Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Upstate New York

Natasha:

Thanks to the constant advancements of Stark technology, Natasha and Thor were early for their meeting. 

 Like an hour early. 

This was because after recent world events –specifically meeting Stephen Strange– Tony had his eye set on teleportation technology. And while SI was not opening interdimensional portals across the globe or phasing matter to space stations just yet, as a warm up Stark solved the Avengers personal New York gridlock issues with hover and thruster tech on a few of his favorite sports car models. 

“If the Amazing Kreskin running around with a sentient Dracula cape can teleport, it’s only a matter of time before I work it out. You want the Bugatti or the Jag?”

“Why not just loan me a suit?”

“And have you miss out on road trip bonding time with Point Break? No way.”

Stark had a point. Driving with Thor would give her time to feel him out and make sure he was ready for this meeting…

“Fine. Whatever has the most leg room.”

Which was how she ended up, one Asgardian prince riding shotgun, gently landing what only looked like a ‘49 Mercury coupe beside the ivy covered carriage house behind Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

She glanced across the car at Thor.  He’d been pensive and quiet most of the trip, but one of his knees had vibrated up and down the whole way. Nat felt lucky it hadn’t made the car shake. “You ready?”

He nodded, tight lipped.

As they got out, an elfin teacher’s assistant jogged across the flagstones to meet them. She clutched a thin tablet computer and was smiling, completely unfazed by the time or the throwback to Howard Stark’s original World’s Fair design now parked among the staff’s vehicles. 

“I know we said 3. But, he’s eager to see him, you know?”

“Of course. Of course.” The young woman nodded, “totally understandable.” She pointed her smile at Thor. “How was the drive?”

“Is he here?” Thor blurted.

“Ah. Not just yet. Let me show you to the orientation hall though.” 

And she walked them behind the carriage house, across the helipad and finally into one of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters newer large academic buildings, then through a pair of reinforced double doors and into what was... ostensibly a waiting room? If waiting rooms were typically the size of a school gymnasium. 

“This is kind of a rec room for new students and guardians during evaluation and registration. It goes right into the private meeting rooms you’ll be using.” She pointed across to some halls on the far wall. “You can relax here – there’s cold drinks, or I can make something hot if you prefer?”

“Thank you. No. This is great.”

Surveying the area as she and Thor settled on a large sofa, Nat saw two levels to the room. The first surface level was warm and non threatening: Couches and soft armchairs of varying sizes. Fun kid’s furniture like bean bags and whistle seats. There were plush toys, some puzzles and Lego sets, all sorts of games stacked easily available on side tables and even a large erector set with some complex partially finished scaffolding and a ping pong table. But the second level belied the room’s safety concerns. The doorway they’d entered through was as deep as an office building’s foyer, indicating thick reinforcements to the walls. Many of the tables were not actually tables, but solid concrete molded directly with the floor allowing them to also act as heavy cover should things go flying. 

Well... Had Natasha known the length and breadth of what being a student of the Red Room would entail, she might have tossed some furniture around during her intake too, she supposed. Not that she’d had any choice or opportunity. Still, Avenger’s Tower was too much in the public eye to pull off the meeting they were having today, and while Banner’s Hulk-proof floor might have been the safest place, the relative anonymity of Professor X’s school’s facilities, made to withstand an array of mutant powers, were a good second choice. And considering those involved, this definitely qualified as more neutral ground.

Beside her, Thor was also looking around the room curiously, though not with suspicion or with interest in the toys or games. Nat mentally tried to tally up how long it had been since he’d seen or spoken with his brother as she watched him absently rub the Soul Mark that had manifested on his neck and eagerly glance at the meeting room doors. It reminded her of Lucky when Clint had been out for too long.  Poor guy. Also, how long had it been since that Mark appeared? With everything that had happened she wondered if he’d really had a chance to process that little dropped bomb. And of course it had to show up in a visible place, making the press bubble over with chatter about who gave the Asgardian prince the ultimate super hickey.

“How are you doing?”

He grinned at her sheepishly and huffed a little as he nodded. “I am well.”

“Might as well get comfortable.” She smirked and wafted a hand at the coffee table before them like a game show host. “Care for some reading material?”

The table was fanned with splashy colorful magazines from Ranger Rick, Highlights for Children and Parenting Today as well as several current teen rags.

Natasha’s eyes lit up. “Oooh. How about this one? Very topical.” She grabbed up the latest issue of FROSH and showed it to Thor tapping the main cover line in a looping electric green font, ‘SOUL MARKS and YOU!’

Thor rolled his eyes and craned to look at the clock then the far doors again, but Nat was not discouraged. She sidled next to him, flipping it open. “C’mon, maybe we’ll learn something…”

It Is What It Is...

“It seems like we’ve all been there: someone you know in class suddenly announces and all you can think is, “Will it ever happen for me?” Or maybe you wake up one morning and realize YOU’RE an early bird. Your Soul Mark has appeared! Now what?  Never fear! Frosh is here to give you the ins, the outs, the ups, the downs and answer every question you might have on the mystery that is the SOUL MARK!”

So just what is a Soul Mark?  According to  Health Journal Today,  “Popular medical theory is that the Soul Mark a psychosomatic physical manifestation from the subconscious that is not fully understood yet.”  Right. So can we break that down a little?  A Soul Mark is an image that appears on your skin after you come in contact with your Soul Mate, sort of like an organic tattoo. 

But why do they appear? 

Science doesn’t know exactly! 

Simply put, a ‘Psychosomatic manifestation’ is your brain making something physically happen because it thinks it should, kind of like the placebo effect or people with positive attitudes often having better healing outcomes following injury or disease.

Rumors! Don’t believe ‘em!

But something as mysterious as Soul Marks creates a lot of questions!  Here are some facts to keep in mind:

• How likely are you to develop a Soul Mark as a teen? Not to burst anyone’s romantic bubble, but statistically only 9.5% of documented Soul Marks are reported in the under 18 age group. So don’t rush it and also, maybe that person bragging in English class just spends a lot of time with their Sharpie. Hint hint...

• Soul Marks only develop following skin to skin contact with their Soul Mate. You can’t manifest one from an online relationship, a phone call, text message, or by passing someone on the street.

• Not everyone develops a Soul Mark! Many people develop deep loving relationships regardless of whether the members of the union develop Soul Marks. It is up to them and their personal beliefs to define their relationship nor is it in any way less than or superior to a relationship developing around the appearance of a Mark.

• Not everyone announces! This one may sound crazy if you’ve spent any time online or in front of a TV, but Frosh promises you it’s true!  Maybe you’re not ready. Maybe you’re LGBTIA+ and not in a welcoming environment. Or maybe you’re just a private person!  Despite all the excitement often hyped up about a new Mark, the decision to announce is as personal and individual as the Mark itself. Remember, there should be no pressure to announce, for you or for those around you! Respect others' privacy decisions too!

• Soul Mark forms are varied and not well understood. Many believe they manifest from cultural symbols in the collective unconscious while others believe they can be random or individually personal. Following the fad for astrology in the 1960’s, a large number of Soul Marks were documented to contain Sun Sign symbols such as those for Cancer and Taurus or planetary pictograms for Jupiter or Neptune! If you enjoy a good mystery, trying to figure out the symbolism or meaning of a Mark can be part of the fun and joy of receiving it.

• Soul Marks can appear anywhere!  No, not on the globe! On your body, silly! In fact, people who believe they hold symbolic meaning also believe the location of the Mark is part of that symbolism -- a little like palm reading! But some locations are more common than others. Statistically, the upper trunk and over the heart are the most common, followed by the head and neck, then arms and wrists and lastly, well, (AHEM!) the swimsuit area! Add that to the reasons why disclosure is a private decision that should be respected!

Nat had gotten this far into the article when she felt Thor’s breath on her neck.  He was actually crowding over her shoulder, eyes avidly scanning the text.

“Midgardian health and healing documents are very different from Asgard's…” He murmured.

By the time Thor and Natasha had learned that Soul Marks are created by melanin (or the strategic lack thereof) and only come in human skin tones (and gosh wasn’t that a bit Earth-centric, Nat thought. Didn’t some races have chlorophyll?) and had only just begun to “Answer our deceptively simple quiz and let Frosh predict WHERE your Soul Mark will appear!” the chipper volunteer from Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters reappeared  to let them know the other members of their meeting had arrived. 

Taking a seat at a conference table, Nat nodded to Carol Danvers when the Captain entered, and glanced out the window at a hulking Kree prison shuttle now docked in the soccer field behind the building.

Okay. So maybe Xavier’s was outfitted appropriately and relatively low profile – so long as you ignored the large alien spacecraft parked on the lawn like your crazy uncle’s Winnebago. 

Whatever worked.

Nat steeled herself for their guest of honor to arrive.

“And why, by the Norns, would I consent to such an agreement?” Loki crossed his arms and straightened his back.

The posturing was regal and disdainful, Nat allowed. But it might have been more intimidating if he wasn’t almost as pale as the tablet screen in front of her and wearing a Kree prison jumpsuit that looked like it had been sweated through and missed its last dozen wash cycles. This guy could use a shower and a sandwich.

Carol, to her credit, managed not to roll her eyes, but she did cut a meaningful look at Thor who frowned and shifted awkwardly.

“Because it's the most humane option on the table.” Danvers told him bluntly. “We have a standing offer from the Collector for your basic four by four cube. And Shuri has offered up a spare cryo tube and a corner in her lab.”

“As long as we’re spreading every option on the table.” Romanov added with neutral professionalism, “The people of Xandaar, as well as the heads of the Nova Corps, also voted for the cryo tube — but they want it delivered to them. And most of the Kree and the rest of the Galactic Counsel seem to think execution is the safest option.”

Thor cleared his throat. “There was the delegation from Sakaar…”

Loki’s brows lifted. “Sakaar?”

Natasha’s face remained blank, but she nodded and flicked to a page on the tablet.

“Yes.” Thor continued, struggling to sound positive. “The Grandmaster would welcome you back to his court…”

Natasha coughed meaningfully.

“Ah, into his harem,” Thor amended, now squinting down to read directly from the tablet. “Provided you are… Friend Danvers, what is this word?”

Now Carol did roll her eyes. Natasha suddenly found she needed a drink of her coffee to hide behind.

“Neutered.” Danvers managed.

“Enough!” Loki shouted, then lowered his voice and hissed again. “Enough...”

To his credit, Nat noted, if Thor was unclear on the word’s meaning, he read the room well enough to not ask. But despite his outburst, Loki’s haughty front seemed to have developed some definite cracks. She could work this.

“Listen, we’ve finally gotten things somewhat back to normal. Well, stable.  At a much better level of peace,” Carol spoke plainly.  “And by some miracle, this has allowed us to come up with this little interplanetary UN willing to consider what you suffered under Thanos and that you were operating as a double agent. But the fact remains that given your history, no world is ready to welcome you. And most are ready to exterminate you, facts be damned, just to play it safe. I think you misunderstand exactly how generous this Earth offer is.”

Nat didn’t agree. In her assessment of Thor’s brother, she saw his bluster as pure posturing. Something to preserve a flimsy whiff of pride. And OK, let him have that, fine, but for Thor’s sake, she would keep herding Laufeyson towards this agreement.

“Think of this as starting over, like in a witness protection program.” She offered. “Yes, there are some rules, but you’ll be free to be anonymous and try to let go of the past.”

Loki’s eyes cut to his brother’s as though for reassurance and when his slender hands, in thick cuffs, reached for the tablet to turn it to read, Romanov could see they were trembling.

“The Bronx, you say?”

“An ordinary comfortable middle class life.” Danvers nodded. “If you consider New York comfortable.”

“I will be close by.” Thor added eagerly. “We can arrange visits.”

“Discreetly.” Nat pressed.

“Yes, discreetly.” Thor agreed, now beaming.

Chapter Text

Loki:

Loki didn’t bother to look up when he heard the Kree guards shift and mutter.  That would be the Midgardian’s cars arriving: Stark and whatever transport they’d arranged for him. A week ago when he’d been shunted before his brother and the little counsel, he’d been humiliated, yes. But what was most humiliating was what came at the end. Loki, having spent the entire time -- the months it took -- for his hearings to be settled, had been held in solitary confinement by a contingent of Skrulls in partnership with the Kree, a people who he’d have no hope of deceiving with a disguise or glamor. (Not that he had any access to the rivers of his magical ability thanks to their strange metals and technologies.) The cell was claustrophobic, the boredom untenable and the rations were… better left undescribed.

These things did not truly reach him though. In the grand scheme of things, he’d borne much worse.

No, what had surprised him, what had jolted him in the gut, was that after the whole of the universe had almost unraveled, and all his schemes laid bare and his many faces fully revealed and seen, somehow he had told himself that finally, after this one final hearing, it could be done. He could take whatever plea or offering his brother had managed to procure and at last, no more blank empty cells, closing walls, chains and guards. He would be permitted to leave with Thor, to whatever colorful hell that entailed...

But not so. Once he’d agreed to Captain Danver’s offer, to his shock, the Kree and Skrull guards stepped in to take him back to his cell on the shuttle craft. And that surprise was what broke him. His brother and the Avenger’s place for him wasn’t fully arranged yet, and he had another week in custody…

Of all the things to stab at him, to let some sense of all he’d lost in, that little dashed hope felt like the crack that broke the dam.

Thor was an idiot.  

And while solitary confinement was considered cruel, at least the Kree showed no acknowledgement or interest in the sounds they might have heard from his cell.

And oh, delightful dejavu, who was the first Midgardian face he was to see when he was escorted out, manacled, onto the mutant school’s lawn?

Stark.

Loki managed a bland disinterested look as he glanced at Romanov and his brother before he met the engineer’s eyes.

“Really? No celebratory scotch?”

