by C. Gockel
Loki turns at the sound. In the distance he sees campfires, and he knows without knowing how that is his destination. He’s brought Frigga’s falcon cloak in case the distance between him and the humans is great, but the journey is so short, he takes it on foot. He soon finds himself at the camp of what Loki can only speculate is a warlord. Sentries line the perimeter, and he counts at least 50 tents in the moonlight. Narrowing his eyes, Loki makes himself invisible and heads to the tent at the center. Slipping through the front opening he finds a woman kneeling on a skin rug before a smoldering metal bowl. To one side is a table laden with scrolls made out of hides and a low bed.
He’s just taking in the scene when he hears the flap of the tent open behind him.
“Nanna,” says a voice Loki recognizes from the prayers in Odin’s hall, that he assumes belongs to Hothur. Turning, he sees a human man with broad shoulders, a long scar down one side of his face, and armor that is well-made but unadorned. Loki smiles. A warrior interested in results, not show—the very opposite of the golden prince! This is looking better and better.
“We shouldn’t waste what little we have of our mortal lives seeking deliverance from fickle gods,” the man says, going to lay a hand on the woman’s shoulder. Loki takes that to be a rather nice way of saying, ‘Let’s have sex before we die.’ He’d be all for watching, but he has a purpose, and that seems like as good an opening as any.
Making himself visible, Loki clears his throat. “Normally, I’d agree with your sentiment, but this time, deliverance is here.”
Hothur’s sword is out in less than a heartbeat. Loki holds up his hands and smirks. “Don’t kill me. Save it for Baldur.”
Hothur narrows his eyes. “And I’m supposed to listen to a man who wears a woman’s feather cloak?”
Loki rolls his eyes. “It lets me fly, you idiot. If I had to I’d wear Frigga’s dress as well.”
Behind him Nanna rises to her feet. “It’s Loki! He wore a feather cloak in the tale of Thor and his lost hammer, too!”
Hothur’s eyes widen, but only a fraction. “I don’t believe it.”
Loki snaps his fingers on both hands and lets little bursts of flame rise. Both humans gasp. Bowing to Nanna, he says, “At your service.”
“We should trust our lives to the God of Lies?” says Hothur.
Rising, Loki tilts his head. Where had that come from? He always, always, keeps his oaths. “God of Mischief, thank you,” he says tightly.
Hothur scowls at him.
Rolling his eyes, Loki says, “Your lives are already forfeit if you’ve somehow managed to upset His Royal Highness.” Crossing his arms, he raises an eyebrow at them.
Nanna steps forward. “Baldur asked my father for my hand in marriage.” She smiles wryly. “And my father gave it even though I’d told Baldur that I am promised to Hothur.”
Loki blinks. That is a lot more concern for formality than he would have expected from Baldur. Not that marriage to a human would be considered legal and binding in Asgard. Still, slightly disbelieving, Loki says, “And you dislike his proposal because?”
“Because he intends to use me and cast me aside!” Nanna says, fists forming at her side.
Loki shrugs. “True.” He takes a step forward. “But how do you know this? Most people can’t see...”
Nanna’s voice wavers. “I love Hothur. I promised myself to him...”
Loki stares at her, willing his mouth not to gape. This simple human saw the truth?
Shaking her head, Nanna says, “Baldur just wants me because I said no.”
Loki snorts. “That sounds like him.” He looks Nanna up and down. She is beautiful, if a little short. But on Asgard she’d hardly stand out. He feels his smirk fading and his eyes go soft. She has Aggie’s perceptiveness and Sigyn’s strength of will.
The gleam of a blade near his chin snaps Loki to the present. “What are you offering, and what do you want, Trickster?” Hothur says.
Realizing the direction of his gaze, Loki smirks. “Relax, your intended is lovely...but my wife would kill me. I want nothing more than to answer your prayers. As for what I am offering...” He shrugs. “Mistletoe. It’s the only thing that can kill the Golden Prince.”
Tilting his head, Hothur steps back. “That’s it?”
Looking around the tent, Loki says, “Well, you must make sure an ample amount enters his bloodstream. Rubbing the extract upon the blades of your weapons would probably do the trick.”
