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There had been a time in his youth, when he and Thor were first allowed to stand by the All-Father’s side in glorious battle. They had the furious eagerness of youth to throw away their lives, the finest combat training in all of the Nine, and weapons that could stop all but the most monstrous or Celestial foe.
They had been captured almost immediately.
The fortress donjon they had been held in was ancient, filthy, and filled with the most vile creatures either of them had ever met, all eager to play with Odin’s son.
Loki and Thor had sat back to back for three sleepless days and nights until Asgard’s forces overran the enemy line. There were times he could still recall the stench of his own armor, the ugly, suggestive jeers of the other prisoners, and the soreness of his muscles from the constant vigilance and occasional combat.
This was far, far worse.
“Enough!” He snarled, throwing his arms out in a fury and stalking away.
Both gestures would have been more dramatic, and effective, if he’d not been in a dense crowd of last minute Christmas shoppers and if he had not been in the guise of a shortish, poorly structured, greasy haired mortal male with correspondingly unimpressive arms. Who walked like a farmer.
His old identity as Eddie Rasmussen had seemed like the most appropriate costume for a venture such as the one he was on tonight, as whilst he had somewhat rehabilitated himself in the eyes of the people of Midgard there was still someway to go before his appearance didn’t cause a disturbance.
Or a panic.
And though Loki had been miserable when the All-father had turned him into Rasmussen as part of his attempt to teach his younger child about being mortal, he was an easy disguise to slip into.
Bobbing and weaving around the phalanx of dazed, overstimulated fathers who only had to do such shopping perhaps twice a year, worn yet furious mothers who simply could not believe that they forgot that one most important element of their holiday festivities - whatever it may be - and thus had to go out yet one last store, Loki ground his teeth in vexation.
Confused grandparents with lists of requests for things they had never heard of blocked his left flank. Godparents who wondered why they had agreed to be godparents in the first place cut off his retreat on the other.
Teenagers who had abruptly recalled they were old enough that they now needed to purchase their own largess came up behind him in sullen masses.
And on and on and on.
The cacophony was as intense as any battlefield, and the aroma not much more pleasant, filled as it was with flop sweat, rancid popcorn, dirty linoleum, the petroleum and plastic based clothing that both surrounded him and that he was forced to wear, sugar, maple, false evergreen, vanilla candles, and the remnants of a cologne set display that had been knocked over by a woman pushing a cart that had a television screen that she could not see past.
Then there was the lighting, the high whine of which was enough to cause brain bleed to anyone with fine enough hearing to be aware of it, which Loki did and was.
And behind it all, a tinny, instrumental version of “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch.” A song whose existence far predated his attempt to conquer Earth, yet which Loki nonetheless still felt was somehow a personal insult.
Truly, of the miseries of Midgard, shopping on the night before Christmas Eve was one of the most miserable, with people brushing against him, and jostling him, and walking too slowly before him and too quickly behind and -
“Wait up!”
Over the din he could hear Nora chasing after him.
Because she was in her normal, long-legged form, and had grown up shopping amongst the cannaille, she caught up with him rather quickly, grabbing his arm. “This is why I wanted to come without you.”
Loki snorted. Though he had never actually shopped at such a place at such a time of year he knew the stories of the horrors and the potential for violence. There is no where he would allow Nora to go into such danger without him. Though, he had to admit, his had not considered his own potential for violence under such pressure.
“As if I would allow you to come into such madness without me!”
She rolled her eyes at him. It was most adorable, despite his foul mood.
Almost immediately they caused a traffic jam in the footsore and irritable mass around them. When a few foul words were shouted Loki looked into Nora’s bright brown eyes, and smirked.
He was a moment away from manifesting himself - horned helm and all - in the midst of Walmart, if only to get himself some space !
“Oh, no you don’t!” Looking fetchingly pink faced, his treasured wife slid her wool gloved hand into his and pulled him through the mob, ignoring his protests, going farther and farther back into the store rather than towards the doors.
In the deepest depths of the retail warehouse what little remained of Christmas decorations sat on all but empty shelves. A few strands of glaringly bright LED lights in crumpled boxes, a few plastic containers of plain, bauble ornaments, ragged tinsel, an automated Santa who was clearly broken, so over and over he made a half-gesture that on its own as rather suggestive, and an entire display of purple and orange feather wreaths that no one had considered a good idea.
The section was manned by a young black woman whose hair was braided with red and green, and was looking rather glum. Clearly she would have preferred to be in one of the busier parts of the store, which Loki hoped was a sign of boredom and not madness.