“Cute. Nice outfit, Dr. Lector.” Stark slid his sunglasses down to look over the prison jumpsuit. “Hey Nat, did you bring him some street clothes, or is orange really the new black?”

But Stark didn’t seem to expect an answer to this as he continued laying out tools and instruments on the portable table set up for him.

Loki’s eyes fell on the devices and he swallowed. 

“Brother --” Thor began, but Loki gave him a withering look that shut him up.

At this, the Widow stepped between them. “I do have some other clothes, as well as your dossier, identity and some effects you’ll need. We'll go through all that once Stark gets done. You’re still OK with this?”

Loki’s eyes sought the sky for patience. “Do I have a choice?”

One of the Skrull guards stepped in, clearly not recognizing rhetorical venting. “This. This is not optional. For your and all’s safety--”

“Yes yes yes. Abandon all hope, ye who enter. We get it.” Stark waved the guy back. “Carol, can you talk to your buddy? And Laufeyson, cut the theatrics. Let’s have that right arm before everyone decides you’ve gotten cold feet.” Stark kicked a plastic chair out from the table and motioned to it.

Staring at the ground, Loki took the seat and began rolling up the sleeve covering his right arm. When Stark produced a small case decorated in his typical garish red and gold, the demigod’s eyes narrowed and he kept his now bare forearm clutched to his chest.

Stark smirked easily and tapped the top of the case, which crisply folded in on itself, revealing a very ordinary looking, if thick, men’s ID bracelet.  “I really hope you weren’t expecting Tiffany’s.”

“That’s it?” Loki no longer knew whether to be apprehensive or not. Ordinary things could be deceptive.

“That’s it. Layered runes, ancient alloys, uru, cold iron and silver, plus eleven herbs and spices.” Stark scratched his head. “What? Does it clash with your aesthetic?”

Loki turned to Danvers. “Explain to me again. What will it do?”

“Level the playing field.” Tony supplied, not bothering to hide his pleasure.  “With this on, you’re just like the rest of us.” 

Carol held up a hand. “Not exactly. It will dampen your abilities. You’ll be closer to an Earth human in strength and you will not have reflexive magic. You’ll still be able to do some smaller works, but with effort. And your contacts and this counsel will know about them.”

“You mean my minders will know.” He gritted with another look at Thor.

“Everyone here will know. We’ll also know your general whereabouts, so you know, maybe clear it with someone if you get the itch to travel.” Carol spelled out for clarity. “This is for the safety of others, but also, you’re able to bend images and matter second nature, like a muscle memory. There’s no way you would blend in and keep that power under wraps on Earth long term no matter how stubborn you are or how amazing your willpower is. The agreement is for you to live as a normal person of Earth. Not draw the attention of the locals or specifically be a temptation to the criminal element. This will force you to think carefully about any magic works before you perform them.”

One of the Kree stepped forward, eyes cutting to Danvers and Stark to not interrupt him. “In violation of your agreement, we may come for you. Know that.” He folded his arms with a final nod at the Jotunn.

Loki gave a dry humorless huff before cutting his eyes around the gathering. He was currently with the friendliest faces left to him and yet here he was backed into this corner. Either submit to being shackled or crawl back into solitary.

With a sigh, he lay his bare arm down on the table.

The bracelet was cold and significantly heavier than it appeared. Stark, Loki noted, had become quiet and much more deferential as he was forced to touch him while he worked. As the engineer laid a sleeve of some sort of claylike material over Loki’s wrist to shield it and lifted a small laser to seal the link locking the device on, Loki kept his eyes averted. He tried to focus on the blue glow of the arc reactor behind Iron Man’s black t-shirt, but instead, as he felt the conflicting sensations of faint hot and cold against his skin, his eyes caught on Stark’s inner forearm curiously.

“Is that a tattoo?”

“What? Oh. Yeah. Blackwork. All the rage.”

The Widow snorted. “Don’t lie. He’s lying. What a great way to start things off.” She scoffed.

“Is it your Soul Mark?” Loki felt the corners of his mouth lift a little even as he felt a dull sickening weight pass into him once the charmed cuff sealed and became fully locked on his arm. He was being treated to the sight of Tony Stark blushing. “How charming.”

On Stark’s forearm was a pepper shaker sprinkling tiny hearts.

“‘Leif Bowers’”  Loki read from the New York State ID card, as one of Stark's cars drove he and Romanov into the city. It was his photo next to the name. He frowned and replaced it in the file with the other documents, hand quivering a little. He felt strange and off balance -- an effect of the heavy dampening shackle. It would pass. He would adjust. “I do not get to name myself?”

“What? Like D. B. Cooper?” Romanov asked from her side of the car as she rifled through his bag of new effects.

“Point taken.” He shifted and itched at the collar of the gray t-shirt he’d changed into. Midgardian garments, especially undergarments, frequently came in bundles in plastic bags. It was impersonal and overly sanitized, and his uneasy feeling of its strangeness joined the growing pile of discomfort in his gut along with the queasy wobble the bracelet brought on.

“Put it in your wallet.” She nodded. “Also, you need to memorize all this. Name. Personal history. Social security number.  In here you’ve got a Stark phone. My number, Jarvis… your brother even got a phone now so he’s in there. A laptop. Debit card. Some petty cash… Oh, and a library card. That was Steve’s idea.”

Loki had to lift his head and look out the window away from the minutia. It was making him motion sick to look down at it all.

The apartment was on the third floor of a reconditioned walk-up not far from the Brook Avenue M. 

Natasha came in with him, making him try the mailbox key in the narrow lobby and then the door key proper. When it worked without a hitch, she breezed past him, and began flipping on lights.

Loki dropped the laptop bag with his new identity on the small dinette table and surveyed his kingdom. 

It was plain. A small living area had been outfitted with a sofa, coffee table and tv console. The kitchen boasted the usual appliances and an attached breakfast area with the table plus two chairs. Beyond this was a doorway into a beige bedroom. The most exotic and colorful thing in the place was the red-headed assassin who was busy inventorying the fridge, cabinets and soon, the bedroom and bath.

“It’s not half bad for something set up and stocked by the same tools that do Shield’s safe houses. A little motel roomish, but I’ve seen worse.”

“It’s fine.” He cut his eyes to the door meaningfully.

“Right. You need anything?”

“No. It’s been a long day. I just wish to… acclimate.”

The Widow nodded, face neutral. “Of course. I’ll leave you to it Mr. Bowers.”

And finally she was gone. 

Loki locked the door behind her before turning to lean against it and look around the empty bland space. He still felt heavy and off balance and after the review of all the myriad things associated with his new identity -- Leif? Who selected these names? -- and the drive into the chaos of the city, he found the lack of complexity of the dwelling somewhat of a relief. A result of solitary, no doubt, to be so easily overwhelmed.

Slowly, he peeled himself off the door and began to poke around.  He checked the windows. All locked. The living room one opened on the fire escape facing the side street, so he had a second exit. Stark’s staff or whoever was in charge of this place had provided him with some basics. In the kitchen was bread, milk, some apples, eggs, envelopes of sliced meat and cheese, and a box of something called Cheerios. Poking around a bit more revealed a small can of coffee and box of tea bags. Beyond this, the bedroom held more of the plastic bundles of clothing, plus a pair of denim pants and a gray fleece jacket. He found a toothbrush, razor and other common toiletries in the bath, which contained a half size tub and a door making it into a shower stall.

The place could have been for anyone.

It was for Leif Bowers, thirty six years old, college educated and the recipient of his family’s estate following his parents death in a car accident.

Even his back story was as dull cookie cutter as the dwelling.

Still. It was not a cell. And there was a bath with shampoo and hopefully hot water…

By the time he got out of the shower, the light outside was fading. He sat at the table and picked at some bread and cheese while considering the bracelet, but he struggled to bring himself to try to manipulate anything. Part of him was too done for the day to risk discovering how badly he’d just screwed himself by submitting to this.

Still…

Something basic. Just try it and that will be at least one less unknown.

Fine. Setting the plate aside, he brushed crumbs from his hands and looked closely at the metal bar and links. There were no discernable runes or outward marks save for his alias’s initials engraved on the bar plate: L. B.  In fact, it was so ordinary looking -- if one neglected to notice it possessed no clasp to remove it -- it even appeared to have some wear scuffs and the beginnings of tarnish between some of the links.

He lowered his arm and  let it drop down to his wrist bones, before folding his thumb in and trying to slide it off.

Nothing. It was far too snug for that of course. He wondered idly what fail safe there was for him breaking his thumb or cutting off his hand? Though to do so to his power hand would make casting with any accuracy difficult or impossible. He’d be limited to incantation and left-hand workings.

Enough. He didn’t want to contemplate anymore about being broken or bearing pain. A small test would do. Something very small.

He glanced across the table to the salt and pepper shakers. Sneering a little, he focused on the pepper and brought his hand up, and as tentative as when he was a small boy, slowly formed his fingers to reach and gently pull…

This sort of telekinesis was child’s play -- to move something within sight and not two feet away. He did these sort of works second nature, as though an automatic extension of his arms and fingers.

But now he was sweating, his breath quickening, and with a dull ache behind one eye before he could grasp the little glass shaker that had drifted to his fingers…

By the Norns, what had he done to himself?

No, no. He was tired. It wouldn’t always be like this. And he had performed the task...

Later, crawling into the strange bed, he found the mattress firm but adequate. Much better than the Kree holding cell. It smelled of plastic and other petroleum synthetics as much of Midgard did, but the sheets were at least cotton. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the ambient light from outside and the constant car and street racket. Horn after horn randomly honked. A police car whooped then its siren shrieked into the distance…

It would fade. Like bird chatter, he would get used to it eventually and it wouldn’t reach his notice.

And that was when the first TOCK, TICKETTY TICKETTY TICKETTY TOCK started.

He blinked and sat up. Another hollow reel of TOCKETY TOCK TOCK TOCK echoed through the walls.

Going to the living room window, he looked out at the side street. On the corner, three young people were flipping plastic buckets, drumming on them and spanking their sides rhythmically.  Passersby clapped and hooted approval or shouted obscenities that provoked laughter. Soon two more youths ran up with buckets of their own. A slow moving car cruised by, windows down, blaring bass…  In the apartment next door, a baby began to wail…

Without thinking, he flicked his arms down to gather, uttered the curse and flung both hands forward, targeting the buckets with every ounce of bitter rage left him to STRIKE.

His sight warped and went black.

TippetytippetyTock!

Tock!

 TOCK TICKETTY TICKETTY TICKETTY TOCK. 

Fuck.

Lifting himself to his elbows from where he’d crumpled, Loki saw out the window two of the drummers rescuing their buckets from where a strange wind had pitched them a few feet into the street. They were laughing and eager to rejoin their fellows.

He’d done nothing.

“Mr. Laufeyson. Do you require assistance?”

Oh. What fresh hell was this?

Loki slowly picked himself up, hugging in his manacled arm and trying to keep his head still because the twirling floor certainly wasn’t cooperating. “Who is there?” He demanded, eyes darting around. Oof… Which was not good with dizziness… damn it. He staggered to the couch and leaned on the arm, every part of him struggling to tense for attack.

“Your phone, Mr. Laufeyson. I’m addressing you using its speaker. You created a surge of magic much larger than you’ve previously attempted. Something that might arouse notice. I thought I would check in.”

“Did you now? And who are you?” He spat. His head was killing him and though he hadn’t thought it possible, he suddenly felt even more drained and exhausted. At this stage, the thrill of anxiety at a strange entity in his apartment was no more than piquant frosting on his misery cupcake.

“I am called Jarvis. I am an AI intelligence created by Mr. Stark and I have been tasked to monitor any over-use of your powers via your bracelet.”

“So a spy.” Loki growled, looking up instinctually.

“Spying implies seeing. There are no cameras. I literally am only linked to data provided by the bracelet. Again sir, is everything alright? Do you require assistance?”

Loki would not fall for the bait of the voice’s attempt to sound concerned. “I do not know what an ‘AI’ is nor do I require any assistance from one of Stark’s lackeys!” He snapped.

“Sir, I do apologize for startling you. It was my request that we be properly introduced when arrangements for your release were being made, but if I may quote Mr. Stark, ‘Where’s the fun in that?’ I see now that I was correct that you would find this disconcerting. As to your knowledge of an AI, it stands for artificial intelligence. I am a computer code, so I have no form with which to be present in your home.”

Loki’s eyes widened. He tried to parse what he’d just heard. That Stark sought amusement in hiding this being from him -- that much made perfect sense. But the entity itself?  “You have no body?”

“Technically that is correct.”

“You were created by Stark without form?”

“Also correct. As I said, I am computer code - electronic instructions that have become conscious. I am able to utilize electronic systems and devices such as cameras, microphones and speakers in order to mimic human sensory functions and to communicate...”

“Please shut up. Please...” This was a nightmare. A revenant or golem, but in reverse. Not a tin man, artificial with life breathed into it, but a consciousness with no body or soul, yet with its own will and ability to reason?  What other horrors could Stark dream up?

“Sir, I--”

“No…” The Jotunn moaned. “Go tell your master I am properly bound. His device makes me as sick as he ever could have hoped--”

“Sir, I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you. I am only tasked to monitor for noticeable amounts of magic use, but I would be more than happy to assist you with information and help as you adjust…”

By now Loki had sunk to the floor, leaning against the arm of the couch and covering his face. “Please just go away.”

That was Day One.

On Day Two, Loki ate the rest of the food while trying to figure out whether the television was worthwhile.  On one channel he found a Bollywood soap opera where a young woman betrothed to a man selected by her parents discovers she’s received her Soul Mark. After dancing and singing about it, she realized she didn’t know who her Soul Mate that raised the Mark was, but it could not be her betrothed because she had not had her first meeting with him yet... 

Loki changed the channel… To a bizarre comedy show about six young people who could somehow afford large apartments in midtown but who all had zero ability to determine who was whose Mate despite them all having painfully obvious Marks representing each other.

