Work Text:
Place Your Bets
Written for Lokane Week 2020
Prompt: Eggnog
A warm blast of fragrant steam puffed from the oven as Jane peeked in one last time, the turkey in its aluminum-foil tent crackling away as it roasted. Mmm. She wouldn't eat it—there was a vegetarian casserole for the non-carnivores at the feast—but she remembered her mom's lessons. The turkey looked amazing, all brown and crisp, and the foil meant that its juices had nowhere to go but back into the meat. Even her Aesir guests couldn't object to that, no matter how snobby they were when it came to the art of roasting meat.
At least, she hoped they couldn't. Jane would do a lot for her guests, but there was no way in hell she was going to install a spit.
Surveying her little kitchen, Jane ran over her mental checklist one more time. Three main courses, check. Six sides, check. Appetizers laid out, check. Bar cart fully stocked, check.
Nothing to do but wait until the turkey was done, and then she could slide all the dishes into the oven to stay warm until dinnertime. She sighed. The holidays were fun, and she loved them, but this big Christmas rigamarole was one she could have done without. Hanukkah, shared just between her and Loki, had been far less stressful.
Speaking of Loki, though…he'd more than pulled his own weight. He had scoffed at the idea that he was incapable in the kitchen—she'd somehow imagined him like Thor, smashing mugs and eating Pop-tarts straight out of the box—and since neither of them was wholly familiar with preparing a traditional Christmas meal, he had taken it upon himself to research and cook all their sides, from the stuffing to the green bean casserole. He'd even done this amazing thing with the mashed potatoes, going half plain potatoes and half sweet potatoes, and absolutely swimming them in butter and heavy cream before mashing them together. They were so good Jane had been stealing spoonfuls out of the pot every time she'd checked the turkey, which reminded her…
She lifted the lid off the pot, took one last bite—the last one, for sure this time—and smoothed out the fist-sized crater she'd dug in the potatoes. No one need ever know her shame.
Tugging at the elastic waistband of her sweatpants, she cast a longing glance at the pot before dragging herself away and into the living room, where Loki was putting the final touches on the bar cart. Although that name was too modest for the actual trestle table they'd put up to handle both the keg of beer and the two barrels of mead Thor had contributed to the party, besides all the liquor bottles and glasses Jane had bought the week before. Even now, she wondered whether the poor spindly legs would manage to hold out for the length of the party. They looked pretty shaky already.
"Here," Loki handed her an artfully frosted glass garnished with a sprig of rosemary and a lemon wedge, "Try this."
She sipped, sighing appreciatively when tart herbal fruitiness exploded on her tongue. Then her expression soured. "What the hell!" she coughed, her breath rasping out in scorching fire, "How much vodka is in that?"
"Judging from your reaction, still not enough for Volstagg," Loki upended the vodka over the punchbowl and let it pour.
"We'll have to post a sign for the human guests," Jane wiped her streaming eyes with a cocktail napkin, "because that's enough to put us all in the hospital. Except maybe Steve, but I think he prefers rum. The flavor's nice, though. Can you make me another, not so strong? I need to relax a bit before everyone gets here."
Loki finished stirring the truly heinous amount of vodka into his punch and obligingly mixed her another, adding twice the lemon and a quarter of the alcohol. This time there was nothing but sharp flavor on her tongue, chased by pleasant warmth that relaxed rather than fired. Jane rolled her shoulders and slumped down onto the sofa.
"Mmm. That's nice," feeling a buzz creeping in—she almost never drank, so one sip of Loki's concoction was enough to get her ears ringing—she stretched out her hand and waggled her fingers. "C'mere. Haven't seen you all day."
"I've been right here," he grinned at her, hands still busily working over his drinks. "It's you who has been away, locked up in the kitchen. Are we cursed to put on this show every year, or has this sated your appetite for festivities?"
Jane dropped her hand, pouting. "If I ever suggest doing anything like this again, you have my permission to throw a snowball directly in my face."
"With pleasure. If it helps, I have a plan in mind for next year. There is a world I know, an abandoned one, that is comprised entirely of beaches. The entire planet is warm sand and clear water. The sun is at a great enough distance to keep the ocean warm while not being scalding itself."
