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Loki likes his little games, but with a guilty, startled panic, he realizes this has gone too far.
After that first unfortunate meeting— unfortunate in that he didn’t think to not show his hand to a girl against whom he was practically weaponless —it was all wine and late night apartment hangouts. He was his own worst enemy, of course, and one of his infernal, eternal curses was to underestimate his opponent. Why else would he meet and keep the eyes of a mortal who could sees through lies?
But Loki has had enough bad ideas and seen them burn the world and himself to know that this— whatever Verity’s dark-painted lips are trying to make this moment —needs to be cut as neatly as the All-Mother clips worrisome snarls from their garden bushes. And sweetly, too, as sweetly as a flower gets tucked behind his ear.
“Not interested,” he says softly, not unkindly. He turns his hands from the instinctive grip of a man drawing a pretty girl closer to a soothing slide down her colored arms.
Verity opens her eyes to give him this look, this look that makes him bite back a smile. She takes a moment and then leans back into her own space on the couch. Her words come out after a bit of angry chewing. “I’m not the only girl in the world who knows you’re full of shit.”
Now that does make him laugh. “You certainly are not,” he agrees wholeheartedly.
She leaves him to drink alone, which can only be for the best, or so he tells himself at 1 AM. At 2 AM, in self-deprecating amusement and while playing over the phantom sensation of her dry breath and replaying words like one tends to do, Loki has another bad idea. Verity is indeed not alone in tearing through Loki's lies.
Said bad idea is fairly uncooperative. He can hear America in his mind before he even attempts contact: “Are you out of your damn mind, chico?” followed by a typically unimpressed curl of her lip. Maybe a fist, if she thinks he's trying to make fun of her.
And on Verity's side, a stubborn interrogation: “Just answer the question. Why didn’t you kiss me?” And then he’d be forced either to abandon the plan and flee or answer truthfully— the only way anyone ever answered her, really. How are you supposed to tell a girl that you really wanted to kiss that you think it’s a bad idea because you like all your relationships with a healthy, distancing cushion of misdirection and untruths?
So— how to set up the girl he rather liked with the girl he knew wouldn't bother to lie to her— without either of these sharp girls realizing he's setting them up?
Oh, that's the easiest trick in the book.
***
"You think this is funny?" says the girl who came out of the sky. Verity nearly drops her book and definitely drops her jaw. The girl stands before their table, massive hair blocking out the streaming sunlight, flying in the wind stirred up by her own wake. In confusion, Verity looks over to her companion. Loki is suddenly squirming in his seat; it seems as if the intimidating jut of this girl's jaw is not lost to a god.
Serves him right, the vindictive part of Verity thinks. Stringing her on for weeks only to chicken shit out at the last minute! His only saving grace, the only reason Verity's here now in a fairly open mood, is that he had told her from the beginning that he was a liar. When he came to her two days after their little tiff and invited her out for pizza and beer on a local rooftop restaurant, she was wary.
"You don't have anything weird planned, do you?" she'd asked. Loki had tilted his head with one of his damnable little smirks. He'd replied, "Everyone has their plans."
She'd agreed eventually, but now she was kind of hiding behind a book. Maybe if it wasn't there to distract her with slopes and formulas, she'd be demanding answers. But it was safer not to ask, she knew— safer not to immediately divine the truth from his usual glib. She didn't want to ask him for a story like she usually did, either, allowing him to play everything off like his feelings didn't need to be said and like it was natural that she was so entranced with his glamorous truths that she'd cling no matter what.
Loki had only half been paying attention to her, anyway; it was a complete turn from the usual treatment and she didn’t know what to make of it. He’d been checking his phone a lot, admiring his own nails, and generally exhibiting a level of jerk just on this edge of tolerable. Verity almost snapped; she almost started interrogating him, or almost left—
That’s when the gorgeous girl with the curls and the scowl had landed her flight right beside their table.
"Verity," Loki says, voice a touch higher than usual. "May I introduce the ever-well-timed Miss America Chavez? America, my friend Verity."
The girl called America sneers at Loki. Verity waves an awkward hello. Despite herself, the girl jerks her head in acknowledgment. Pleasantries over, America slams something on the table, then places her hands on her hips. Verity adjusts her glasses and makes out a gift card.
Loki grins. "Oh, you got my present—"
"Expired."