Right. So television was out. 

He was hungry, but the thought of entering the streets was unappealing, nor could he muster energy for navigation, selection and all the other micro tasks of going to market… Out the window he watched a young man with a modified cargo bicycle carry several insulated packages to the door of the brownstone across the street. 

Ah. 

Within the minute the laptop told him all about DoorDash, GrubHub and Postmates.

Problem solved. 

The drumming circle returned that night…

And here Loki decided that if he were to try any workings, they could be for no better reason than to preserve what little remained of his sanity.

Laying in bed, and praying it would not reignite the interest of the electric ghost, Jarvis, he traced a rune in the air above his face and drew down a small silence. It was a simple spell, and normally would last hours… But now, to try and hold it was no different than trying to hold his breath. After a minute of building and refreshing the charm’s intent, his head pounded and he released it, slowly hearing the damn drum buckets creep back into his ears...

...Which brought Loki into Day Three.  In the morning hours, red-eyed and jittery, he gathered every bit of bedding and rolled himself into a dark cocoon on the couch. If nights were full of racket, he’d simply sleep during the day. At about 6 am, just slipping into the beginning of a nap, he startled and fell on the floor to the sound of jackhammers shaking the window frames. A resigned look out the window revealed three NYC DOT trucks lining the closest sidewalk. 

He went and sat in the bathtub.

Later, he took the cash that he had left and visited the liquor store down the street, determined that tonight he would sleep, whether naturally or with the help of something harder. Feeling out of place in the Midgardian clothes, it didn’t help when two young men horsing around out front postured and laughed at him. “Yo, Professor Snape! You outta potions?” Remembering the headache, he quelled the urge to react and quietly bought his booze.

At Midnight on Day Four, Loki finally, finally managed to drop off to sleep… Only to jolt upright to a sound like an indignant bagpipe being stomped to death.  Immediately he went to the window, looking at the drummer’s corner. But no. The sound was coming from the other way, in front of the Mediterranean grocery… On the sidewalk was a man in sunglasses and a baggy multicolored neon windbreaker.

“People of Earth! Fear not! I am from outer space, and I’m here to ROCK YOUR WORLD.” And he began blowing into a dented saxophone.

“Man! Shut the hell up!”

It was difficult to tell in the dark, but the rain accosting the outer space musician looked suspiciously like leftover falafel. Perhaps a dolmathes or two.

By Day Five, Loki remembered that the computer and debit card were capable of more than simply bringing hot take-out to his door. This was New York -- most things were available at a price here, even delivered like the various foods. Perhaps the key to surviving the night’s noise was to make the bedroom more comfortable?

On Day Six he lay awake and shaking in his now luxuriously appointed bed with the realization that he had only about twenty dollars left of his stipend.

He couldn’t sleep. He was starving. He had multiple text messages from the Widow attempting to check in, and he knew if he did not make himself answer them she would be at his door…

If he could just sleep. Just a few hours of sweet nothingness to ground him a little...

Stalking into a CVS, Loki looked around desperately. Someone here might know something that could help him. This place had medicines.

A frantic glance around told him the cashier was busy with customers who were waiting in line to check out. But over the rows of aisles, he spotted a window on the far wall with the signs “RX pickup” and “Pharmacist Consult”. Yes. He hurried deeper into the store towards them.

As luck would have it, no one was currently waiting on a prescription and when the small goateed man in a white lab coat saw him approach, he slid the service window open.

“Picking up? Wa’s the name?”

  Loki gave him a baffled look before he understood. “No, no. I don’t…” He glanced over and saw a young woman shopping, with her baby-in-arms, glancing anxiously sideways at him. Damn.  He straightened slowly and let his arms drop, willing himself to relax, or at least try to look more relaxed. Mustn’t spook the locals. “I can’t sleep.” He hissed softly.

“But you don’t have a prescription pickup? Dude, you gotta go see your doctor. You know I gotta report drug seekers.”

If it was possible for Loki to go paler, he now did so. 

Report. 

Doctors. The thought that his insomnia would mean possibly an exam with the alter ego of The Green Beast? Oh gods. Nononono… Leaning back from the counter, he swallowed, eyes searching the Midgardian’s face. “No. I don’t want -- I- I don’t have a doctor and the apartment is loud and I just can’t…”  His silver tongue had completely deserted him and he gave up, to his horror now offering nothing more than the honesty of a bewildered face on the verge of tears.

A light seemed to dawn in the shorter man’s brown eyes. “Ah… yeah brother. American healthcare. It’s the best, right?  You from outa town, yeah? I can’t place an accent to save my life, but my first job, I was at the shop over by the dorms, so I got you, man. Hang tight.”

The man snapped the window shut and emerged from the door beside it. He waved Loki along with him as he strode down one of the isles. “Right, we gonna set you up with the freshman welcome to New York special. Here, this is the big hitter. Save your life man.” He handed Loki what looked like a package of blue foam pellets. “You squish and roll ‘em between your fingers and pop ‘em in your ears. No more garbage trucks, no more street noise. Pair’ll last about a week before you gotta toss ‘em. My brother works construction and he said he got some of the silicone ones online, and says those are even better. But these are great. Now…”

Loki chased after him as the man chattered on, finding him a sleep mask and finally taking him to an aisle densely packed with fat brown pill bottles and handing him one that said ‘Melatonin’. “Yeah, some people swear by chamomile or valerian, but I tell you, that shit makes my hayfever act up, you know? So you could try those if you want, but this stuff’s good all around. Take two about an hour before bed. And don’t try doing that shit with Benadryl or the cough medicines. Dry your ass out and Robotrippin’ is a bad scene.”

The Jotunn had no idea what “Robotripping” might be, but it did indeed sound like a bad scene. He nodded somberly, holding the bundled items to his middle, and spying the man’s plastic name badge. “I won’t. Thank you, Hector.”

“No problem. You try all that, do some deep breathing and give it a little. You’ll get used to it.”

Somehow, the presence of the plastic bag of bedtime items calmed Loki. He tried very hard not to think about exactly why, but the reasons bubbled in like intrusive thoughts all the same. Being one of the few times he’d left the apartment, and instead of being horrible, he’d found a common Midgardian who was aggressively kind. Hector was an average citizen. The sort he’d told himself must be collateral damage when he’d brought the Chitauri here…

Truly, he owed it to Hector, New York and all its many ghosts to never leave this damn box of an apartment again… Not that such was an option.

More and more his present situation seemed less like a mercy to him or to his brother’s feelings and more a sort of ironic punishment to forever remind him of his guilt. 

Chapter Text

Natasha:

“Some of the wine here is passable, but anything truly drinkable is a king’s ransom.”

Loki muttered, pushing the full trash can and box of bottles into what Nat noted was a bare lower cupboard. As he hurried to conceal more trash, Romanov quickly scanned the rest of the apartment.

There were no groceries out on the counter. Not even simple things like fruit or bread. The open door of the bedroom however, revealed that what had originally been outfitted in tasteful, if basic, cotton neutrals from Macy’s was now completely redone. Dark heavy green black out drapes over the windows. A nest of pillows robed in beautiful forest green flax linen were piled upon matching, equally lush, wadded sheets. The fat duvet was black and looked suspiciously like silk.

“Been keeping yourself busy?”

“I am well.”

“Your brother doesn’t think so.”

Loki let his head tilt to one side as he wrinkled his nose. “And how should he know? Is he sanctioned to spy on me as well?”

“No. But he knows you. And based on a quick look at this place, I might have to confirm his suspicions.” She wandered into the dinette. “Mind if I make us some coffee?”

“I do not have coffee.”

“Tea then.”

“If you wish.” He sighed and pushed past her into the small kitchen space to hang the beat up enameled kettle under the tap.

Natasha was already casually opening cabinets. “Where do you keep the--” She glanced over and raised an eyebrow. But Loki was glaring at her, arms crossed, whole body and stance ready to spit venom.

“Please. Do continue your nosy tour. You’ve almost found it.”

She smiled and opened the cupboard to reveal a box of Earl Grey and some generic looking white coffee mugs. “You’re really no fun. Fine. Want me to cut to the chase?”

“If you would, that would be delightful.”

“When was the last time you left the apartment?”

Loki said nothing, but his gaze was acidic.

“Your kitchen is bare. It smells like old pizza and Chinese food in here, which is fine for Clint, but doesn’t strike me as very… You. Lots of delivery boxes.” She raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know how to cook?”

“What do you think?”

 “Right.” Nat smirked. “Easy to fix. Now we have a project.”

“Oh joy.”

“I see you’ve spruced up the bedroom.”

Instantly, in one long stride, he stepped past her, thrust the now full kettle into her hands to reach over and slam the bedroom door. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is when you’ve run through the whole month’s stipend in just about a week.” When she met his gaze to see how this landed, she paused and carefully set the kettle down.

Loki was fuming, but he was also beet red and rubbing anxiously at the silver bracelet with a shaking hand.

“You know what?” She said quietly. “I need some air. And I haven’t had lunch. If we go do that I can tell Thor you’re both eating and you’ve left the apartment. What do you think?”

“Do I have a choice?” He gritted out.

“No. Not really. Well, wait, no. You can pick. Cuban or Lithuanian?”

“There's a Jamaican establishment down the street.”

“Lead the way.”

“Thor really wants to visit you. Or have you visit the tower.” Natasha tore off a piece of coco bread and delicately swiped it through the sauce of Loki’s goat curry. It was a dicey move on her part, considering how greedily he’d been wolfing the stuff down. The way his green eyes tracked her hand wasn’t unlike the stray dogs she'd seen in Slovokia before a fight over a trash can broke out.

“I neither wish to see my brother nor enter the home of the green beast.” He slowed enough to swallow and take a breath. “You can understand how these things present a problem to both your suggestions.”

Presently, the waitress arrived, leaning over the table to refill their iced teas. She was voluptuous and matronly in a ruffled scoop neck blouse, one clearly chosen to show off the elaborate Mark covering her decolletage: the Voudoun veve of Erzulie. It was one of the Marks featuring cream tones lighter than the woman’s skin tone as well as the usual dark lines making the effect quite striking. Nat caught Loki’s green eyes avidly studying it and she wondered what colors showed up on a Jotunn’s blue skin, or if he would tell her if she asked. Did he even know? If the server noticed or minded being stared at, she didn’t show it. She only glanced down at the complete devastation Loki had wrought on his curry, pea studded rice and plantains, before smiling smugly and moving on.

Natasha thanked her as she left before leaning in to try a new tactic. “He wants to see you. You know he developed his Mark? He wants to show you, though I think you might have seen enough out of his shirt collar…”

Loki sighed and looked down, and all Nat’s instincts perked up, sensing a nerve, an opening.

“Did you see it?”

“I noted it.” He wiped his mouth and sat back, looking around the restaurant as though considering his words. To Romanov’s eyes, the food had finally settled him some, as she’d hoped. “But that’s not the same. It’s not what he’s looking for.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Asgardian customs decree a Mark’s appearance as reason for great celebration among family.  It’s like a guarantee or omen of progeny, or continuing your line. There’s a ritual feast and ceremony for presenting it to your kin. He wishes to drag me into some semblance of that and it is highly unnecessary.”

“Sure. Because his address book is overflowing with others who fit the bill better.”

Loki tore off his own piece of coco bread and chewed slowly, gazing at her evenly. “I believe I heard it called Chosen Family?”

“Fair enough. Look,  I told him I’d pass on the message and I did.” She shrugged.

They finished the meal in silence, Loki polishing his plate with bread. When Nat gestured an offer of her remaining chicken, he scowled at her as though affronted and she tried not to smirk. It wasn’t hard to understand why Thor enjoyed picking on him; he was satisfyingly easy to tease and piss off.

Instead she waved to the waitress and pointed to the squares of powdered sugar covered cake at the counter and held up two fingers. 

“And what will you report about the spending?” Loki said at last, voice quiet but still petulant. Nat noticed that in his effort to not make eye contact with her, he was instead watching a couple at another table. One of the pair of girls was apparently tired, and she was playfully laying her head on her partner’s shoulder and flopping over. The Jotunn’s face gave no hint of his thoughts on this tableau.

“That what you needed to get set up was underestimated. Grossly. You’re not Midgardian. Thor eats like a horse. I’m gonna say we need to base your stipend off more than his Pop Tart budget.  But you--- you reign in the QVC routine and quit trying to get drunk off our booze. Darcy and Bruce took a stab at their own version of Asgardian ale in the lab and it loosened Steve up enough to play Twister. Play your cards right and I’ll hook you up.” She smiled in thanks to the waitress as the woman set cake down in front of each of them. “Other questions or concerns?”

“I don’t care for my clothes.”

“Then try the Gap, not Barney’s. Oh, or I could have Darcy introduce you to the wonders of thrift shopping. The city’s her playground for that, and awkward men are her favorite Barbies.”

The look on Loki’s face told her that while he probably hadn’t parsed all of that, he understood enough. “No. No, thank you.”

Nat’s next quip died on her lips as she’d just taken a bite of the dessert and her eyes closed involuntarily. Cinnamon, coconut, butter and brown sugar short circuited her brain. “Fuck. That’s really good.”

Frowning, Loki deigned to follow suit with a small forkful of his own.

Watching curiously, to Romanov’s surprise, after savoring and swallowing, instead of making a similar expression, the Jotunn hung his head, sniffed awkwardly and rubbed his nose with a twitchy knuckle.

“Well?”

“It is very good.” He agreed hoarsely, still not looking at her.

Oh. Shit. When was the last time he’d had cake? Certainly not in Kree solitary...

“It’s great, but I’m so full. Let’s take it back to your place.”

They walked back towards the apartment in silence, until Nat caught the taller man hanging back a step and looking down his nose at her.

“What?”

