Chapter Text
Jane Fostdottir breathed in through her nose, scenting the forest air for the metallic tang that usually accompanied a lightning storm. Soon. She reached into her leather pouch and pulled out a metal device no larger than the palm of her hand. The internal clockwork ticked away softly despite the frantic motion of the needle behind the glass window. She turned her eyes to the heavens, looking for a sign. A hint. Anything.
The sky remained cold, grey and silent. Jane huffed and continued her studies regardless, scrawling down numbers from the device into her diary with a sharpened piece of charcoal. Every now and then she would stop and listen for signs of unwanted company. She had already seen a troop of the King’s soldiers pass through the area with the rise of the sun. Jane had slipped inside a hollow tree and remained hidden until the distant sound of horses faded to nothing.
The metal device made a sharp clicking sound when Jane turned due-West. Jane wrote her observation in a messy note before slipping her equipment away and crawling down from the tree branch. She landed silently amongst the damp foliage, doeskin boots muffling her footfalls. The distant sound of birdsong was troubling. How many of those birds were the King’s spies? Jane suddenly felt conscious of the male clothing she wore, and the illicit scientific instrument tucked away in her bag. She shook herself and grabbed her hunting bow from its hiding spot, swinging a matching quiver of arrows over her leather vest.
“West. West,” she reminded herself in a whisper, turning to walk in the direction of the setting sun.
Jane was almost lost in thought when the pouch at her side began clicking desperately. She tensed, mid-step. The clicking was getting louder. Whatever Stark had built to detect the presence of the anomaly was surpassing the limits of its design. Jane pulled the device out and turned, drawing the device in a wide arc. The ticking only increased, in every direction. Jane braced herself against a tree and dropped the device to draw an arrow from her quiver, the ticking machine buzzing lightly on the forest floor as the clockwork unwound itself.
The grey clouds rumbled suddenly, twisting lazily about a fixed point in the sky until they formed a tight funnel. Jane observed the strange phenomenon all with wide, intelligent eyes. The cloud-funnel hung suspended in the air like a dew drop, before plunging suddenly towards the ground in a crack of lightning that blinded the huntress.
Jane lowered the tip of her drawn arrow and ran towards the point where the clouds had touched the forest, blinking away the purple after-images. I was right. I was right about the storms. I was right about the anomalies in Stark’s machines! I was right about everything.
She skidded to a stop with less grace than she would have liked, instinctively drawing her bow at the human intruding on her discovery, “HALT!”
The woman jumped in fright and turned, arms clutched to her chest defensively. She was the palest creature that Jane had ever come across. White skin and blood-red lips, so much like a damsel from a children’s story. She was also dressed most bizarrely, wearing a woollen stocking atop her head and a rose-covered tunic under layers of colourful coats. Some sort of decorative jewellery framed her eyes. Jane was half-paralysed in wonder, though her grip on the arrow remained true.
The strange woman looked at her with surprise, “JANE STOP!”
Jane felt a touch of fear trickle down her spine like ice as the stranger spoke her name, and released the arrow. It hit its mark.
---
Click. “Oh Ja-ane,” Darcy sang from her corner of the laboratory. Dr Foster jerked her head to see her young assistant sail past on a wheeled office chair, pointing at the clock, “It’s home-time!”
“Is that the time already?” Jane frowned, checking it against her watch.
“No, Jane, that’s just a display clock. We keep the actual clock-of-time hidden in a room of responsibility and hard work,” Darcy deadpanned.
“Sarcasm,” Jane began admonishingly, “is—”
“Come on Jane! You’re going to be late for dinner with Thunder-Pants!” Darcy teased lightly. Jane swotted at her, but couldn’t stifle a giggle of her own. One mention of Thor, God of Abs, and the scientist was reduced to an adorable bundle of love-hearts and rainbows.
Darcy made a face, “Oh my God, look at you! Stop being all adorable and in love, you’re upsetting my fragile spinster heart.”
Jane was already packing away the lab equipment, “Will you be able to lock up?”
“Of course! I’ll be right behind you,” Darcy replied smoothly, scooting away on her chair, “Say ‘hi’ to the big lug for me, okay?” She pretended to go back to collating data, “I’m just going to set some files up for tomorrow.”
“Well don’t stay too late. Erik said he saw you still here at eleven last night. What were you doing?”
Caught. Darcy coughed nervously, “Well, you see… Um,” she bunched her hands on her work skirt, “SHIELD has uncapped high-speed download rates, so…” She felt a reassuring hand fall lightly on her shoulder and looked up at Jane. The physicist smiled warmly.
“Don’t tire yourself out, okay Darce?”
