Work Text:
Loki is not normally one to have opinions about places that he has to remain in order to carry out his plans, but for once, for once, this place is miserable and he can hardly stand waiting for his plans to come to fruition. If he wasn't who he was, he'd call the whole debacle off and lick his wounds somewhere far more conducive to someone of his - his constitution. He isn't sure if he should be pleased that it's so easy to warp the minds of the mortals into giving him what he wants, which was first a set of clothing that wasn't made of metal and leather. As much as he knows that he could have used his magic for the task, the fear that it may dwindle out before he can return to his rightful place does plant itself in his mind.
The clothes are comfortable, which he will never admit to anyone aloud, for they're simple and not quite to his normal style; a soft shirt with short sleeves, and a pair of "jeans" that the woman at the store seemed to fit his style, and he let her flatter and flirt with him until he could manipulate her mind into giving him more clothes than he may ever need.
It's not that he doesn't prefer his armor and leather, just that it the current heat it's inadvisable for anyone to be wearing more than a layer or two of fabric, and his armor has three layers or linen, a leather lining over that, and then the metal breastplate, not to mention the jacket, gauntlets, and boots. If there's one thing that Loki gives to the mortals, it's that they're sensible when it comes to dressing for the weather. They know what to wear and when, and which fabrics are suited for the myriad of climates their tiny planet has.
It's refreshing to be in a place where, when it's this damnably hot out he can wear single layers and not have to peel leather off all the wrong places.
He could move in from where he's sitting outside a cafe under an umbrella to the interior, but from here he can see the building in which Thor stayed while exiled on Midgard and as the shade's a good ten degrees cooler than being in the sun, he'll take what he can get.
He pulls his concentration away from the building for a moment, tracing a drop of condensation down the side of the glass of water, letting ice bloom from his fingertips and re-cooling the drink. Being a bastard Frost Giant has its uses, he supposes, but they are few and far between.
The door to the building opens and he doesn't need to squint to see that it's the girl that works with the woman that Thor is besotted with, but he has no mind to harm the young one. She's done nothing aside from be at the wrong place at the wrong time. She seems to know everyone in the town, which could prove problematic; after all, he sticks out like a sore thumb, but if need be, he'll manipulate her mind. She says hello to the people she passes and makes her way into the cafe, sparing him a careful glance as she goes in.
He can't remember her name, but as she's not his goal it's not truly important, and he turns his thoughts back to the building she came from. He could just barge in there, freeze them all, and take his revenge in a manner more befitting his brother (the fool) but he prefers his revenge to be served in a way more visceral and more fitting the god of lies.
So much of his attention is fixed on the building that when someone sits down at his table, he only notices because a shadow falls over him.
"Do you mind if we share a table? It's way too crowded in there for me. They all act like they can't take a little heat wave."
It's the woman's young helper. He could refuse her, but at the same time ... she may be useful.
"As you are already sitting down, I could hardly say no, could I?"
She smirks. "Well, aren't you a cup of tall, dark, and brooding. I'm Darcy; I haven't seen you around before," she says, extending a hand over the table.
Cheeky little mortal!
"I've only been in town for a few days. My brother just recently left. I am trying to figure out what was so ... endearing to him while he was here," Loki says, tracing the rings left by his glass of water on the table. "I'm simply passing through, you could say."
Her gaze narrows behind her glasses. "Your brother, huh?"
Loki nods shortly. "My elder brother, yes. I plan on staying through the end of the week, then moving on."
She just sits there, eyes narrowed, sipping at whatever drink she purchased (whatever it is, it's neon pink and probably disgustingly sweet and Loki can't even bear to think about the calories), tapping her fingers on the table. She rather reminds Loki of his mother, content to sit and contemplate things until they become clear, or maybe even himself (but that would be giving her far too much credit).
After a few minutes go by, she sets her chin in her hands and frowns at him. "Your brother wouldn't happen to be a big blonde dude, fond of storms, wields a hammer, and goes by the name of Thor, would it?"