“Why are you doing this?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Luck of the draw. I can blend in better and not be recognized.” She tilted her head watching him look over her sky blue suede sneakers, yoga pants and pink pastel hoodie patterned with kawaii graphics of a strawberry milk carton with slogans in English and hiragana. Her hair was pulled in a ponytail flanked by pink fluffy pom poms.

Laufeyson shook his head. “No. This.” He gestured around them, to their outing in general. “We’re a week in and I’ve broken the rules. Spent what I assume is Stark’s allotted funds on… Unnecessary things.”

“You don’t deserve a period of adjustment?”

“I want to know why you would stand up for me instead of chastising me. Spy to spy. We are to be honest with one another now, yes? I don’t understand your… …angle. Unless it is simply to placate my idiot brother.”

Natasha looked at him evenly, before she dropped down to sit on the closest stoop. “You know where I came from?”

“Ah. Is this a kindred spirit speech? Honor among thieves?”

Nat smirked. “Hardly. Some of it’s for your brother. But that’s obvious. It’s not all that.” She crossed her arms, considering what she was about to say. “I had a weird experience coming into the world, coming into Shield after the Red Room. Not something I would have predicted.”

This seemed to catch his interest, because he joined her on the stoop, his eyes following the sidewalk traffic. “What was that?”

“I was a grown-ass woman, and I found myself buying stuffed animals.”

“Children’s toys?”

She nodded. “I was trained to kill with my bare hands from childhood. Then I was doing Shield mandated counseling five days a week, and any moment I was not on the job, I was looking at pastel clothing. Cartoons. Glitter pens, legos and ruffled canopy beds.  I thought I was losing my shit, seriously. And then it clicked.  We didn’t get toys in the Red Room, much less soft or cute things from evil capitalist empires. But apparently there was still a five year old in here that wanted a tea party with her teddy bear -- and she would not be denied.” 

She gave him her best bland, matter-of-fact look as she studied his face for a reaction to this. But he only considered the sidewalk in front of him in silence.

“I’m not going to out you or report you for nesting in your bedroom. Everyone should be allowed some cravings. Some creature comforts. Who knows what hole in the psyche it might be filling?” She said quietly with a shrug. “C’mon. We should probably pick up some groceries on the way back.”

“So…”Loki cut his eyes sideways to her, looking her up and down. “This sartorial adventure is not a carefully crafted civilian disguise?”

Natasha gave him her most evil grin. “You are so lucky Jarvis picked out your transition wardrobe.”

Chapter Text

Foggy:

“I’m a little early, but it’s for Nelson.” Foggy told the hostess and straightened his tie. As the young woman checked her tablet, his eyes roamed over the space. Modern, beautifully lit in warm gold, and not too big or too loud. Over part of the bar was a pop art mural of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves drawn as tattooed hipsters in black and white.

He smiled. Bocca Cucina was as cool as its online photos and the air smelled delicious with wine and roasted garlic. Italian was usually a safe bet. Gabriella mentioned liking Italian… 

The hostess tapped her screen. “8 pm for two? Right this way.”

He followed her, threading through the busy tables to a more intimate booth just on the other side of the bar. “Would you care for anything while you wait?”

“No, thank you.” He nodded. “This is great.”

The booth was cozy, with gold and red tone upholstery set off against the silver, black and white of the space’s sleek interior. A white orchid plant nodded its blooms over the table from the divider and on the wall looking over the booth was a Roman Holiday poster.  If looks and reviews were to be believed, this was a solid choice for a first date restaurant. Pleased, Nelson settled in, noting that he could see the entrance despite being behind the bar. Good. He wanted to be sure to stand when she arrived. 

If anyone had told Franklin Percy Nelson that he would be a serial online dater nine months ago, he would have rolled his eyes and snorted. 

If that same someone had told him he’d be sort of good at it too, he never would have believed them. 

But he was. He was dynamite at getting a date. A first date, and a second. And that was the secret, wasn’t it? To put yourself out there, be yourself, but still try to put your best foot forward?

Tonight was a little different though. He usually went to singles meetups and mixers he found through the dating app, allowing him to match with people for the first time in person before they went out. This evening was the first time he made a date with someone who he’d only matched with and messaged online...

Nine months ago, he and his best friend and partner Matt Murdock had represented Miss Karen Page, and after their first meeting, Foggy was just gone. Heart pounding. Lump in the throat.

Karen was smart, sensitive, and sweet Jesus, her blue eyes and when she smiled...

Worst crush ever. 

As a professional, and not an asshole, Nelson stuffed it down and kept to business. And even though tons of people did it -- so much so that it was pretty much considered socially acceptable in many circles -- he did not do any lovestruck teen shenanigans like insisting on shaking hands, or brushing up against her elbow…

Ok. First, doing the whole touch, hope and check-for-a-Mark thing wasn’t just juvenile to him, it was downright creepy.

Second… Well… Say for a moment their fingers met when handing off paperwork or a coffee cup and then to discover later there was no Mark?  Did he really want to know that?

Also, like many people, Nelson had been fully steeped in a lot of the usual overly romantic baloney around the Soul Mark phenomena. It was DESTINY. Which meant it would just HAPPEN.

Ug. No.  What about all the people who were married or happily in relationships that never developed a Mark?  Maybe some people had destinies presented to them and maybe the normal folks needed to just go out and do their best like a regular human being?

Presently he looked at his watch (8:10 pm) then back at the tattooed Disney princess on the wall. ‘Some day my prince will come…’ played in his head as he wondered which of the seven dwarfs he was. 

Right. So after months passed with Karen going from being their first client to becoming Nelson and Murdock’s research assistant, had Foggy finally touched Karen? Not intentionally. But one day over lunch, she’d paused with an “Oh. Hang on a sec,” And reached over and brushed her thumb against his cheek.

Foggy had frozen, trying to keep his eyes from going wide, but Karen was busy looking at the pad of her thumb. “You had an eyelash. Here, make a wish” She held out her hand to let him blow it away.

And that’s how Nelson found out that not only was she not his Soul Mate, but the whole wishing on eyelashes thing was a load of tosh too.

Not his favorite day.

Foggy’s law partner Matt was legally blind. And somehow miraculously, while Karen was polite and deferential to Murdock in giving him a guiding arm or help navigating a new environment, she had NOT brushed skin to skin with him either. 

Until some undisclosed moment on what Foggy now thought of as ‘Eyelash Day’...

A waiter stopped by bringing Foggy a menu. 

“Ah, just the drinks menu for now?  I’m waiting on someone.”

“Of course.”

He flipped over his phone. 

8:30 pm.

If Foggy had ever had any doubt about where he stood with Karen, ever, the appearance of she and Matt’s Soul Marks completely erased it. Really, obliterated wouldn't be too strong a word. Decimated? Exterminated? Annihilated? Lots of choices. Thanks Columbia.

A fine filigree in Latin spelling the prayer to St. Michael had formed on both Matt and Karen’s left hands. The Marks traced around their wrists and figure-eighted across their palms up and into what was known as the Soul Band: a Mark appearing around the ring finger. At the text's origin, just over their wrists was a small black scale and the clasped hands of the claddagh. How much more Catholic could you get?

The evening of Eyelash Day found Nelson sitting in Josie’s bar debating between vodka and scotch.

“Vodka and lime. Make it two. You have horrible taste in drinking establishments.” A familiar voice said. “Still, it’s convenient to know where I can find you.”

“Hey, Marci.”

His ex-girlfriend took the stool next to him, set a small handbag that cost as much as most of his suits on the bar, and began thumbing through her phone. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but there are other blue-eyed blondes out there. Both guys and gals.”

“Well, that’s fine if you treat people like they’re interchangeable.”

“Oh, you mean like you and I?”

“That’s not fair.”

She waved him off. “I’m fine with it. You’re a reliable sure thing. Great friendships have been built on worse.”

Nelson frowned at her. “We’re friends?”

Marci shrugged. “Frenemies with benefits? Close enough. Are you really that broken up about this? You never struck me as a pouter.”

Foggy emptied half his drink. “No, I’m more of a doer. But you know, maybe just this once I was sort of hoping for some of the fairytale? Something special or romantic?”

Nelson knew his face had done that thing when he was being honest. The one where it fell open and made him look about ten years younger. In front of Marci that seemed ridiculously sad and vulnerable. 

The doubtful grimace she gave him confirmed his suspicions. “Oh boy. See, that’s why you and I, this great thing we have? That’s why it’s got an expiration date. You’re really hoping to find something serious, aren’t you?”

“Why not? Don’t you get tired of playing the field?”

“No. Hell no. I run the ball. I don’t play the field.” She laughed. “But here Foggy Bear, I’m going to show you something to cheer you up. This whole validation of Soul Mark culture is bullshit. Makes people wait around when they could be shaking the tree.” She tapped her phone, opened an app, and slid it in front of Foggy.

He looked down to see a background animation of different colored transparent hearts bouncing into each other and lighting up and the words “Unclaimed Hearts! Your dating app for the UnMarked!”

Unclaimed Hearts.

A dating platform and app for the unmarked and single.

Which was probably an oversimplification.  The platform covered everything . All sexualities, shades of gender or non gender, those seeking monogamy, those open to more. You could be as specific or as general as the mood struck you. You could specify only alerts for live group meet ups or you could hide in your room and swipe through profiles until your fingers fell off.

In the first week of using it, Nelson had gone to two different trivia nights for bisexuals and had a great time seeing some new faces and actually speaking to people about something besides lawyering.

He had to reign in and coach himself not to exchange numbers at the first meet up. Partly because he suspected he might be rushing it with his raw feelings of disappointment that Karen wasn’t romantically interested in him, and partly to make sure he kept things light. These were regular weekly events. If he saw the same smiling face the next time he showed up, then he could feel more certain about angling for a coffee date or dinner… No need to rush.

But rushing just sort of happened?

Ok, not rushing, but, well... It turned out Foggy was sort of fantastic at online dating?  He saw no point in creating anything but a straightforward honest profile, and he was good at joking via text. Or maybe it was that he was friendly and not pushy?  Whatever the magic formula, he found lots of worthwhile events and had zero trouble flirting on his phone and filling up his free time with lunch or after work coffee dates and just in general, seeing who might be out there.

That was six months ago.

Now, he felt nothing but happiness for Karen and his best friend Matt, whose wedding was scheduled for next February. But the shine was wearing off Unclaimed Hearts and the cracks were starting to show. He realized that his super power -- what had given him the magic mojo of traction and appeal on the app was that after the crush on Karen, he didn’t really see anything at stake among the other potential lonely hearts. It made him come across as distinctly confident and assured, but also after one or two meetings, maybe a bit emotionally unavailable?

He certainly didn’t mean to present that way.

And then he started messaging with Gabriella. And he didn’t necessarily know a lot about her other than she was cute with her blonde bobbed hair and bright smile.

Maybe not knowing a lot about someone would make going out with someone you just met online feel more like a real old-fashioned, get-to-know-you first date? Something in Foggy liked that idea; told him it was romantic. Another part of him steadfastly refused to point out that maybe it was actually a distraction. A little social skydiving so he wouldn’t think about Karen or feeling lonely. Either way, he’d invited Gabriella to Bucca Cucina tonight.

And now it was 9:00 pm and the waiter kept giving him a bland smile and raising his eyebrows hopefully when he passed, as though expecting Foggy to finally take a menu and order. Or maybe it was in surprise that he was still there?

Nelson thumbed through his message inbox on Unclaimed Hearts in case there was a note from her about running late. When he looked up, he saw someone at the hostess stand. Was that her? 

The figure was turned from him, and hurried out the front door. As she rounded the front window to the sidewalk, Nelson was sure it was Gabriella. He was suddenly presented with the thought of her coming in and seeing him, head down, alone at this table and changing her mind. Immediately he felt like the fat kid teased in elementary school. Like his personality, humor, accomplishments vanished, evaporating off him like mist, until he was just a plain and quiet piece of the background. A chubby guy stuffed in an off the rack suit.

As he stood and went to pocket his phone, it chimed. 

Gabriella was messaging an excuse that she had to work late…

Reaching the door and the sidewalk, the night air felt cool and welcome on his face. As he pointed himself back towards his apartment, he texted Marci.

“What’s up F. Bear?”

“How does this whole frenemies with benefits thing work again?”

Chapter Text

Pepper and Nat:

Pepper’s eyes flicked over the spreadsheet as she skimmed deftly through the numbers and typed. “These adjustments aren’t any trouble. There we are. Approved.”

“I thought it best to bring it to the real seat of power.” 

Potts smiled wryly at Nat before returning to pouring the end of week drinks she’d set out on her desk. “Sometimes I’m certain the gaps in Tony’s attention to details are intentional.”

“Part of the charm?”

“Sure.” Pepper rolled her eyes with a serene smile. “Let’s go with charm. So, bumpy budget issues aside, how is the assignment?”

“It’s like babysitting an animated cactus.”

Pepper nodded sympathetically and handed Nat her drink. “Well, succulents are very ‘in’.”

Nat only sipped her scotch. “I just keep thinking that Scott volunteered. Really lobbied hard for the privilege.”

Somehow Potts reigned in her spit take. “Dear god.” She shook her head laughing.

“I know, right?”

“I mean, it’s sweet in a way…”

“Cassie could handle this guy better, and you know it.”

Pepper shrugged. “No argument there… So I’m guessing that there are no imminent plans for him to visit the tower?”

“Not as such, no.”

“How’s Thor taking it?”

Nat shook her head. “We haven’t had that conversation yet. Feels a little like trying to pick the perfect time to kick a puppy, you know? And did you know in Asgard the appearance of the Soul Mark thing is a major milestone? Like Quincenera plus rehearsal dinner meets family reunion kinda big?”

Pepper’s eyes got round over her glass as she sipped. “Well, I suppose that makes sense? They’re a much more formal culture.”