“It shall be done this very night,” says Hothur.
Nodding absently, Loki keeps scanning the room. Something is off. He feels magic.
Nanna whispers something. Hothur shuffles on his feet and then says tightly, “If this works, we will honor you for all of our days. I will hire bards to sing your praises.”
Eyes snapping back to the couple, Loki shakes his head and holds up his hands. “Oh, no! No! That would get me in more trouble than you can imagine.” Not least of which with Sigyn.
Hothur’s brow furrows. “But how will I explain how I killed him?”
Waving a hand, Loki says, “Make up some tale of a magic sword and an epic quest! Be creative.”
“It will be done,” says Hothur, but Loki is looking at the table. One of the scrolls is glowing faintly. Magic devices aren’t allowed on Earth anymore. Loki takes quick steps towards the table. “What is this?” Loki asks, picking up the scroll.
Behind him, Hothur says, “It’s a map to an enchanted spear, called Gungnir, given to me by a wandering mage. He said if I recover it and take it to the circle of stones on the southeasterly island, he will use it to open a pathway to Jotunheim and summon an army.” Hothur smiles tightly. “And he says he could send the army straight from the stone circle to Asgard to fight the Aesir on my behalf.”
Loki turns his head quickly to Hothur. “And you trust him?”
Hothur glares at Loki. “I’m not an idiot, Trickster. If the map is of interest, as you seem to think it is, I’m sure the spear will do as he says. However, the army summoned would not be at my command.” Hothur’s jaw tightens. “But if Baldur stole Nanna from me...I might do such a thing knowing that at least Heaven would burn.”
Loki tilts his head. He’s wanted to see Asgard shamed and brought low on occasion. If it weren’t for Sigyn, Nari and Valli...Turning his eyes back to the scroll he carefully unrolls it. For an instant he sees the location of the staff Gungnir, but then the scroll bursts into flames—and not by his hands.
Vexed by the magic scroll and tale of Gungnir, Loki returns to Asgard that night.
A few days later Baldur goes to Midgard with a host of warriors and attempts to take Nanna from Hothur. He returns only hours later, carried by his warriors. He is wounded and in excruciating pain. He holds on for three days before he dies. Odin and Frigga never leave his side.
x x x x
“Go away!”
Loki’s shout awakens Amy like a thunderclap from a dreamless sleep. It takes a moment, but she realizes she’s lying at the edge of his bed and it’s well into the night. The sound of helicopters, still a little too close, reverberate through the dark room.
Sitting up with a start, she turns to Loki. He’s sitting, too, not looking in her direction, rubbing his temple and gritting his teeth. His hair is still ginger, his skin still pale.
“I’m sorry,” she stammers. “There was nowhere else to sleep.” His home doesn’t have a couch or even chairs beyond the one in front of his computer.
Loki lifts his head and looks at her, his face a mask of unconcealed ire.
“I’ll get up,” Amy says hastily.
His hand flies to her knee. “No.”
Amy freezes in place, even as her body suddenly gets very warm.
Closing his eyes and then opening them, he looks around the room. “I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Cera.” His lip curls. “She knew about the Dark Elves; she collaborated with them, thinking they would free her.”
“Uhhhh...” says Amy, looking at hi
s hand, bone white in the faint light that creeps through the blinds.
Loki shouts into the darkness. “Get out and I might accept your apology!”
There is silence for a beat. And then Loki’s body relaxes. Hand still on her knee, he turns back to Amy. He’s awoken several times, but this is the first time he’s seemed truly conscious, even if he is yelling at invisible monsters in the dark. The look in his gray eyes is impossible to read.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, for lack of anything better to say.
Loki blinks at her, a slight smile on his lips. He opens his mouth and his stomach growls audibly. Putting both hands to his stomach he stammers, “Y-y-yes.”
Scampering up, Amy runs to his side of the bed. He has a little night stand there with a small light that she flicks on. There is a little white book by the light, a plate of food she’s prepared, and a single serving box of chocolate UHT milk she found in his cupboard.
“A quadruple decker Nutella and peanut butter sandwich!” Loki says, his voice ringing with delight. “My favorite, how did you know?”