“Stay here and behave,” Nora said to Loki, then smiled walked over to the clerk with a smile, “Hi, Priscilla, right? I’m Nora Walsh, I called last week.”
Loki frowned to himself. They had been on Vanaheim the week before, and were rather busy dealing with a carnivorous butterfly infestation in the garden of Frigga’s former estate.
“You said you would put aside a -”
The young woman waved a hand wildly before Nora’s face, looking around in real fear, “Shhhh! If anyone knows there is one still here I’ll get fired and you’ll get jumped! Hang on!”
She disappeared behind an “Employees Only” door while Loki narrowed his eyes at Nora. A moment or so later, Priscilla was back with a brown paper sack that had been stapled closed.
“Here, don’t open it til you get outside. No, till you get home. They are selling for serious money on Ebay and whatnot. Of course,” she grinned back at Nora, “you know all about that. Are you crazy, or a collector, or a crazy collector?”
Nora gave her an even bigger smile, “Yes, yes to all of that. You can’t imagine how much this means to me. Happy holidays!”
“Will be. Because ofm, you know,” Priscilla added. “Merry Christmas.”
“What was that about?” Loki whispered as he and Nora reentered the scrummage, heads down, her arms wrapped possessively around the bag. “Why is that young person having a Merry Christmas because of you.”
“I Venmo’d her a thousand dollars, or two, I don’t remember, to save this for me,” she said, jerking her chin downwards towards her purchase.
Loki frowned again.
He was giving Eddie wrinkles.
Nora was generous by nature, and certainly had the money, but she was also not one for extravagance - that was his role in their little, shared Realm - and he could not conceive of what item there might be in this place worth so much.
Before he could inquire further, they were stopped in place by an unmoving mass of mortals, snarled helplessly in the Electronics department.
“Ok,” Nora gave him a small, fond kiss on the cheek - she had always found Eddie cute, which worried Loki for her mental wellbeing - and pointed towards Cosmetics, “we have to split up. You head that way, then cut through Cleaning Supplies, that will be all but empty, and when you make it to the McDonald’s don’t stop for anything. I think I can make it through Cards and Wrap. It’s late enough that it will only be a few single guys in their 20s at this point.”
With a fierce, short kiss they each turned to find their way to freedom.
Back in the 999, and his own form, now dressed in soft suede leggings and fir green cashmere, Loki lounged on his favorite soft - the black velvet one that only he and Nora were allowed to sit upon - with a glass of brandy dangling from his fingertips as he watched with curiosity as Nora finally opened the paperbag they had gone through such an ordeal for.
From it she pulled a long, white cardboard box with a plastic window.
Nora smiled so hard she had to curl in and bite her lips with pleasure.
Loki cocked his head, a pleased warmth filling him at her so obvious happiness. “What is it?”
She turned to lean against him, holding the box to show him.
It was an Avengers ornament set. The same one that had been a popular item for the last few years of Christmases. “Wonderful,” he looked away, feeling sour. He knew EXACTLY what it looked like
There they all were - Stark, his Iron Man armor Christmas red and blinking with green lights, the Captain holding his shield and a wrapped gift, the Hulk wearing the remnants of Santa Claus’s pants and boots, the Widow wearing his hat, Hawkeye with a bow decked with holly, and his brother brandishing Mjolnir and a sack of toys.
Nora made an annoyed sound, pushing it towards him. “Look!”
Aggrieved, Loki looked.
There, beside Thor, was another ornament.
Himself, in full battlegear, with a bit of mistletoe hanging from one of his horns.
“Its a very limited edition.” Nora said, pushing closer against him, nuzzling his neck, his chin, his cheek, “Only at Walmart. In honor of your helping the Avengers with that little Ultron problem. They sold out so quickly I was afraid I wouldn’t get one.”
She was warm and lovely and when she nipped his jaw he growled and then laughed.
It was only a small thing. A very small thing. Made of plastic, and not looking especially like him, yet Loki found himself touched. For Midgardians to have considered him worthy of such a tribute was of course ridiculous and beneath his dignity.
And yet.
And yet, Mortal’s showed their affection in such ludicrous displays, as he had learned from his dear Nora.
“I need to put him on the tree,” Nora said, starting to stand up.
“Not just yet,” he said, pulling her onto his lap by the back of her sweater, whilst manifesting his helm, with mistletoe exactly matching that which his smaller, plastic image wore.