“Were.”

“Right. ...Oh god.  Right.”

“And I’m finding this out from the black sheep -- who by the way claims zero interest in the big news.  And Thor hasn’t mentioned it to any of us--”

She was interrupted by a tap on Pepper’s cracked office door. “Knock knock?”

“Bruce, come in.” Pepper smiled.

“I thought I’d ask how your first week as a parole officer went?” He scratched his head awkwardly with a glance at Nat.

“Could have been better, could have been worse.” She shrugged.

“Natasha was telling me we don’t fully appreciate the import Asgardians place on their you-know-whats.” Pepper told him, flicking her Marked forearm at him. The salt shaker, a mirror image of Tony’s pepper shaker sprinkling hearts, but with the ‘S’ in the logo style of Stark Industries, somehow managed to look playful on Pepper instead of twee and unprofessional, Nat noted. The woman could pull off anything.

“Oh yeah? So are we expecting his brother to come tell him mazel tov?”

“No. That’s sort of the issue. He doesn’t want to see Thor.”

Bruce grimaced. “I think that’s the least of your issues. They’re siblings and they’ve got lots of time to get over whatever it is. Look, I tried talking to Tony about this but he’s still busy cackling over that device he cooked up in the lab, and Cap’s doing reconnaissance with Shield…”

“Fine Bruce. Your point? Get to it?”

“You don’t plant something like Loki in the neighborhood left to his own devices and expect him to stay out of trouble. He’s got a brain busier than a border collie. He needs to be occupied -- He needs something to do. ”

Chapter Text

Loki:

In the days following his meeting with the Widow, Loki found he had even less urge to leave the apartment. 

The spider had proved as good as her word, and even before he’d exhausted the provisions they’d picked up returning from lunch, new money appeared in Leif Bower’s account.

He found he thought quite a bit about their meeting, some about the discomfort her seeming kindness brought on, but largely picking apart the hooks and lures within her words… She had thought Thor’s Mark would be of interest to him.

Presently he took a cup of tea and, cloaked in his ridiculous silk duvet, slumped into an armchair he’d shoved over to the living room window. Outside it was steadily raining, which, if it kept up, would insure the drummers and other night creatures of the neighborhood would stay in. Maybe Hector’s ear plugs wouldn’t be needed tonight… And poor weather was as good a reason as any to not venture out, he told himself watching a large brown tabby swiftly dart up the dripping fire escape.

He accepted her ignorance of Asgardian customs at face value, though it did occur to him that if she were to be his handler in this arrangement, surely she would have been briefed more fully on any and all information pertaining to her target?

Unless she elected not to?

He had not brought up his disturbing encounter with the artificial soul either, nor had she mentioned it.

Had the spirit Jarvis told her? 

Unknown.  Still, he’d begun putting the Stark phone in the freezer at night following the encounter.

He scowled at the rain. What was it to him that Thor’s Mark had appeared?  Asgard and Jotunnheim were gone. There were possibly a scant handful of their people across the nine realms assuming some, like they, had moved about or fled. Or it was distinctly possible that he and his brother were the last Asgardian and Jotunn left in existence. And in this state, somehow still Thor had chanced upon his Mate -- Because the stars and Norns smiled upon him always.

At this thought a bitter lump hardened in his throat.

Loki had known, the moment he’d learned of his “adoption” -- his abduction , that he could not have a Mate. But in ignorance as a boy and young man he’d been permitted the fantasy; he and Thor had both laughed about it, searched one another’s skin after numerous fumbling and embarrassing encounters. Speculated on fair faces of the court.  

But learning the Allfather had stolen him from his tribe, and the circumstances around it, put an end to that.

While it was rare, Asgardians could and did sometimes develop Marks with peoples outside their race.  A Jotunn did not. Could not.   If Loki had a Soul Mate, that being had perished with the other Frost Giants.  But even before the destruction --- knowing that he was a runt, a puny example of his kind that had been abandoned to die? Even if he’d had a Mate in Jotunnheim, they would have rejected him, and rightly so by Frost Giant values and culture.

No. Anyway you sorted the facts, Loki had known for centuries that he was to be alone. 

And Thor wanted to rub his nose in that as well.

Now he was so far removed from anything familiar, and so thoroughly trapped. Odin had placed this glamor of his Asgardian form on him, and it proved useful to blend in and be accepted on many worlds. Too useful though. Wearing it so often and so much had charged the spell as only the power of the enchanted leaning into the magic could. Loki could lift the charm temporarily with effort, and it melted at the touch of any Frost Giant’s charged artifact, but it was ultimately and finally Odin’s spell. And strangely, it wasn’t like his other magic that ran down, crumbled and vanished with his demise. No. The spell held, imprinted solid and seemingly permanent.  Now with the Allfather gone, with Loki's own powers bound and any magical pieces of Jotunnheim scattered or destroyed, Loki found he could no longer call wearing it a choice. He was stuck like this.

Loki drained the tea cup, feeling the slide and thunk of the heavy manacle on his wrist as he lifted his arms over head and stretched. 

Enough. He needed to do something.

He’d been here over a week and he’d worked his way through wearing the small collection of Midgardian garments. Twice. A few three times...

While his first impulse was to set them on fire -- the chaotic look of a crackling orange blaze in the middle of this dull apartment was tempting -- he realized he probably needed to explore the laundry room the Widow had pointed out to him on the first floor.

The building’s laundry room fortunately was not crowded. Basket under one arm, Loki wandered slowly in a circuit around the island of washers and past a short wall of driers reading the small instruction plaques on the machines and the posters on the wall. The procedure was simple enough.

Clothing. This was another sticking point he’d identified about going outside. In a normal world he could control his appearance fully, either by a simple glamor or, more comfortably, by manifesting or transforming the physical items he required. Anywhere he went, he could look at the locals and decide how to present…

Now he wasn’t even sure exactly what substances he wore were even made of, much less have any control over their form. How did Midgardians ever find things to fit exactly? It made him feel strangely exposed and nervous. That strangers of this neighborhood often commented and yelled things at him didn’t help.

Perhaps the offer of help from the Widow or her friend wasn’t the worst thing he could avail himself of, he considered, as he coaxed one of the dispensers into spitting out a small cardboard box of detergent.  In short order he had a machine running with his small load.

Now what?  He thought of the library card the Widow had pointed out among his new effects. Books were always good…

Returning upstairs, he located the card and looked up the address on his laptop. Five blocks.  

Well. How long could a load of laundry take?

When he returned with a modest stack of novels (Franz Kafka’s Amerika, Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle and a short story collection whose title he found appealing: Get In Trouble by a Kelly Link) it was about two and a half hours later. His machine was quiet and there was a new person in the utility room.

Standing amid several overflowing baskets among a bank of humming washers was a tiny pinch-faced woman. She was barely over four foot, with sharp black eyes, wrinkled dun skin and very long salt and pepper (but mostly salt) hair braided and covered with a saffron orange head scarf.  Her tight-lipped expression didn’t change, but her eyes followed him as he edged around her baskets to his machine. 

“Pardon me.” He murmured with a nod, unsure what her fierce gaze meant. 

As soon as he removed his clothes, the woman grunted and began dumping more of hers into it.

Ah. He’d held her up. Apparently there was laundry room etiquette he had not observed.

Scooting out of her area, he found an empty dryer and opened the door to load it… Only to have the woman firmly shut it before he could get his clothes in.

“No.” The woman shook her head at him.

Loki frowned. “No? And why not?” 

She was shaking her head and pushing his basket (and him ) back towards the last dryer that was running with 5 minutes to go.

Part of him was dumbfounded that this tiny thing would bully him out of the blue and part of him felt indignant anger at the lack of explanation.

“Miss. You will let me use that machine.”

She cocked her head, staring at him like he was dense. She pointed at the card reader on the machine. “No. That takes your money,” she seemed to be picking from a limited selection of words. “No heat .”

His eyebrows shot up. “Is it broken?”

“Yes. Super knows, everyone knows, but still.” She concluded. “Use that.” She returned to pouring powder and starting the last washer.

Loki scooted into the corner with his basket and books to sit on the folding table and wait. “Right. I didn’t. Thank you.”

But, the tiny crisis averted, the woman seemed to be done with him. She shrugged and stayed bent over her work, folding what looked like a mountain of children’s clothes patterned with cartoon puppies and faces of the Avengers.

Loki did his best to stay out of her way and ignore her until the first available dryer was free, but a few times when he looked up from skimming the Link book, he saw her staring fixedly at his arm with the bracelet…

On her own wrist was a Mark, a plain wide black band with negative space in its center describing a curved scimitar-like blade.

Unnerved, as soon as he had the dryer running, he retreated back to the apartment.

Chapter Text

Natasha:

She’d hit Loki’s buzzer at least three times, the last time even leaning on it a bit with her elbow. But no luck.  Finally she banged on the door, as sudden and loudly as she could, and was rewarded with what sounded like a startled thump and some cursing.

Now the door cracked the length of the chain and narrowed green eyes glared out at her.  She heard a pained sigh. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“You haven’t answered any of my texts.”

“Ah. It’s been a mere two days.”

“You have plans tonight?”

“I keep a very full schedule.”

“Great. Get your coat.”

The green eyes rolled in their sockets before the door closed again.

When Loki appeared again a few moments later, undoing the chain and frowning at his cell phone, Natasha distinctly thought she saw him flick some ice off its screen. He poked and thumbed through a page of unread messages. “What is this about?”

“It’s a secret. Fun spy stuff.”

She could see he was weighing this in his head, probably debating whether it would tick some positive report boxes with her or his brother, and if so, was it still worth the trouble.

She snatched his jacket off the hook by the door and shoved it at him “Don’t overthink it. C’mon.”

“Fine.”

Glancing at him once they were on the street, the demigod’s demeanor to Romanov’s eyes didn’t match Bruce’s anxious assessment from the day before. If anything, she would have felt better if she’d seen a flash of trouble brewing or a hint of a busy mind examining everything for openings or angles. But the Loki following her down the sidewalk barely seemed curious where she was leading him. She frowned. Resigned and docile was not a good look. 

But when she approached the subway steps, he finally balked. “Just where precisely are we going?”

“Out. For fun. There will be the finest mediocre Midgardian alcohol available.”

“Just us?”

“I promise it doesn’t involve your brother or Avengers.”

“That’s not exactly an answer to the question.”

“No. No it’s not.”

Loki:

The problem wasn’t a matter of distrusting the spider. That came naturally, regardless of her help and seeming overtures of friendship. No, walking in lock step with his natural distrust was - damn it - curiosity. And considering both curiosity and the widow had introduced him to Jamaican toto cake, it was hard to simply dismiss the pair out of hand…

Tonight she was dressed in black jeans and some black and white high top sneakers. Under her black velour hoodie, he could see the hint of a worn white t-shirt and her eyes and lips were painted black.  It was a far cry from the pink concoction she’d worn when last they met, and he thought maybe he approved, until she caught his exam… …At which she flipped up the hood to reveal it was topped with pink lined cat ears, and a whiskered kitty face was embroidered on the brow.

“You know you want one.”

“I assure you, I do not.”

“Why do you smell like fabric softener?”

He scowled. “I’m told the students overload the dispensers.”

“Try some vinegar in the rinse cycle.”

Interesting. “I shall.”

One subway ride later and Natasha revealed her mystery location to be a very ordinary neighborhood bar. It had a jukebox, a dusty moose head over the bar mirror, a few booths and a billiards area towards the back with two pool tables. Leading him through the maze of scattered cocktail tables , she waved to a figure already sitting at the far end of the counter.

“Leif, I’d like you to meet Sergeant James Barnes.”

The stranger stood, cocked his head and offered his hand. “Leif Bowers, right?”

Hmm. His purposefully stilted delivery may as well have been a wink and a nod. Ok. The spider’s friend was in on the identity ruse.  Loki awkwardly accepted and shook. “Yes. That’s right.”

“We’d like to formally welcome you to the Super Secret Ex-Bad Guys Club.” Nat announced. “And before you say it, we know the name needs work.”

“You have a cabal of ex-villains?”

Barnes smirked at Natasha. “You weren’t kidding about how he talks.”

Nat ignored him and nodded to Loki. “Our ranks would be larger, but we prefer the exclusivity. Members are carefully vetted.” She perched on a bar stool and kicked out one for Loki.

“So how many?”

“You, me, James.” She ticked off fingers. “Three. We thought about asking Scott, but it’s a prestige thing. That, and he talks too much when he’s nervous, which is always.”

Loki cut another look at the James Barnes person before he sat himself. The man was classically handsome, with dark brown curls and a dimple in the chin. Certainly not the face one would label as a villain -- which must have come in handy.  Perhaps his status had something to do with the cybernetic arm Loki could hear shifting and whirring beneath the man’s leather jacket and glove?  “And this Scott’s crimes aren’t prestigious enough?”

“He has been to prison, ‘Tash.” James offered.

“Pfft. Gen pop. Big whoop.”  She pointed at Loki. “Solitary.” Then at James “Solitary. No comparison.”

May as well play devil’s advocate and delve. “And for what crimes?”

“Cat burglary.”

“Mmm. I agree with your standards. And what is the purpose of your meetings here?”

“I’m pretty sure for Nat, it’s to get loaded. I can’t. From what I’ve heard you can’t either.”

Loki nodded. “Not for lack of trying.”

“We are here,” Nat informed them. “For social interaction free from the naive judgment of the never brainwashed, un-mind-stoned, non assassins. That’s all. Drinks, dinner, pinochle, whatever you want, but all among kindred spirits of a sort.”

Brow furrowed, Loki frowned and caught Sergeant Barnes’ eye. “Brain-washed?”

The soldier waved at him sheepishly with his gloved robot hand. “Ex fist of Hydra.”

Fascinating... “Were you as young as Natalia?”