Picking up the plate, Amy turns to him and raises an eyebrow. “You asked me to make one the first time you woke up.”
Snatching the plate, Loki stuffs a quarter of the sandwich into his mouth. Amy’s brow lifts in bemusement. It’s the most physical activity she’s seen from him since they arrived.
Looking up at her, he garbles. “Iwazawake?”
Amy barely contains a snort. “Apparently, not really.”
His forehead creases in confusion.
“This is the fifth time you’ve woken. The first time you told me how to make the sandwich.” Tilting her head she remembers his half closed eyes and slurred words. “You did seem a little out of it.”
Chewing the sandwich he looks up at her contemplatively and then his eyes drift from her neckline to her bare feet. Amy looks down. Oh. Right. She’s wearing a pair of Loki’s pajamas rolled ridiculously high at her wrists and ankles, and his robe. Feeling her cheeks heat, she says, “You have a washer but no detergent, I hope you don’t mind.” Her own clothes had smelled like death.
“Of course I mind, take them off right now!” he says, ripping off a piece of sandwich.
Amy’s eyes widen in horror and she takes a step back. Before she’s even formulated a response, he breaks down in peals of laughter.
“Nice,” she grumbles.
It feels good when he suddenly starts coughing on his sandwich. Technically, when a person is coughing they’re not really choking per se and don’t need help. Amy brings her fist down hard on his back anyway.
Loki snickers, and then sputters a bit more.
With an exasperated sigh, Amy picks up the milk, spears it with a straw and hands it in his direction. Loki doesn’t take it from her hand; instead he just sips from the straw. Finished, he leans back and starts eating again, plate on his lap. Instead of a thank you, he gives Amy a smirk. She narrows her eyes at him.
Raising an eyebrow, he glances to the space beside him on the bed. “Sit down. It makes me feel tired just watching you stand there.”
Amy pauses for a moment but then she sits down and watches him eat, occasionally holding up the milk for him to sip. Despite his tactless joke, she’s happy and relieved. She lets out a sigh.
“What?” says Loki, setting the sandwich down.
A helicopter passes very close again, and Amy waits until it’s gone to answer his question.
“I was so worried about you,” she says. “They gave the order to evacuate the Loop. But every time I roused you, all you would say was how hungry you were, and then I would give you a sandwich and some milk and you would pass out again.” Just saying the words out loud makes the gnawing feeling in her stomach that has haunted her since they arrived in his home come back.
Loki takes another bite of the sandwich and swallows it fast. “The Loop is being evacuated?”
Amy nods. “When I last checked the internet, even though the fighting and fires have been contained.” With a shakey little breath, she adds, “And they’ve killed all the trolls.”
His body goes stiff. “The Internet—on your phone! We’ll be traced!”
“No,” she says quickly, putting a hand on his leg without thinking. Loki follows the motion with his eyes. Realizing how inappropriate the gesture is she lifts the hand fast and says, “I lost my phone in the fire. The Internet on your computer.”
Loki blinks, and then scowls. “How did you log onto onto my computer? It’s unhackable!”
Amy smirks and stifles a laugh. “Remember that lecture you gave me about humans being stupid because we use passwords instead of passphrases?”
His eyes narrow and she barely stifles a snicker. “You’re right,” she says. “‘The pink hadrosaur jumps over 13 purple griffins in the icebox’ is impossible to forget.” Though she’d been surprised that he’d used proper grammar.
“Clever girl.” Loki says. He says it like ‘I hate you’ and she can’t help grinning. Sinking back into the pillows, he puts the plate aside and rubs his stomach. “I’m still so hungry.”
Remembering his nearly barren kitchen, Amy shifts uncomfortably. “That was the last of the bread...”
Tilting his head to the side Loki says, “In the drawer in the nightstand there are some chocolate Lindt balls.”
Nodding, Amy slides off the bed and pulls a bag of the candies from the drawer. She hands him one of the little foil wrapped balls, but Loki fumbles with it helplessly. “I don’t seem to be recovering as quickly as I thought,” he says softly.
“Hold on, I’ll help,” she says, feeling concern rise again. Unwrapping the candy, she leans very close and holds the chocolate to his mouth.
