t have to look at him. The awe and the wonder are making her uncomfortable. Where’s the leer? The comments on her breasts?
Loki clears his throat. She opens her eyes.
Smirking, eyes on her chest, he says, “Nice view, by the way.”
She grins like an idiot. It’s him. Before she can respond he walks right through her. Again she feels a tickle low in her belly. She tilts her head. That’s odd. Normally when he does that trick she can’t feel anything. Shutting off the shower, she squeezes the water out of her hair and turns. Standing just outside of the shower is Loki, holding a towel in his hands.
Amy releases a breath. Of course, she is a moderately attractive female in his shower; Loki is going to make sure she knows he’s available. Opening the shower door, she takes the towel without a word. There’s something so intense about his gaze, something beyond lust, she can’t quite meet his eyes.