"And no one lives there?" Jane sipped her drink, imagining warm sun on her pale winter skin and a playful wave tickling her chilly toes, "Sounds like paradise to me."
"So it will be, when edible plant life finally evolves. For now, it is one of the many secrets in the universe that I guard. Shall we go there, just you and I?"
"Mmm," now she could feel fine sand slipping through her fingers, "The minute this party is over, please."
"As you wish."
A world of beaches, no one there but the two of them. In and out of sparkling, shallow water, drying in their skins under the hot sun. No schedules, no parties, no guests, no snow falling softly outside in the darkening winter afternoon.
Paradise.
Jane dragged her eyes open and hauled herself upright. "They'll be here any minute. Help me open the other bottles?"
"Already done," he replied, "Although…you know I do not wish to speak disparagingly about any Midgardian customs—"
She snorted, "Since when?"
So unrepentant, that damn smirk. "But why did you insist on buying this unholy concoction?" He gestured towards the round-shouldered beige bottle with the shimmering green label.
"What, the eggnog?" she blinked, "It's traditional. Did you try some?"
"Of course I did. Now, your other holiday traditions I can understand. Your foods, while generally bland and uninspiring—"
"—There you go again with the—"
"—Are in this instance acceptable, especially when I prepare them. But this? You cannot tell me you like this…this over-spiced, over-sweetened marshmallow concoction."
"Well, it's not my favorite, but it's fine when you mix it with coffee or something," in truth, Jane hadn't had so much as a sip of eggnog since her father had let her try some back when she was thirteen. She thought it was disgusting. But give Loki an inch when it came to disparaging Midgard, and he'd take a mile. "Besides, it's tradition. Christmas is all about traditions. You know some people hate cranberry sauce too, right?"
"Well, some people also like my brother," he sneered, "There is no accounting for taste."
"Rude," she laughed, "And personally insulting, besides. You can bluster all you want, but I know for a fact that you like your brother. And I know I do."
"Very well," he shrugged, "I will admit that Thor is far preferable to this…I dare not even call it a 'drink'. 'Liquid abomination'."
"It's not that bad."
"Isn't it?" his eyes lit with mischief. "Here, I will make you a bargain. If you can drink an entire shot of eggnog without gagging, I will take you straight to the planet I spoke of directly after our party."
"You were gonna do that anyway!"
"Well, perhaps I shall not. Why should I travel with a bald-faced liar?"
She pursed her lips, caught between irritation and hilarity. "I do it all the time, Mr. I-Don't-Like-My-Brother."
He made her no answer, instead flipping a shot glass into one hand and the bottle of eggnog in the other. Ugh. It poured like whipped egg yolks, sluggishly glugging into the glass. Jane's tongue curdled, anticipating the sugar bomb that it would have to swallow.
Beaches. A world of beaches. Also, wiping the smug look off his face. You can do this, Jane. You've swallowed worse things before.
A hysterical laugh burst out. Damn straight she had.
"Fine," she swiped the glass from his hand. "Fine. I don't know why I have to prove anything to you, but," she upended the glass, cringing as the rich, oily liquid oozed down her throat. She kept her face resolutely towards the ceiling until she was certain she could keep her grimace away. Swallowing hard, she choked out a defiant, "There. Are you happy now?"
Then it was Loki's turn to laugh, which he did, long and loud. "Oh, my love," he wiped her lips with a fresh napkin, "All I can say is, you ought to be grateful that one of us can lie. You couldn't fool an infant."
She slapped his hand away. "Then I guess it's six more weeks of winter then, huh?"
"Ah," he tilted his head, considering, "You ought to be very grateful, then, to hear that I was most certainly lying."
The doorbell rang before Jane could throw her glass at his smirking face. Irritation morphed instantly into mortification as her hand flew to her rat's nest hair. She was still in her grease-stained sweatshirt, too.
"Stall them," she hissed, "I need to change."
Loki, trim as a soldier with not one hair out of place, nodded graciously. "Of course, my dear."
"By the way," she threw over her shoulder, halfway to the bedroom, "I'm gonna make you pay for that later. I am."
His smile was sin itself. "You're ravishing when seeking vengeance, have I told you that?"