Darcy patted the hand, “I won’t, boss.”
She waited until the echoing shuffle of Jane’s shoes had melted into silence before making her move. The intern slipped out of her pumps and tip-toed over to the door, as stealthy as she could, to peer through the glass window. The office was empty. Maybe one or two SHIELD agents still shuffling papers at their desks somewhere, but relatively… empty. She switched off the laboratory lights and hurried back to her workstation. The lone desk-lamp cast eerie shadows over the bookcases that lined their lab wall. Perfect; setting the environment is half the fun.
Darcy pushed aside an empty box and wrapped her pale hands around a stack of old books. Balancing on tip-toes, she eased the dusty pile of books down from above her head, gently setting them upon her desk. She bounced onto her swivel chair with glee, grinning widely at her collection. Old books smelled glorious. Darcy ran a hand over the course fabric of the cover and turned the first page.
“What… the absolute fuck?”
The title page had been scribbled over with red ink. What once read ‘Runes, Alphabet of Mystery’ was now covered in ‘Mistranslation: Incomplete Alphabet. All wrong’. Darcy thumbed through the tome, revealing red ink marring every page with corrections, accusations and flat-out insults. Several pages had been crossed out entirely. One was covered in several paragraphs trying to explain the use of accents, ending in a scribble that read ‘not worthy of my time’. Darcy was fuming. Her book. HER book, shipped all the way from the un-spellable parts of Norway, was ruined. Even the scrap of paper that she’d been making her own notes on was covered in red scratches. Darcy was seeing red, and not just from the ink.
“Oh no, oh tell me you didn’t… no, no, no—” Darcy slid the first book off and picked up the second. First edition, Native English and Northern European Shamanic Traditions, covered in glistening red ink; ‘Lies’. The next, a book on seiðr and siden; she got as far as the index of the book before the red corrections began. ‘Elven rubbish’, ‘not logical’, ‘if this worked, you would have turned yourself into a tree stump’. On and on. Even the Norse mythology book from the library.
“This… is a library book,” Darcy’s voice wavered with emotion and horror, “A library book!” Some of the pages had actually been burned out of the book.
“I don’t suppose you are going to thank me.”
Darcy whipped around, heart hammering in her chest. She relaxed her white-knuckled grip on The Book of Seiðr as shock abated and her anger returned. “Goddamn it, Loki! You ruined my books!”
His thin brows drew together in a frown, “You cannot ruin that which is already lies with the truth,” he seemed to consider this for a moment, his eyes tracking distantly, “That is to say; I corrected them.”
“Dude… you can’t just correct a library book, okay? And I bought these, with my own money, off eBay!” Darcy forced her glare. It was really hard to glare at him when he went all deep-seated-daddy-issues-pain on them, which he seemed to do every day since Thor brought him back down to Earth for some kind of ‘community service’ stint. Stupid beautiful worshipped-by-a-primitive-race man, “Huh?”
“I said,” he repeated, “What brought about this sudden curiosity in Nordic customs?” his voice was lowered almost to a purr. Darcy didn’t like that. Well, some parts of her did; inappropriate parts that did not get a vote in her mental parliament, but people didn’t just purr with innocent motives.
“Magic,” she replied before she could stop herself. Damn it, Darcy! She couldn’t break her gaze with those luminescent eyes. He was standing only just closer than she was comfortable with.
Loki’s brows rose slightly, “Seiðr?” He did not sound nearly surprised enough.
“Okay, I know it might sound… totally ridiculous, but I was just curious. I mean, if magic is real—”
“Seiðr.”
“Whatever, I could still get a letter from Hogwarts,” Darcy sulked, slouching against the edge of her desk and folding her arms.
“Ah, a popular-culture reference. Tony Stark has mentioned that before… tutors of magic.”
“Say-dh,” Darcy parroted childishly.
“Would you like to learn?” Loki asked coolly. The lab assistant turned to stare at him, blinking owlishly. She looked at the fallen demi-God with a whole new regard. He was standing with regal composure in his casual Asgardian garb; pale face giving away no emotion or any clue as to what his game was. No one ever knew what his game was. Anyone who thought they did was just lying to themselves. Simply asking him would simply insult them both.
“Yes.”
Loki inclined his head, his long hair brushing past the shoulders of his tunic. He smirked, “Very well. Sit.” He folded his legs and lowered himself, cross-legged, to the ground in one fluid motion and indicated for her to do the same.
Darcy dropped the book carelessly on the desk behind her, “Now?” she knelt and rolled onto her butt, crossing her legs in a mirror-image of Loki’s sitting position. She waited.