Loki can't stop the tightening of his chest at the mere mention of Thor's name, but it doesn't show on his face. He simply raises an eyebrow at her, taking a long sip of his water. "My, aren't you simply perceptive. Loki, the God of Mischief, at your service," he says with a flourish of his hand. "It's surprising to meet someone who knows who I am in this delightful little piece of backwater country."
He doesn't know why he's told her who he is. Perhaps a momentary lapse of madness, or lack of contact with talking entities ... no matter, he'll erase her memory of it later.
"Wow," she says, "you're really bitchy. I like it." She takes another long drink of her pink concoction and then speaks again. "So why are you really here? You tried to destroy us once, take over the world, almost killed Thor, and now you're here and we know the rainbow bridge-y thing is broken."
"It's called the Bifrost," he hisses, "and it's none of your concern, mortal."
"Touchy," she whispers, raising her eyebrows and finishing off her drink. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure I speak for everyone when I say that we'd prefer to not die, or something. I'd like to graduate from college or at least make it back to class to drop out. And there's so much alcohol I have yet to try, and bands to see, and shit like that. So, you know, if you wanna talk about it rather than blowing shit up, I live in the trailer over there."
She points at a white vehicle of some sort as she gets up and throws her empty cup away. She pats him on the head as she walks by - the sheer nerve of her, as if he were a dog - and saunters back over to the building.
Curious. He doesn't really want to kill her now, but dissect her and discover how she functions.
Night falls and he cons a meal out of the owner of the diner - "You're too skinny, have a meal on the house, dear." - and then returns to watching the mortals that helped his brother. The man putters around, going from place to place, seemingly aimless but Loki knows that he has a keen mind that may prove difficult to manipulate. The woman - Jane, his mind tells him - stays at her computer, looking up every now and then to hand off sheets of paper to the man. Darcy is nowhere to be seen, and he casts his magic over the building. She sitting on the roof, it tells him, and then he sees her staring up at the stars, a pad of paper in her hands. He decides to bother her, simply for the amusement.
He transports himself behind her, silently, and leans over her shoulder as she sketches out star charts. She's shockingly accurate, almost as good as he was as a child. He had much more time to practice however, so he gives her that.
"You've put Orion too far to the left," he murmurs into her ear, and she positively shrieks in alarm.
"Don't do that! What are you, some kind of sick stalker? I'll tase you if I have to!"
He stares down at her, smirking. "You invited me to speak with you. I have taken you up on your offer. Is that so strange?"
"You know, I bet you were the kid that everyone thought was a runt that took revenge on everyone later. Tell me I'm wrong. I bet I'm not," she bites out, snapping her book shut and whirling to face him on her chair.
The remark hits close to home. It must show on his face because, for a moment, she looks terrified, and then her face softens out. She pulls her glasses off and pats the empty space on the chair next to her. "Sit down, stay a while. You came to talk, so talk."
The authority with which she says it, like she expects him to obey without thinking and it's the total opposite of how people normally treat him, makes him sit like a well-trained pet. Like at the cafe, she pats him on the thigh and he almost flinches away from her, off the chair, but it must just be her way or some strange quirk.
"So, tell me, Mister Mischief - or should I call you Loki? I'll just call you Loki. Tell me, Loki, what's a god like you doing on a tiny little planet like this? There has to be better places for you to be."
"I would rather not be called either but as you're bent on being familiar with me, I doubt anything I say will stop you. And I meant exactly what I said, mortal. I am here to see what drew my brother to betray me and fall in love with your leader." The words are sour on his tongue, like bad wine. "I have yet to decide what to do about it."
"You - what? Thor and - and Jane?" She stares at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, rolling around on her back. "Thor and Jane! Oh my fucking god, I can't believe - Thor and Jane!"