Natasha:

“Hearings and judge’s rulings aside, it is a form of house arrest. Sometimes I get the feeling if Stark and Fury aren’t collecting Avengers for a team, they are seeing how many enhanced they can get the drop on through legal finagling. Just be glad they don’t have you seeing a counselor multiple times a week.”

Barnes had been bitching about the court mandated rules accompanying his pardon for some time now, and Nat watched as Laufeyson, definitely engrossed, only probed enough to egg him on.

Now his eyes flashed to her. “Counselor?”

“Relax. Like anyone is qualified to shrink your head.”

Still, she saw his nose wrinkle before he went back at it.  “And are you required to stay in the Tower?”

“Nah. That’s for Steve.”

“Oh?”

Barnes huffed a laugh and ducked his head, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I may never get over it not being a big deal. Yeah. Marks showed when we met as kids. Didn’t have a chance -- they’re an exact match, thank god right over the heart and not some place visible. We’ve been hiding the damn things for over seventy years. Now we could neck on the street and it’s nothing. Helluva world.”

Glancing at Loki, Nat almost swallowed a chunk of ice from her drink: he actually smiled briefly at this.

James nodded to the bartender for another beer. 

“Sergeant Barnes, may I ask you something?”

James shrugged. “Shoot.”

“I do not wish to be rude or indelicate.”

One corner of Barnes' mouth hitched in an affable grin. “Well now I’m just curious. What?”

Natasha sipped her drink watching this exchange, but said nothing.

Examining the bar a bit before meeting James’ eyes, Loki toyed with the bracelet, spinning it slowly around his wrist. “In the cryo-sleep? Did you dream, or know anything?”

Nat could see James stiffen, then carefully consider the low, definitely venom-less look on the god’s face.

He shook his head finally. “No Leif. It was just blank from one waking to the next. That’s all.” After a long beat, James cleared his throat and glanced quickly at Natasha and back.  “Do you play?”

Loki frowned at the non sequitur, confused.

“Pool. You keep looking over at the tables.”

“Oh, no. I don’t.”

Nat sort of wanted to kiss James for changing the subject. She grabbed Loki’s sleeve. “Perfect. Fresh meat.”

Chapter Text

Natasha:

Natasha was trying really hard to decide if what she was about to try was a stroke of genius or a sisyphean endeavor. 

Didn’t matter. Between Bruce’s comment and the question to Barnes about cryo?  Jesus.  Bruce aside, the cryo comment was just too loaded coming from someone going through as many changes as Laufeyson was. She could be wrong, but it certainly sounded like part of him was wondering if it might be easier to just give up now.  And there were way too many critical eyes among the Galactic Counsel on his case to risk floating the idea publicly that he might willingly hand himself over to a cryo sentence after a brief taste of Earth…  No, no, no… Thor was trying to be patient and understanding, but Thunder God aside, she needed to get Loki busy and engaged rather than thinking of all he’d lost.  He needed -- she groaned internally at the thought -- a new Glorious Purpose.

   And she’d combed back through the agreement of his release for some sort of angle and had found this.

So, nothing ventured...

The ex-god of mischief sat across from her and her tablet with a supremely disdainful and dubious look. She had lured him out this time with the promise of sushi, which, while he had not tried it before, took to it with such enthusiasm she imagined several marine biologists and conservationists shivering from a mysterious icy wind blowing down their spines…

Right. Task at hand.

“You’re going to pick one.” She tapped the list on her tablet.

Loki toyed with his chopsticks, holding one like a small cue stick. “Am I? Very well. Win me over.”

Natasha bit her tongue and smiled neutrally. The urge to tell him it wasn’t optional was pointless -- unless she just wanted to lock horns with him for shits and giggles.

Waste of time. Ignore the bait and just press forward.

She swiped the tablet and perused her research. “There’s an adult’s cooking class at the New School. ‘Basics for Bachelors’.”

“No.” He seemed to suppress a twitch of interest there… But still, move on, circle back, never press too hard...

“A meet-up social for Norwegian expats...”

“Absolutely not. The Midgardian urge to conflate us with the Norsemen is both stubborn and baffling.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that is one of the first regions and people Asgard interacted with? You’re fluent in old Norse, and about five dead Germanic tribes' languages?”

“I lose count these days.” He told her loftily. 

“There are dozens of other classes. Music? Community theater?”

Loki examined his nails. “Why?”

Natasha tilted her head and cracked her neck. OK. She’d tried neutral and persistent and it had only turned into a different game for him. 

Fine. On to Stage 2.

“Got it. I’ll let the counsel know they can just pick out something for community service then. You don’t seem to have a preference.”

“Wait. What?”

“Community service. Volunteer work. Part of your agreement was reasonable compliance with social integration and restitution as part of your rehab, remember?  If you don’t have any special interests you want to pursue, the counsel will assign you some volunteer work based on your skills and aptitudes.  I’m thinking probably not dog walking at the SPCA…”

Loki scowled. “So it’s choose or be conscripted?”

Natasha took a deep breath. “Pause a sec and take the obligation out of it for a moment, okay? Do you really want to just sit around the apartment 24/7 waiting for another lunch date with me?” She raised her brows and met his eyes matter of factly. “And yes. You have to do something. It is pick or be assigned.”

He sighed, “Let me see your list…”

Just the research in compiling a list of groups and activities that Loki might not be completely inappropriate for had been a feat unto itself. The two big gaps in volunteer needs seemed to fall into two broad categories: Highly specialized technical skills a non profit had trouble paying for, or a need for kind patient faces to interact with the elderly or young. She may have joked about the SPCA, but considering how much she had to winnow down the list to things she’d feel comfortable pointing him at, if he was too picky he just might end up scooping litter boxes.

She supposed he could practice on Liho’s nasty sand trap...

“Habitat for Humanity?”

“I don’t have building skills.”

“Here’s one for City Harvest. They coordinate volunteers with restaurants to grab surplus food for free meals.”

Loki frowned, uneasy. “Too many people.”

“Yeah. So, funny thing, some social interaction is part of why you’d do it.”

The frown became an exasperated sigh before he narrowed his eyes, quickly zeroing in on an entry on the tablet. He tapped the screen. “Look, this one says translations and audio recording.”  

Natasha swiveled the tablet around to read. It was for a blind and visually impaired support group called Aural Bridges under a section about improving accessibility to educational materials and news.

“I see it also says, ‘many tasks may be completed at home’.”

Loki shrugged. “Why is that an issue?”

“Again, social interaction.  Look, this one,” She pointed to the food rescue group. “In addition to meeting some new people, gets you up and moving. A little exercise. Get some endorphins flowing.”

“Endorphins?” He repeated doubtfully. “My body does not require, I assure you.”

“Yeah yeah yeah… I’m sure as a Frost Giant you're made of unicorn spit, fairy dust and dragon spunk. Get over yourself. If you sit around all day, you’ll feel like crap.”

Loki regarded her with an unreadable look for a moment, before tilting his head and offering in a very smooth and reasonable voice. “May I offer a counterpoint and perhaps a compromise?”

“Shoot.”

“Many of these tasks could be completed by anyone.  Translation on the other hand requires specific skills that are in shorter supply. I propose you let me explore this one with the caveat that I request to perform the tasks that cannot be performed at home.”

Nat felt a little irritated with herself that she had expected some trickery or verbal arm wrestling from him. But this wasn’t manipulation --his observation and solution were both accurate and valid. “Perfect. And you want to do this?”

“Want is such a strong word. But I am willing to do this. Is that satisfactory?”

Chapter Text

Clint had a problem.  The problem took the form of several hundred pounds of dense blonde Asgardian lurking, dragging and ultimately slumping all over the most comfortable bits of lounge furniture in the common room.

This problem stank of Guinness and blueberry PopTarts. It did not play Mario Kart. It would not go to the rec room, pool or downstairs gym to climb or spar with him.  It would not crack a smile at the stupidest movies he could put on -- and that combined with Rogers and Barnes seeming inability to understand contemporary humor at all just made Clint feel dumb.  Zoolander was objectively hilarious. It just was. Ask anyone.

Nope. Thor was a drag and it was seriously bringing Barton down. And more so, everyone else seemed to think it was a process, a passing phase, and besides, Nat was working on it, right?  There were much more important Avenger-y things to do like investigate some instances in Philadelphia that looked suspiciously like revamped Chitauri tech…

Barton was not especially interested in field work that involved blue light melty weapons he closely associated with the Mind Stone. He also did not especially understand Thor’s “family” blah, blah, blah attachment to someone who, in his experience, did a nasty job wielding the Mind Stone himself.  (Ok, ok, he’d read the same briefs and seen the same evidence  that it was actually the big purple bastard -- and why purple? Why’d that asshole have to sully purple ? -- wielding the Mind Stone and Loki was twisting in the wind, actually being somewhat lucid during the New York attack, but ultimately still under its influence as much as Clint… But c’mon. Personal experience and gut emotional impressions had to count for something, right? Empathy seriously only went so far. Fuck that mi trauma es su trauma crap.) Right. But Clint understood loyalty. And he understood getting stuck - whether a habit, a phobia or what have you. It wasn’t always easy to find your way out of getting stuck.

So no. Barton was fed up with the others ‘give it some time’ or ‘we have more pressing concerns’ and ‘Nat’s got this’. He was the one running coms from the Tower and doing research with Jarvis as support for their Philly missions while ALSO having to listen to cavernous wind-gusting sighs from a giant blonde lump, occasionally thoughtlessly punctuated with an SBD pizza fart.

Norse gods were literally the worst couch gremlins. The worst.

It was time for direct action.

It was time for the big guns.

One did not bring in a Russian spy for this kind of job. It took a certain something that Natasha with all her clever doublespeak and sly maneuvering simply could not manage. 

Clint made a trip to Bed-Stuy and wrangled his top guy away from Kate for the weekend.

Seriously, screw Stark’s allergies. 

Lucky jogged gamely into the common room and made a b-line for the nearest new warm body. Tail swishing eagerly, he poked his cold wet nose under the ear of the man curled up on the sofa and snuffled happily.

“Ah. Hello little one…” Thor mumbled, rolling over and putting both hands on the retriever’s head. “You’re very soft, aren’t you?”

Lucky whined happily and licked Thor’s face, wiggling.

Clint waved at the pair. “Hey man, I’m gonna go hit the pool. Do you mind watching Lucky for a while?”

Thor was ruffling the feathery fur on the dog’s chest and murmuring nonsense to him. He nodded to Clint. “I would be honored.”

“Jane and I had a disagreement. A fight. Over this.”  Thor gestured at the runes looping up his neck just under his right ear. “That is why she took the assignment in Minsk.”

“Wait. I thought these were an exact match.”

“It is not over the match. Not at all…”  Thor sighed and rubbed Lucky’s head some more. “It’s about my family and well…” He lifted a meaty hand and waved it vaguely. “We are a perfect match.” He concluded.

“Look, I don’t like to mind other people’s business -- you know, other than for work. But everyone has noticed you’ve been pretty tight-lipped about the whole Mark thing. Most people, especially if it’s popping out their shirt collar, announce it, and introduce the significant other.  Oh god, this isn’t some interracial thing, is it? That shit gets nasty.”

Thor rolled his eyes. “My father did have an issue, but he is gone now.”

“So…”

“My brother and I are not even of the same race, friend Barton. He could not care less where Jane is from. And that is the problem in its entirety.”

Clint felt dumb. “That he’s NOT making a stink about her being human?”

“That he makes not a stink at all.”

“I wouldn’t go that far…” Clint muttered. “Um. You’re going to have to lay a little more out for me, because I’m not fitting this together.”

A gusting sigh breezed through Lucky’s ruff as Thor leaned forward and dropped his head and shoulders dejectedly. “My brother has been here for weeks, yet he will not speak to me. Does not ask for me. Natasha tells me to be patient.”  He looked at Clint with a frown. “On Asgard, when your Mark appears, you present it to your family first. Always. Royal families and high born would even have a public ceremony and celebration, but it is always done family first so that you may have the joy of receiving their blessing. Only then may the nuptials be planned.”

“Ah.” Clint said, sitting back and gazing up as things fell into place. “Loki is holding up Jane’s god given right to say yes to the dress.”

“In a manner of speaking. And he will not share in my happiness. That is a lonely thing.”

Nodding, Barton turned this over a few times. And strangely he felt a little bit of a balk here: Thor had gotten a Mark . So who cared what Loki thought? That wouldn’t change that Thor and Jane received the signed, sealed and delivered approval of destiny. Also, maybe they weren’t his Asgardian family, but what were the Avengers? Chopped liver? Clint could not believe what he was about to say. “Have you considered his situation is sort of lonely too?”

“Very much so. Yet he is spiteful or wounded by something where he will not allow me to try to alleviate our isolation.”

“Um.” Clint said slowly, reaching forward and rubbing his dog’s head. Lucky’s tongue lolled out the side of his mouth and he pointed his single soft brown eye at Clint. Hawkeye wished to god the canine would take a turn at this interview because he was so amazingly uncomfortable right now. But alas, Lucky just kept panting with content oblivious goodwill at both of them. Still, the dog had Thor talking to Clint, and that was more than any of the others had managed, so Barton dug in to try to catch the pass and make the goal.

Activity. Give Thor a task maybe?

A simple idea presented itself to Clint. “Yeah, ok. When was the last time you moved into a new place?”

“Here. At Stark’s invitation.”
“Ok, bad example, because this place is so outfitted I never even knew I wanted a bidet…  I mean more like a college apartment, shitty roommate kinda new place?”

Thor’s brow furrowed.

“Moving sucks.” Clint explained. “When you aren’t royalty -- okay?  Everything is new and weird. You can’t find stuff from where it was packed. Or worse, you just don’t have it at all -- like your coffee maker or your toothbrush.”

“Earth has many enjoyable things, new or not. My toothbrush has sonic vibrations.” Thor protested.