“First, you need to control your breathing.”
“Breathing exercises?” Darcy asked flatly, “Is the second step meditation?”
“Yes.”
“And is the third step more meditation?”
Loki tilted his head with a smirk, “Ah, but you are impatient.”
Darcy unfolded her legs, “Come on, Yoda, let’s just skip to the part where you show me how to shoot sparks out of my wand.”
The God of mischief scrunched his face slightly, “...Was that supposed to be innuendo?”
“No, Lord of Horns, that was magic.” Hurry up and teach me some.
“Seid—”
“Okay! Seiðr! I can do this!” Darcy crossed her legs and sat straighter, “Ready when you are,” The God seemed to study her, considering. He couldn’t just dangle the opportunity in front of her and then back out on it, could he?
"Very well,” Loki closed his eyes, relaxed his features, and slowly drew in breath. Darcy watched his chest expand, trailed her eyes over the sharp lines of across his cheekbones… damn, they made them fine in Asgard—or Jotenheim, whatever—didn’t they? And he blew the breath out. Darcy almost shook herself. Okay, focus.
Darcy tried to match her breathing with Loki’s, but his lungs must have been magically enhanced or something. Or maybe he was just trying to make her pass out or fall asleep with all this deep breathing. Or make her relax. Nice and relaxed. And then kill her and try to take over the world again. Better stay alert, just in case. Darcy cracked one eye open to look at the clock. They had been doing this for maybe three minutes. It felt longer.
“How much longer?” she asked, breaking the silence.
Loki didn’t even open his eyes, “As long as it takes, Darcy Lewis.”
Darcy slouched. Loki frowned, “Do you wish to learn the ways of seiðr or not?”
The young assistant felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but her heart race at the prospect. Actually learning magic. Real magic. Darcy drew in a deep breath and let it out in a soundless whistle, “Whatever it takes.”
---
It took four weeks before their routine changed. Darcy was watching the clock avidly; the last few minutes of the day trickling by oh-so slowly. Ah, screw waiting. The intern scuttled backwards on her chair and leaned forward to pull out the rolled-up yoga mat from under her desk.
Jane saw what she was doing and smiled kindly, “Hey Darce.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for, you know…” the scientist opened and closed her hands around her coffee mug, trying to grasp the words that she needed, “For being nice to Thor’s brother, after everything that’s happened. It really means a lot to him—Thor, I mean. And the two of you seem to be getting along really well.”
“It’s no problem. Honestly, that guy could use a bit of meditation. He looked like he got that staff shoved up his ass after he tried to invade New York—hey friend!” Darcy forced a wide, awkward grin at the Norse God darkening her doorway.
“Good evening, Miss Lewis. Doctor Foster,” Loki inclined his head politely in Jane’s direction. Jane hid an amused look behind her coffee mug, “I suppose we should waste no time, then, in beginning our meditations.”
Darcy rolled her eyes as she settled herself on the yoga mat, “You know I was kidding. Lighten up, Tai Chi is supposed to be about relaaaxing,” she moved her arms through the air in a wave, doing her best to sound like a new-age hippy.
“T'ai chi ch'uan is primarily a martial art, Miss Lewis. Your musical device simply recalls their meditative sagas by that name,” Loki sat on the floor opposite, still refusing Darcy’s generous offer to buy him his own yoga mat or bean-bag. Such things were ‘unnecessary’, and he probably knew that she’d get him something covered in My Little Pony. Oh well.
“I’ll be off, then,” Jane called over the rustling of her papers, “Dinner’s going to be at seven, but I’ll leave yours in the oven if you’re going to be back late.”
Darcy wondered who Jane was talking to, but decided to keep her mouth shut. Plausible deniability; I can just say that I didn’t know the food was for Loki. Good plan. Loki had already begun his meditations’ his frame rigid and still with only the slow movement of his chest betraying life. Darcy could see tension in his shoulders and back, but that would be mostly gone by the time he declared the session over. Darcy drew her shoulders back in mimicry of his regal poise and settled in for a couple of hours of boredom and butt-numbness.
She closed her eyes and let the darkness swallow them both as Loki extinguished the surrounding lights. Darcy felt the cold creeping up on her as she remained motionless, allowing the goose-bumps to rise over her arms but resisting the urge to shiver. Just focus on breathing. In. Out. He’s probably never going to teach you magic. In. Out. He probably can’t. It probably takes centauries. In… Out. He’s just waiting for you to give up. In. Out. In. Out. Not going to happen any time soon.
“Darcy.”
She tried not to jerk at the sudden intrusion of the smooth voice, “What? Am I doing it wrong again?”