Loki grits his teeth and lets her mock him until it's no longer bearable, and it's like his skin is peeling and exposing the monster he is and then he's Jotun, pinning her down on the chair and snarling. "How dare you, pathetic mortal, how dare you mock me! What gives you the right to make light of my pain? Perhaps I'll make you feel the same pain I have gone through, you worthless ape-descendent!"
The laugh bubbles out of her throat and she looks rightfully afraid of him and it's more perfect than anything he's seen in a very long time, after everything that he's gone through, after the pain that Thor made him feel after giving him everything.
"What shall go first? Your fingers or your feet? That pain shall be adequate enough, I think." He knows that he's grinning but it must look more like a snarl, because the levity fades from her face.
Darcy says nothing for a long moment, and Loki thinks she must be too afraid to speak, too afraid to choose her fate and he's about to choose for her when she says, quietly, "He's not in love with her, you know."
"What?"
"He loves her, but - he's not in love with her. There's a difference. Hell, the entire time he was here that he wasn't talking about food or what it was like where you're from, he was talking about how much he missed you, you know. So, I guess if you still want to kill me, you can, but I don't think it would do you any good." She shrugs with little use of her muscles she has.
Loki stays perched on top of her, breathing harshly, breath steaming in the air. Frost rimes her clothes and she's shivering in the night, growing on the chair and nearly down the floor. It hasn't eaten through her clothing to harm her yet, and the thought that she knows more than she's letting on makes him climb off her and offer a hand to help her up, as soon as he's Aesir again.
She takes it and they sit there in silence, staring at each other, until she leans back and fishes a bottle of something out of a bag that he hadn't noticed before. "I feel like this conversation is going to need some tequila. Do you think this conversation will need some tequila?"
She opens the bottle - it's nearly full - and takes a swig of it before holding it out to him. Loki takes it and sniffs at it - it smells like the more potent liquors on Asgard - and takes a long draught before answering. "More than likely."
When Loki wakes the next morning, Darcy is sprawled out on his chest in the "trailer" that she had pointed out the day before. He doesn't remember getting them there, but he must have done because neither of them were in any shape to climb off a roof. They had polished off the bottle of liquor while Loki told Darcy everything, though not all the details because at one point she told him that was more than she ever needed to know about Thor. She didn't tell him it would be fine, or that the problem would solve itself, or anything of the sort. She just listened, and let him talk without judging him, and smiled at him when he needed it the most.
She snuffles in her sleep, curling into his side and Loki doesn't know what to do. He can't hurt the woman now, because Darcy loves her and he does like Darcy (and she knows it, though he'll never tell her, she's too smart for her own good), but the taste of revenge is still sweet on his tongue, begging him to do it, to take back what's his and make sure that it stays for good. But the taste of having a true friend is just as sweet and Darcy is clever, almost clever enough to match his wits.
He presses his fingers to her temple and washes away the hangover that will bloom when she wakes as a sign of good faith. He begins to extricate himself from her grip - he hasn't let anyone sleep like this with him for the longest time, not including Thor - but she wakes and holds him close.
"You know, you're not so bad when you're drunk. Remind me not to piss you off, though."
"Your compliments amaze me."
"I am a master of compliments I will have you know, my good sir, and I take offense to your insinuations that I am not." She pulls away and runs her fingers through her hair, slipping her glasses back on.
"So many large words, first thing in the morning. What are you compensating for, I wonder?"
Darcy just looks at him and he wonders what she's thinking, wonders if he should just pluck the thought from her mind and be done with it.
"So what are you going to do?"
"I have my plans," Loki murmurs and gets up, walking to the door.
He's almost out of the trailer when she calls to him, "Should I tell Jane and Erik that they might want to brace themselves for the end of the world or get a will or something?"
Loki pauses, and turns back to her. "At this moment? No, I don't think it is necessary."
She smiles. Loki returns it, and transports himself to a snow-covered mountain range to think things over.