“Yes! But Loki didn’t just move into the Tower.  I think he’s having a very different experience than you are.”

“And that is why he won’t speak to me?” The Asgardian was doubtful.

“I’m not saying that. But… But…  If your brother won’t talk to you about whatever it is, maybe you could communicate without words. You could send him a house warming gift -- or better yet, a care package. You just said you like a lot of Earth stuff. Send him some of the things you enjoy for his new place. It’s like welcoming him to, uh, Midgard without all the mushy yadda yadda. Here, we’ll take Lucky for a walk and brainstorm.”

There is a dark quiet vent , Clint thought to himself, with that half bag of Fiery Cheetos and that dog-eared copy of Island of the Sequined Love Nun on the seventh floor . After this he would have earned an afternoon’s decompression session in there. Maybe four.

“Huh. Where’s the Wii?” Stark scanned the coffee table then lifted a couch cushion to look under. “J-man? You got a bead on it?”

“Barton, sir, I believe--”

“Say no more. Order another one, okay? And a backup in case Prince Valiant taps it too hard. Do they make those with stainless casings?”

“I don’t --”

“It’s an easy mod. Yeah. Two of those. Please and thank you.”

“Of course, sir.”

Tony paused from putting the cushion down, eyeing it suspiciously. He gave it an appraising sniff, blinked rapidly through now watery eyes and sneezed.

“And some Febreeze and Benadryl.”

“Already on its way, sir.”

Chapter Text

Loki:

It wasn’t until that morning when Loki actually closed the apartment door behind himself that he began to feel wrong-footed.

Which was stupid. 

Agreeing to the community service, and the whole rigamarole of contacting Aural Bridges, filling out their forms and intake questionnaires and then doing a phone interview and orientation?  Simple. Role-playing as the polite and competent but rather bland Leif Bowers -- this was comfortingly old and familiar territory for him and he actually found himself sort of enjoying the deception of it. Easy. If his goal had presented just a teensy bit of conflict or intriguing challenge, maybe that would have pushed the act fully into the fun category, but no such luck. 

As it was, he’d settle for easy. 

It was also enjoyable when the volunteer coordinator quizzed him about his language skills. He’d had something of an argument with Romanov about that.  Apparently, not having Allspeak to fall back on or a millenium long lifespan, Midgardians rarely learned more than a handful of languages, if any, beyond their birth tongue. Odd, and pathetic, really.

Loki, without Allspeak, was excellent with Midgardian Latin and Germanic dialects, and could understand and get his point across, if crudely, in many African and Asiatic tongues. And this was to say nothing of his fluency in Altarian, Kree, and dozens of other non-Midgardian discourses. As a young man he’d enjoyed making Thor feel like relying on Allspeak on other worlds was remedial, like using training wheels. 

In Midgardian terms, Thor insisted this made Loki a ‘nerd’ or a ‘dork’. (Loki decided to take these epithets as compliments.)

Whatever. Natasha had advised him to present himself to the organization as something of a polyglot, but to only claim fluency in a select handful of languages, preferably with Spanish on top of his list.

Rattling off six to the volunteer coordinator, the man on the other end of the phone had whistled through his teeth in astonishment. 

“This is incredible. Seriously. Can we slap you on the photocopier and clone you?”

Oh, if only... Loki gave the heavy bracelet a sour look, but managed to still keep the polite smile in his voice. “I’m afraid I can only offer the one of me. But I will do what I can.”

“Every bit is great. We have a backlog of research material requests, but there’s also some time sensitive needs. I mean, I really feel like we just won the volunteer lottery -- could I put you on a pro bono legal case this week?”

Wait. Him?  A legal case?  What sort of legal case?

Interesting.

“The sooner the better. Happy to help.” 

But now, actually leaving the apartment, he was going to go and present himself, in person as this Leif fellow, and he would look as he did -- canvas shoes, jeans, t-shirt and plain whateverthehellitwasmadeof cloth jacket.  He had no alternative, no guise or glamor available to him, and if he strained, struggled or reflexively dipped into the river of magical energies sharing this plane, he would either suffer physically or possibly get another visit from Stark’s sentient energy phantom Natasha casually called Jarvis. 

No.

Also, it was one thing to arouse Jarvis and therefore Stark’s attention. But the Galactic Counsel had to be cajoled into this whole arrangement… He could not forget that.  The Danver’s woman might sympathetically side with Thor and his familial sob story, but the Alterians, the Kree and most likely the official Midgard governments of their planet would probably just as soon put him in cold storage or drop him into the nearest black hole or white dwarf...   What exactly were their government sanctioned forms of execution? Did they have any, or was it such a rarity they’d have to decide anew just for his case?

Heading for the elevator, he made himself take a deep breath. His heart was in his ears and that was just… ...ridiculous. He was going to do a little volunteer assignment. An hour or two of translation was child’s play for him.  Why was his imagination turning it into the possibility of being retried and sentenced all over again?

With a ding and then a deep halting rattle, the old building’s elevator door clunked open revealing the small empty windowless box, waiting.

Loki swallowed and took the stairs.

In the lobby, he saw the same brown tabby cat he’d glimpsed running up his fire escape. The beast was stalking a spider down the hall from the mailboxes towards the laundry room.

Getting a better look at it now, Loki could see it was a bulky grizzled thing. One ear had a tattered and notched edge, its nose was scarred across its right nostril and it had the thick heavy neck of a tom cat.

“Good hunting, little one.” Loki murmured as he emptied his mailbox of the junk advertisements that had accumulated, quickly dumping them straight into the bin.

Presently a small boy emerged from the laundry room and marched over to the large cat. Heedless of the animal's focused stealth, (or its claws and teeth for that matter) the child grabbed it around the middle in a hug, and turned to Loki matter of factly.

“This is my cat. He’s a tiger.”

Loki blinked. 

The cat had slid down in the hug until its front legs were shrugged up around the creature’s cheeks and sticking straight out like a cartoon sleepwalker. Other than its precarious position, the animal seemed unperturbed and Loki could hear it purring faintly.

“I see…” Loki was unsure what sort of response was needed here. Also, the child was between him and the front doors. He hurriedly fished his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the time.  He should have left earlier...

The child hefted and wagged the limp cat in an effort to keep his grip on it and Loki noted with some amusement that stretched out like this, the animal was almost as tall as his diminutive owner. How old could the kid be? Did Midgardians achieve the same growth size at the same rate as those of Asgard? Also, how quickly could he get out of this because he really needed to be at the bus stop - oh crap - right now . “His name is Daniel. You should pet him.” And the boy grabbed Loki’s right hand with his tiny brown (and a little sticky) one and placed it on top of the creature's head.

“Gajan!”

Oh thank the Norns! The short elderly woman from his previous adventure in the laundry room emerged from the basement doorway with a box on her hip. She scowled and shook her head at Loki before shooing the child with the docile cat into the elevator, muttering something to the boy. 

By the time Loki made it outside to see his bus whizzing away without him, his brain had parsed the woman’s words. Punjabi. Something about neighbors and strangers.

Lovely. Day One of community service was shaping up beautifully.

His eyes flicked up and down the street as he debated his options. If he tried for a taxi or calling a car in morning traffic, he’d be late for sure.  Overhead, the fall sky was clouded over, and the color and scent promised rain at any moment. With no better option, he hurried for the subway, hoping the rain held off long enough for him to make it the extra blocks on foot.

Pressing into the crowd of commuters on the platform for midtown, Laufeyson wondered at himself.  The old him would have hung it up already. Shrugged with a smirk and gone back to bed at missing the bus, possibly even relishing the potential irritation it would cause the Widow when she heard he’d blown things off.

But for some reason, he definitely didn’t wish to blow this off.

Was it the intrigue of it being a court case?  Maybe, but Midgardians had hearings over minutia Asgard would roll its eyes at. Things like j-walking, public intoxication and unleashed dogs. He’d already prepared himself that his great calling might be as dull as something like that.

So…

Possibly it was his ego lapping up the awe and gratitude of the volunteer coordinator?

He glanced at his phone checking the time as he was jostled forward with the sound of the train approaching. Yes. That sounded about right, he smirked.

But still. The longer he’d thought about the organization and how happy the coordinator sounded? He would be useful. Perhaps it was the sort of thing a common decent Midgardian like Hector would do?

What a bizarre thought.

But he found it…   …pleased him?

The subway car was so full, he was packed shoulder to shoulder standing and holding the overhead bar. With his free hand he slid his Stark phone into his jacket’s breast pocket and immediately swayed and caught himself as the subway took off.

Somehow at the next stop even more commuters managed to edge in. It was supremely uncomfortable with shoulders, elbows and shorter people’s heads everywhere along with the attendant smells of perfume, body odor, hair spray and smoke clinging to them. Loki twisted to look at the blue line map to count how many more stops before his.

And that’s when he felt it. 

Someone stepped on his foot and fell back into him, while at the same time, among the hands behind him that shoved him back, one - with quick singular purpose - was sliding into his rear pocket.

Instantly his free hand snaked out and seized its wrist.

He couldn’t even see to identify the pickpocket, but his action caused a tidal shift in the wall of people as about three different men jostled around, away and closer to the doors as the train approached the next platform. He twisted the wrist viciously before raking his hand down to clutch for his lifted wallet. But with a grunt of pain, the thief whipped his arm out of his grasp while someone else from the crowd body-slammed him into the pole support for the molded plastic chairs. He twisted, falling on his side behind the row of seats. Commuters shouted, shuffling to either avoid or point out the criminals, adding to the chaos.

As he tried to right himself, the doors hissed open and he felt another stranger yank at the damned shackle of all things, pulling on it hard enough to wrench his joint. But before Loki could yelp, his mugger instead convulsed back with a slurred curse and by the time Loki rolled over, rubbing his wrist, all he saw was the man’s retreating ass out the car doors.

Fuck. His wallet was spilled on the gritty subway car floor. Sweeping the bits together, he quickly wadded them into his pocket with the Stark phone and picked himself up as fresh riders began entering. 

He backed away from them, panting, struggling to breath through his rage and the cold fingers of fear trying to worm their way down his spine. If the world were normal, he could have reacted properly. Easily pulled the bastards back to him or cast fearful doubles of himself right into their blundering cowardly paths. He wanted his daggers. Wanted to show them exactly who they took for some garden variety sitting duck…

And if it had been anything like his other voluntary jaunts on Midgard, his brother would have been side by si–

“You okay?” A woman hugging a messenger bag sitting in the back row asked.

He swallowed and nodded, tight-lipped, then rode to the last stop with his back pressed to the wall by the car’s front doors.

The shackle had done something. Loki hadn’t felt the pain or shock or whatever it dealt out to the thief, but it was abundantly clear from the man’s reaction it had done something.

This discovery wasn’t the relief it might have been. The Jotunn leaned harder into the vibrating train wall, feeling his stomach wobble and a tension headache begin to creep up his neck. He had pondered what might happen if he made some attempt at cutting the shackle, or possibly pooling and shifting enough energy to transform just a teensy bit enough to slip out of it…  Still. Better the pickpocket got to be the guinea pig and not him.

Gaining the open air and sidewalk of Hell’s Kitchen, Loki discovered a few drops of rain were starting. He checked the map application on his Stark phone; three blocks to cover to find the office’s of Nelson and Murdock for his orientation.  Also, the subway had been faster than he anticipated – he had some time. 

He backed into a building foyer intent on checking the damage to his wallet when his phone vibrated.

The spider? Now?

But the incoming text wasn’t from Romanov.

“Sir. Your bracelet alerted me. Do you require assistance?”

Loki almost dropped the phone.

The ghost.

Jarvis.

Shaking with anger and surprise, he glared at the screen, unable to make himself text back. What the hell was with this day?  “I am fine.” Loki hissed at the device. “I require nothing from you or Stark.”

The polite deferential voice answered calmly. “As you say, sir. Sorry to disturb you. I am here if you need me.”

Loki continued to check the wad of spilled effects from his wallet. Library card, ID, Metro card, about $20 in cash…

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

“...Phantom?”

“Sir?”

“My bank card.” Loki leaned against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose against the growing headache. “They took it. The pickpockets.”

“Not to worry, sir. I’m canceling it and having a new one delivered to your apartment. Do you have the fare to get home?”

“Yes.”

“For your lunch? Incidentals?”

“I can manage.”

“I’ve no doubt. Is there anything else I can help with?”

“No, phantom.” Loki paused, then sagged with a deep breath and added quietly. “But thank you.”

“Anytime, sir.”

Chapter Text

Loki:

By the time Loki covered the first block, the rain had begun in earnest and he was darting from building entrance to shop awning in an effort to stay dry. The thin jacket wasn’t much match for the wet Fall weather, and the wind was making him shiver. 

Ten minutes to spare and he was in the office's immediate vicinity on a busy section of 10th Ave. He hunched against a bodega and examined the phone map… The entrance was one of the buildings across the street…

A woman exiting the store smiled as she wrapped both hands around an enormous hot coffee she’d bought. It left a warm fragrant trail of steam in its wake as she passed Loki.

The rain was now coming down in sheets. Maybe a few minutes spent to get a cup would give it a chance to let up?

Well, why not? He had time. And he was freezing.

Freezing. Oh the irony of that .

In their odd times together, Thor always asked him the stupidest questions once the truth came out about Loki’s Frost Giant lineage. Nothing convinced him that Odin’s glamor imparted much of the same limitations and sensory effects Asgardians possessed.  He couldn’t seem to comprehend that it truly rendered him like them.

“And exactly how long would I have believed his lies if I were impervious to cold? Or if I looked like one of you, but could still call ice from the very moisture in the air?” Loki rolled his eyes and sneered during one of these exchanges.

“But think of the snowball fights.”