"Oh no," he whines insincerely. "I didn’t even know they could expire. What a shame! Why don't you—"
"Cut the shit, chico. Why are you sending me expired barbecue cards? Is it supposed to be some cute little message? You know full well why I’m banned from that place anyway!”
Verity frowns. Loki catches it and chuckles. "She might have thrown a kid through a wall."
"I threw Loki through a wall," America corrects.
“Good for you,” Verity finds herself saying. She still pretty irritated with Loki; it's not a story she would mind hearing at the moment. America’s lips briefly twitch upwards for Verity.
"Miss Chavez, as always, so very predictable in that you always assume the worst of me." Loki doesn't seem particularly upset about it, though. In fact, he may be a bit smug.
"If you're up to something—" America raises a finger.
"Always, my fine spangled companion."
"Are you two— friends?" Verity interrupts before more of the train wreck that is sly weasel versus brick wall can drag on.
Loki winces and shrugs. "Meh." He illustrates the meh-ness with a wiggle of the fingers.
America squints suspiciously, looking back and forth between Loki and Verity. Then she rolls her shoulders and takes a step back. “Am I crashing a date?”
“Sort of—” Loki begins, and Verity snaps, “No!”
“No,” Verity reaffirms in a cooler tone. She shuts her mathematics text and manages a twisted smile for America. “Please.” She gestures to a seat, which America hesitantly takes, eyes still darting to Loki and back. Loki’s defense mechanism in this case is to resume inspecting his black nails.
“What’s going on, chico?” America asks, still clearly uncomfortable.
“Nothing,” Loki says innocently. “I was just trying to be friendly, sorry it didn’t work out—”
“Lie.”
“Excuse me?” America raises an eyebrow at Verity.
Verity rolls her eyes and takes a sip of beer before responding. “He’s lying.”
Loki twists his lips in indignant dismay. “I was not! Really, this is me being friendly, honest!”
“No, yeah, you’re being friendly, all right,” Verity says with a nod. “You lied when you said nothing was going on.”
America leans forward. “Listen, princess, I don’t know what this kid told you—”
“I’m not a kid anymore, America—”
“He’s told me plenty.”
“Yeah, well, I wanna let you know right now, this guy can’t be trusted. Seriously, don’t trust him.”
Verity feels herself smiling in the heat of America’s sincerity. She’s a very serious lady, it seems, who has no patience for any of Loki’s nonsense. It’s also surprising but kind of endearing that she doesn’t automatically assume that Verity is part of whatever plot the god of mischief has concocted. Verity feels a natural sort of affection for this kindred spirit. “Don’t worry,” she assures America. “If anyone can handle this liar, it’s me. No one can lie to me, I can just smell bullshit.”
America huffs, a half-aborted chuckle, but can’t stop the small grin making itself apparent, the interested lean-in. Verity wonders if that’s how she expresses impressed approval. “Oh yeah? Handy. You let me know, then, and I’ll do some enforcing.”
Laughter bubbles up from Verity’s chest. Loki sighs, clearly put-upon, and raises a hand to signal the waiter. “Well, Verity, tell her I mean no harm. And if it keeps her from bloodying my nose, I’ll pay for more pizza.”
“Yeah?” America asks with a jerk of her chin. “Olives. Peppers. And more beer.”
“So,” Verity says, putting her chin in her hands and smiling. “You shoved Loki through a wall? Also, hey, big fan of the flying. What else can you do… princess?”
And the look America gives her is almost startled, somewhat wondering, and the most unguarded Verity has seen her yet. The smile that blooms thereafter is proud, tough, and lovely.
An hour passes at Loki’s expense. There’s sunshine, and a fantastically true story about magic and embarrassing misunderstandings over the different definitions of ‘bacon’ throughout the multiverse. America slowly eases in the face of Verity's enthusiasm and the apparent lack of drastic or disastrous plot on Loki's behalf. Verity sort of enjoys snubbing Loki for his meh-friend, but also genuinely finds America cool and entertaining.
At some point Loki’s cameraphone clicks loudly. America might have snatched it out of his hand and deleted the pic, but Loki sweeps it away from her reach in quite a practiced manner. “You two look sweet here,” he says, and America looks away and stops trying to destroy property. Verity doesn’t comment on the subtle blush darkening the edges of her face. Instead she begins her own story of that time when Loki apparently forgot she could see through his illusions and showed up at her apartment in magicked-on clothes. ("My coat was at the dry cleaners!" — "Were your pants dirty, too?" — "I'm sorry you had to see that, princess." — "Tell me about it. Men!")