“Look at me.” Darcy opened her eyes, surprised to see that his eyes were already open and staring at her. Was he sitting closer than before? Warmth raced up her neck and coloured her cheeks, despite her internal monologue barking orders for her to calm down and stop looking hot-for-teacher. His mouth was set in a serious line, “Are you sure that you want to do this?”
Yes, yes, yes, yes! “Of course,” Darcy smiled, “Why else would I be spending every day sitting here until my butt falls asleep?” Probably to stare at your pretty face. Your pretty, world-destroying face. Pretty bastard.
“Very well,” Loki bowed his head. Darcy was starting to wonder if they were going back to meditation, oh boy, when the demi-God opened his mouth and began making deep, hitching gasps.
Darcy started towards him in panic, “Loki?”
He held up a hand to still her, but kept breathing a staccato beat. He drew in deeply and a strange green glow spread up from the high collar of his tunic. A light coming from inside his throat bobbed with the motion of his Adam’s apple and floated higher as Loki’s breathing evened out. He slowly raised his head and caught Darcy’s wide eyes, his forehead glistening with sweat.
Adrenalin rushed through Darcy’s veins like white fire, making each second feel like a lifetime in its own. She had forgotten that Loki was dangerous in a way that no other force of nature could match. She had shut herself in a room with a nuclear bomb that spoke softly and dressed fancy. She was so stupid. He could sear the flesh off her bones with one look, but she didn’t want to tear her eyes away.
“Are you okay?” She reached out hesitantly. Loki grabbed her forearm, and she reciprocally locked onto his. Ooh, cold hands!
“Open your mouth,” he breathed, his eyelids drooping.
What? Darcy’s face scrunched up in confusion as she began to ask what or why he was asking her this, but her brain stalled with her mouth open in a pinched ‘o’.
Loki smirked, showing a green glow from behind his teeth, “You will have to open up a bit wider than that, Darcy Lewis.”
Really? You just went there? Darcy raised an eyebrow. She pursed her lips, wondering how exactly to open her mouth without looking like she was offering oral services. His joke, not her’s. Aw, fuck it. She slowly opened her mouth, wondering what the fuck was going to happen next.
Loki dropped his jaw, like one would to pop their ears and a sphere of glowing green mist rose out of his throat to float onto his pallet. Darcy’s own jaw dropped lower in wonder. It looked like magic, pure magic, if she’d ever seen such a thing before. Tendrils of green drifted lazily in the air, searching for and clinging to any part of their creator they touched, like the centre of a plasma ball. Loki gently drew the glow from his mouth with one hand, the other grasping Darcy’s jaw and drawing her even closer.
Their noses were close to touching. Loki pressed the glowing matter into Darcy’s mouth, his thumb skimming along her lower lip. Darcy felt the brush of the magic, cold and weightless, inside her mouth and closed her lips. It seemed unaffected by the movement of her tongue, so she breathed in as Loki had done, feeling it burn like menthol against her throat. She tried swallowing a few times to force it down, but it seemed content to move at its own pace, as if it had a mind of its own. Darcy felt a little shiver of panic. Was this really such a good idea? Swallowing the God of Mischief’s magic hairball? Loki drew his head back and let go of her jaw.
Darcy gulped, “O-okay, what was that?”
A lazy smirk pulled at the edge of Loki’s mouth, “A gift.”
Darcy absently rubbed her chest above her bust, feeling the cold presence settle inside her, “Can I get pregnant from this?”
Loki’s shoulders shook with his laugh, “No, Darcy Lewis, you cannot.” He sighed and leaned back on his hands, seemingly exhausted by what just transpired between them.
“Can I do magic now?”
Another sigh, “You will need training, but yes. Congratulations, mortal—” his playfully condescending speech was interrupted by Darcy whooping loudly and lurching onto her knees to hug him. She surged forwards with so much momentum that she couldn’t stop herself when she sailed through the Loki-illusion, crashing face-first into the office floor. She felt her glasses slam into the bridge of her nose.
“ASS!” Darcy swore into the cheap carpet.
“I should hate to think that I have imparted such power to someone who would act so… rashly,” Loki purred, standing behind her, “So many of the ways of seiðr depend on patience and movement, student.”
Darcy rolled onto her elbows, staring upwards at him, “Dude, acting rashly is like my M.O., I thought you’d know me better than that by now. You know, since you just gave me part of your mojo and everything.”
“Miss Lewis—”
“Just Darcy. We’re waay past the point of first-name basis. I think we’ve even past first base with that magic trick.”