As Loki takes it from her he just barely brushes her fingers with his lips. They’re soft and warm—and make her go ridiculously warm.
Swallowing, he smiles softly. “Thank you, Amy.” With a deep breath, he says,“May I have more?”
Amy quickly offers him another and looks away when his lips brush her fingers, again. Hopefully, he can’t see her blush.
“So,” she says, pulling her hand away too fast. “You lied when you said you can’t teleport.”
Chewing his chocolate, Loki gives her a smirk and raises an eyebrow.
“Not that I’m complaining or anything,” she adds hastily.
Licking his lips, Loki opens his mouth and looks at the bag. Taking the hint, she retrieves another chocolate, talking to distract herself from how close he is and how soft his lips are. “Where did we go, when we were in between here-and-there?”
Loki tilts his head. “We were nowhere. We call it the In-Between. It is beyond the universe.”
Amy tilts her head, her mind spinning with every Star Trek episode she’s ever watched, her embarrassment blessedly melting away as her curiosity increases. “If it is beyond the universe, how do we get there? I mean, the universe is billions of light years wide. Or is it a sort of other dimension of some kind? Or a parallel universe without...stuff?”
Loki stares at her a moment. “That is one theory,” he says.
“Why did I hear Beatrice’s voice?” she asks, her heart catching a little at the memory.
Loki’s face gets hard. “Because you were hallucinating—starved for oxygen. And you were about a quarter second from death in the vacuum.” He rubs his eyes, and Amy doesn’t think she’s imagining it when she sees him shiver.
“We both were,” he whispers.
He sounds so tired and so old.
Amy swallows. He may have lied to her, but when it counted he’d been there for her. Wasn’t that always the case with him? “Would you like another chocolate?” she asks weakly.
He smiles, and it goes all the way to his eyes. “Yes, please.”
Amy unwraps a chocolate with unsteady hands. As she reaches to him, it falls from her fingers.
Before she can react, Loki catches it mid-air, puts it back in her hand, and then guides her hand to his mouth. This time he wr
aps his mouth around her fingers, sucking the chocolate off with a slow warm, wet pop, and then gives her smirk. She gasps, uncomfortably aroused and embarrassed. She stares at her fingers in a daze for a moment. And then her lips curl, and her skin goes hot. Anger washes through her. Lifting her hand she smacks him across the jaw. “You jerk!” she hisses. “I was worried about you!”
Sitting up and rubbing his chin, Loki smiles. “Well, now you don’t have to.”
Amy shoves him so hard, he almost falls down. “My city is under attack! Do you hear the helicopters?” She punches his shoulder. “The Loop has been on fire, trolls are popping up under bridges, and I’ve stayed here with you!”
Smirking, Loki catches her fist—so she hits him with the other. “I’ve been scared to stay and scared to leave!”
Smile fading, Loki catches her other wrist, but she keeps yelling. “Scared that if I called for help ADUO would get you...Do you know what ADUO...what Jameson would do to you?” She trembles, imagining Loki in a dark cell, being shoved under water again and again. “I don’t even know...maybe waterboarding, or experiments, or...or....”
Before she knows what is happening, Loki’s pulls her wrists to his chest so hard her body follows. “Shhhhh...shhhhh...” He says. With a snarl, she twists in his arms, her eyes prickling but no tears falling.
“I am sorry,” he whispers. “Forgive me.” Dropping her wrists, his arms reach around her back. Pulling her close, he drops his chin to the top of her head.
With an angry yell, she butts her head against his shoulder. The arms around her back tighten. “I always push too far,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
He sounds so sincere. Amy huffs out a breath and Loki’s hands make small circles on her back. She’d been so afraid, in the fire, in the In-Between, and waiting for him to wake up. She swallows and remembers the fear in his voice when he found her, the shiver when he said they almost died.
It suddenly feels so good just to be held. Almost against her volition, her body relaxes against him. His body isn’t bulky like Thor’s, but he isn’t soft; beneath her she feels nothing but muscle, and sinew and bone. And frost giant or not, he’s warm. Murmuring something, Loki runs a hand gently through her hair.