"Oh dear," Loki mumbles just as a clock in the park across the street distantly chimes 3 PM. Still in the middle of a laugh, the ladies turn to follow his gaze. America sours immediately at the sight of three tall figures coming through the eatery's outer door, equipped in masks and leather and black and—
"Are those— are those space guns or something?" Verity whispers incredulously.
Loki graces them with a shit-eating grin before taking a fortifying swig of alcohol. "They might be here for me."
"What the hell did you do," America intones flatly, not even a question.
"Nothing!" Loki says quickly. Under Verity's vexed glare, he hastily amends, "Well, it wasn't their property to begin with, so if they're here to, ah, repo it—"
The closest of the three spots dark hair and shining horns through the crowd and points menacingly. Bystanders start to yelp and disperse.
"This, ah, definitely wasn't the plan..."
"Chico, you son of a bitch— is he lying, Ver? Tell me he isn't as much of a shit head as I know he is—"
"Shouldn't we be running?" Verity demands urgently.
"Miss America, if you wouldn't mind escorting our lovely friend here..."
The following is a whirlwind that Verity can't really pick apart until much later: there is a lot of screaming (she might have contributed), and strange sounds like you might hear in a scifi movie, and she is on her feet without remembering how she got there. Their table is floating sideways in the air, Loki is grinning and green, and bolts of light are flying towards them. Then strong arms lifting her. Her feet leaving the ground. A rough, sun-baked denim jacket scratching at her bare skin. An earthy scent, the soft skin of America's neck, a faceful of tickling curls. The ground shatters beneath them.
It's quiet now— not silent, but quiet— there are sounds of engines and the hum of people speaking in regular tones.
"You okay, princess?"
Verity finally opens her eyes. Mostly she sees America's mild expression of concern, and slivers of a predawn cityscape beyond. She gasps. "Fine, fine. Is this—"
"Different dimension, yeah."
"I'm fine. Don't let that jerk get hurt."
America nods, smiles reassuringly. "Be back." She isn't lying. Then she kicks the air and is gone again.
Verity waits. She slows her beating heart and watches cars fly through the air just beyond the boundaries of this park area. Tries to calm down by imagining the formulas necessary to get hunks of metal floating like that. Tries not to stare at every other person's third eye. Picks apart what just happened in a logical manner. She'll be in control and hopefully impressive again by the time America gets back.
It's exhilarating, though. Before she met Loki, her life was blasé, colored in grays. Now she's hopping dimensions and she's god-knows-where, on a hill in a park in a city where she's the odd one out for not looking in two directions at once. She finds a bench and fiddles with a hole that's been ripped in her jeans. She waits for America, grinning. What a great adventure, what a great story! The truth of the world is staggering.
As the sun rises, soft pinks and bright yellows, and the street lamps flicker off, America kicks through the fabric of reality once more. Verity still can't help the fluttering of her heart. She pats the bench and America swaggers over to join her.
There's a bruise forming high on her cheek. Verity wants to touch it gently.
"Piece of shit is fine. All good."
"Good. He's staying in that dimension?"
"Yeah, I left his ass."
"Good."
They both snicker at each other. Then America lifts her hips and reaches into the tiny pocket of her short shorts. She slaps down a thick wallet.
"If you wanna maybe go bowling or something, Loki's paying."
"Is that his wallet?"
"Yup. Just giving him a taste of his own medicine."
"I like bowling."
Verity also likes the way America's eyes shine like a hard, smooth stone might shine. She takes her hand and lets herself be pulled along.
***
Hours later, safely escorted back to her home dimension and laying in bed, Verity has a sudden need and reaches out for her phone. The light shines through the dark, illuminating her face. She thumbs through social media apps and finds Loki's uploaded photos. She swipes over to the one of her and America: in the middle of an embarrassing story about the significance of black nails to an unusual alien race that Verity can't remember the name of, Verity had flashed her own nails and America had taken hold of her hand to see and laugh loudly. Verity likes the frozen moment in which their hands are touching and their mouths are open. She thinks she would very much like to see America again, be a part of that exciting world.
She taps and saves the photo marked #SUCCESS.