Loki rubbed his temples with one hand, “I begin to think that we will need to dedicate an entire lesson to the ways of properly addressing one’s tutor and superior.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow, “Are you wanting me to call you ‘master’ or something?” her sultry smile was met by a leer so sinister that she had to concede the bluff to Loki. She huffed to herself and got to her feet, highly conscious of her supine position before the demi-God. The cold feeling in her chest and throat seemed completely alien. She idly rubbed her neckline as she tried to process the new feeling.
Loki surprised her again by pressing his fingertips to her collarbone and looking pensive. Darcy made no move to stop him, “What, we’re going for second base already?”
“How does it feel?” He either didn’t understand the bases, or was ignoring her comment on purpose.
“It feels okay, I guess. Cold…” she saw an almost-wince cross his features, “But it’s good. It’s good. I don’t know, it fits really nicely and it’s stopped wriggling around so much,” Don’t think about Alien chest-bursters. Don’t think about Alien chest-bursters, “But I’m thinking about alien chest-bursters right now.”
At Loki’s enquiring look, Darcy shrugged, “Sci-fi horror. An alien rape-baby that chews its way out of your chest and kills everyone.”
“I haven’t come across one of those in my travels, yet, but it sounds delightful,” Loki smirked impishly.
“It has taken rather well to you,” he ghosted his hand in a lazy wave over her collar. Darcy could feel the cool presence mimicking his actions under her skin, as if magnetically drawn to its creator. Creepy. He withdrew and clasped his hands behind his back, “As I would expect it to.”
“Because we’re best buds?” Darcy questioned archly.
His eyes narrowed, “Because I have spent the last turn of the moon specifically tuning that gift for you.”
Darcy’s eyebrows shot up. A whole month? “Uh, thanks. I didn’t get you anything.”
Loki commandeered her office chair, sprawling regally in the seat as if it were a throne, “We will just have to say that you are in my debt, for now.”
“Is that what all of the meditation was for? …Tuning?”
“It was important that you remained close-by whilst I crafted the gift of seiðr, and in truth I do prefer to work in quiet. And I do believe Darcy that, quiet honestly, you could benefit from a bit of meditation,” he smirked, mirroring her own words.
“Touché, God of sassgard,” Darcy poked her tongue out, “So. What magic are we going to do first?”
---
Darcy felt her mind and body snap back into place with a deafening crack as the world materialised around her in a swirl of green and forest. Darcy’s shaking legs held strong as she panted loudly. The forest was dark beneath the thick canopy, the still air chilling on her clammy skin. The trees were silent.
The intern slowly turned around, stumbling on numb feet. She clutched a hand to her chest, thinking suddenly of the living cold beneath her breast. The seiðr felt shattered, like broken glass, drifting through her like bits of a ghost. Darcy felt a deep, aching wail of pain and tried to push those thoughts aside.
Where the fuck am I? Darcy looked skyward, marvelling at the height of the trees. She turned in an almost full circle when a shout jerked her from her stupor.
“HALT!”
Darcy’s heart almost did just that. She spun around and saw an archer pointing an arrow at her. It took Darcy’s brain a second to come to grips that the archer was Jane. The archer pulled back, preparing to shoot.
“JANE STOP!” Darcy shrieked.
The archer let go and Darcy heard the sound of the arrow finding its mark. Her heart faltered for a second and she looked down, horror welling up inside of her. The arrow stood straight and true, its tip buried deep in the ground next to her foot. Darcy’s mouth dropped open in shock. She looked up at her college supervisor, “Jane, you almost shot me!”
Jane hadn’t moved, but had somehow already notched another arrow, aiming it straight at the younger woman. Her expression was as sharp as her arrowhead, “Who are you?”
“What?” Darcy replied numbly.
“Who are you and how do you know my name?” the apparent Jane drew the arrow back further in warning.
“Jane it’s me, Darcy. What—You almost shot me! Why the hell are you shooting at me? Why do you even have a bow? And what the absolute hell are you wearing? Dress-ups for Thor? Oh my God, Jane, put the arrow down before you take my eye out with it!” the explosion of anger left Darcy short of breath again.
Jane seemed to consider this, lowering her bow, her expression still untrusting. She looked like she was dressed in sexy warrior-lady clothes from a Renaissance Fair. Something Thor would definitely go for, with the tight leather vest over low-cut woollen shirt and hose. Darcy caught herself before she started staring at the ornate patterns decorating Jane’s bust. I’m definitely getting my own Renaissance Fair digs if Jane gets to.
“You appear in storm on a clear day. You wear clothes not befitting any station or land. You speak in tongues and you know my name without me granting it. I know what you are. I name thee witch.”
---