“Hmph. You wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

Coffee acquired, Loki noted that the complete downpour had abated to a sprinkle.  And there was a gap in traffic…

He quickly darted across 10th–

A parked car pulled out, nearly clipping him and blared its horn. 

Startled, he leapt for the sidewalk, but his foot missed and folded sideways with a shooting pain, right as a bicyclist whipped in front of him, sending a sheet of rain water from a puddle over him.

Spinning away from the cyclist, his arms pinwheeled as he lost balance, one slamming into the hood of a parked car and sending the coffee across the windshield. He staggered backwards as he fell, the last thing in his view the huge grill of an oncoming laundry truck…

Time seemed to slow down…

This was it. Not to die throttled in the fist of the mad titan for the sake of his brother and innumerable ignorant souls, but under the wheels of a diaper truck in the wet grime of 10th Avenue. Alas! poor son of Laufey…

“No! Oh shit, nonononope!” There was panicked shouting from behind.

Oof!

Not asphalt but a wall of warm flesh impacted with Loki’s back. Stout arms hugged around him from behind and whisked him out of the street so fast it took the last bit of breath from him.

“Jesus!” The voice panted. “Are you ok?”

The warm thick arms loosened their grip to a bracketing corral in an attempt to set him on his feet. Loki blinked, wheezed and hobbled around to face his rescuer, terrified eyes wide. “I-I’m alri–”

He froze.

His mouth went dry.

For a brief, highly strange and inappropriate moment, he wanted to go back to those seconds of stout warm arms squeezing him. His cheeks went up in flames. “I’m alright.” His voice came out an undignified squeak.

The man in front of him was… a beautiful cherub. A gold and wheat colored bear. Shorter than Loki’s more willowy height, he was sturdy and appealingly… …soft. His face, an open and guileless mask of complete concern. Concern for him.

“Your foot. Ah, you were limping? Can you–”

As though to prove he was fine, Loki automatically took a painful step forward and winced. 

“Whoa, whoa… Here.” Immediately the guy held his arms out for him to catch and steady himself.

Well this was mortifying…  Loki shivered, and it had nothing to do with the chilly rainwater soaking through his jacket.

He cleared his throat, trying frantically to think how to extricate himself. “I-I turned it on the curb – it’ll be alright. Thank you, really, but I’m going to be late.”

“Ok. Yeah. Need me to call you a ride?” The bear blinked at him earnestly and the Jotunn felt his chest stab. 

“No. I, uh. It’s here – one of these offices, I have a volunteer meeting–”

The man’s dark hazel eyes went wide. “Oh shit. Are you the new Aural Bridges guy?”

Loki blinked. “Yes?”

The man grimaced. “What an intro. Wow. Uh, hi. Franklin Nelson. Of Nelson and Murdock.” He offered his hand apologetically.

Loki shook the warm offered paw. “Nice to meet you. Ah, Leif Bowers.”

“Matt? Hey? Little help here?”

“What happened?”

“Roll that chair over? New York traffic just tried to eat your volunteer. We still have those towels?” Nelson guided Loki into the office chair that the man who must be Matt - handsome with dark brown curls, but certainly not as striking as Nelson – steered over. “Damndest thing I’ve seen.  Here. Here. Watch your foot.”

“Are you hurt?” Matt asked.

“I just turned my ankle a little. I’m fine.” Loki protested. He wasn’t fine. He was utterly mortified and his face must be fuschia by now.

“Can I take a look? Just to be safe?”

Loki wasn’t used to how fragile Midgardians were compared to people of Asgard and Jotunnheim, and he was frequently stunned by the excessive care and caution they gave inconsequential injuries. It’s because they aren’t inconsequential to them , he reminded himself. And for all practical purposes, you’re in the same boat now, so get used to it.

“Matt used to patch up his dad. Let him check it out.”

“Thank you.” Loki managed, and the blonde bear flashed him a reassuring smile before hustling into an adjacent room. Oof… The smile made something in Loki’s chest ping, but he physically could not blush any harder… 

“I know I saw some towels in here. And there’s usually a change of clothes, if you don’t mind gym stuff…”

Soon enough, a clean towel and dry fleece hoodie were located, Loki’s wet jacket, and drenched shoes and socks were drying on the radiator, and Matt seemed suitably placated that his ankle wasn’t broken or severely sprained. Perhaps Loki glossed over the pain level just a little bit, but to be fair, he’d had enough of an adrenaline overload he probably wouldn't really know the depth of the injury until later anyway… At Matt’s invitation, he rolled himself via the office chair after Murdock into the lawyer’s office.

Foggy:

Nelson was having trouble switching gears.

Once it was clear the stranger was fine and Matt and he vanished into his partner's office for volunteer work, Foggy felt…

Confused?

Bereft?

Almost jealous?

Part of him was having a very stern talking to himself about racing in front of oncoming trucks and wondering why his heart rate hadn’t seemed to have gone back to normal yet.

Another part of him found he suddenly had a very strong urge to participate more in Aural Bridges training and outreach programs. Why hadn’t he signed up as a trainer for new volunteers? 

A third and completely bewildered part of him was just replaying the look of terrified green eyes softening at the sight of him.  That is what he saw, right?  Wait, no. Knock it off, Nelson. Not at the sight of you. More like relief at realizing he wasn’t going to be roadkill.

Ok. Yeah. That checked out.

He glanced over at the glass window separating Matt’s office from the Nelson and Murdock Attorneys at Law lobby/reception area/conference room/break area.  His partner and the stranger were already busy, hunkered over Matt’s workstation. 

His phone chimed.

Picking it up, he saw it was a text from Marci.

My sister is mooching my apartment this week. Can I sneak a break at the bear cave?

Marci’s younger sister lived in Pittsburg and had a frequent habit of treating Marci’s place as her Manhattan vacation home. Exactly how many times could one person sit through The Book of Mormon?

“If you don’t keep pets or plants, don’t give relatives keys.” Marci had lamented. “Trust me, I learned the hard way.”

Nelson considered the text.

When? He tapped.

I’ll be there by 8.

He sighed and smirked, sending back a thumbs up before glancing at Matt’s door again.

He should make some coffee. The guy had a full cup that he lost on that car hood, and it would be warming on this cold wet day…

Or should he?  Oh god Nelson. Don’t. Don’t get a crush on Matt’s volunteer.  For frick’s sake, are you still in high school? They can get their own damn coffee if they want some.

Foggy made a large pot of fresh coffee.

The guy hurt his foot, alright? Nelson was just helping him stay off of it, OK?  It was fine. No big deal.

Chapter Text

Loki:

His breath finally caught, Loki might have lingered on the accident and his reaction to Nelson longer, but a new immediate surprise forced him to refocus. How short sighted was he? It had not occurred to him that the trainer for his volunteer work would actually be blind.

A different shade of embarrassment and curiosity filled him as he examined Murdock’s office.

The first thing that struck him was how organized it was. There was a table sort of strewn with a row of very large thick books, but the computer work station and adjacent desk were much neater. Objects and tools were spaced out in sort-of arcs he quickly realized were about the natural length of Matt’s reach. Drawers, paper sorters and other items were carefully labeled with braille.  Braille. Loki was aware of it – other cultures had similar systems - but he’d never learned any of them.  Fascinated, he picked up a fat device with a keyboard, a small wheel and a tail of plastic tape sticking out one end.

“Whatcha got there?”

“I’m so sorry. How rude.” Loki quickly put it back on the desk before Matt’s questing hand.

“Not at all.” Murdock chuckled when his fingers touched the item and revealed its identity. “It’s just like the plastic label guns from when we were kids. You know, where you get one and put a sticker on everything down to the dog?”

“I’m not sure I had one of those.”

“Oh, your loss.  Here, we’ll catch you up on a cultural touchstone…” His fingers roamed over the keys until he spun the wheel, squeezed a mechanical button on the side and offered Loki the strip of plastic tape he’d produced. “Here. There’s your name in braille.”

Taking the item, Loki ran his fingers over the raised bumps, but the sensation meant nothing to him. “Thank you. You… You learned this alphabet as a child? I don’t guess you remember how long it took?”

“It took a while. I was nine when I lost my sight, so I was already an avid reader… But still, even starting over, when you’re a kid you pick up stuff fast.”

“You were able to see before?”

“Sure. It was a chemical accident.”

Loki caught himself. “I’m sorry. I’m prying too much. Please–” He held his hands up before realizing that Murdock couldn’t see a placating gesture like that.

“It’s no sweat.” The lawyer laughed easily. “So… I’m going to guess that you don’t have much experience with the visually impaired?”

“No, not really.”

Matt nodded. “A lot of the volunteers I get are either folks already doing things with AB or one of the other groups, college students and retirees. Not as many career age adults that aren’t from some other part of the assistance field. What drew you to Aural Bridges?”

Loki frowned. Leif was officially being called on stage, and it felt a little awkward.  Not from anything Murdock was doing. On the contrary. Matt had such an easy going demeanor, coupled with the fact that he didn’t –couldn’t– pin Loki down with a curious stare, Loki should have been able to spool out his alias’s fabricated front instantly. But he swallowed, finding the thought of lying here distasteful, especially after the two lawyers had rescued him from traffic, helped him with his foot and loaned him dry clothes.

Still. Needs must. He tried to pacify his unease by basing his story in as much actuality as possible. “Well. I’m new to New York. I began looking at volunteer work as a way to introduce myself to the city – to meet some people. When I saw the translation work – it seemed like a good use for me.”

“It is an excellent use for you.” Matt laughed. “And I don’t just say that as someone who needs to put you to work, like, last week. Speaking of which, what do you do? I don’t want to hog you or create a problem with your regular job…”

“I… Ah, I don’t have a regular job.”

This made Murdock pause and cock his head. “No? Gig work?”

Loki didn’t know what ‘gig work’ was. “I, um, I have an inheritance…” He began quietly.

Matt got very still, listening and seeming to feel the room. “A rich unknown benefactor who led a long life?” He asked hopefully, with an apologetic cringe in his voice.

“My parents… …a car accident.”

Murdock’s posture slumped, and he reached over and found Loki’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “I’m so sorry.”

After a respectful moment, Matt nodded to himself. “Right. Where to begin?”

Where indeed. Loki had no idea and he found he had so many questions and felt quite certain that all of them would sound dumb — or at least that they might reveal him to not have a good working knowledge of ordinary things of Midgard.  What was dawning on him slowly, like a well placed twist in a book or movie, was that he had been vaguely aware of braille in his movements through Midgard on other occasions. Elevator buttons. The odd noises traffic signals sometimes made. The common-ness of these things now seemed shocking, like a secret had been right there in front of him if he’d only bothered to notice. Visually impaired people were a significant part of the Midgardian population. Ordinary even.

A blind Jotunn would be killed much like he’d been left…

He cut that thought off quickly. Did he know a single blind Asgardian?

And no, Hemdahl hardly counted with his magic sight.

“We should probably start with the news queue. Friday? Would you pull that up for us?”

“Certainly, Mr. Murdock.” A female voice replied.

Loki flinched, quickly recovered, and then realized (again) his companion had no idea about his body language.

“Stark Industries created a clone of their Friday AI for voice assist for all their phones, tablets, desktops, you name it.  She’s like Siri, but with a PhD.”

”You flatter me, Mr. Murdock.”

“I think she sounds cute too. Don’t tell Karen.” Matt grinned, and tugged his chair closer to his monitor that had come up with a login screen.

Loki cleared his throat, still thrown off to learn Stark apparently had two electronic phantoms at his command, but forced a smile into his voice. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Excellent. Now, what we should have on screen should look very low rent and primitive compared to anything you’ve seen online, like say, Wikipedia? Am I right?”

He was indeed right and Loki told him as much.

“Welcome to the glamorous world of nonprofits. I think the news queue was built around the MySpace era, but it might have been back when Angel Fire and websites with frames were a thing…”

From here, Murdock explained that the top news stories for the five boroughs were aggregated from the AP feed along with local weather and were linked in a constantly updating list.  Volunteer readers and translators created audio recordings of these stories in various languages. If no one got to it, it eventually vanished, replaced with fresh news needing to be read. Loki followed all this easily, but also found himself studying the Soul Mark prominently visible on Murdock’s right wrist and hand.

“So, a visually impaired person can access these on the site, or through a call in line.  But it used to all be on the phone, like time and temperature.”

The Jotunn blinked, shaking off his curiosity about the bit of latin script and considered what the lawyer had just said.

Something about the utility of the system didn’t exactly make sense to Loki… The entire time Matt was explaining, he would occasionally give a command to Friday as a way of navigating the visual interface of his work station. She even read text for him.

“Is English still included?”

“Sure. But the senior readers grab those immediately since they can. I doubt you’ll find one needing a recording in the queue. Polish on the other hand – ”

Loki frowned, feeling the first prickling of potential disappointment. “I’m not sure I understand? I don’t want to be rude, but…”

“Please. I love rude. Shoot.”

“It’s just, with the technology you’ve shown me? Doesn’t your Friday already do this?”

Matt was already nodding in agreement. “Tech is huge. Really. Friday, give us a Wikipedia article? Miles Davis. Activate read text.”

A flat electronic voice with no inflection began to read the website article.

“So yeah, it can do that. And don’t get me wrong, having smartphones replace the old expensive optical readers? It’s great.  I can’t scan a grocery store shelf from a distance, but I can pick up one of the identical sized and shaped cans and point my phone at it and know if it’s chili or dog food. So, you’re absolutely right. A lot of the heavy lifting can be and is done by all the new tech.  But new tech is also moving so fast it’s screwing other stuff up. Completely smooth touch screens and tinier and tinier buttons and manipulations? They can be a nightmare.  A lot of developers don’t take into account that tons of visually impaired people get that way later in life — they’re having to relearn tech on top of losing vision and probably feeling completely overwhelmed. This one company even started replacing building directories with touchscreens because it allowed them to get ad revenue - totally without braille or an ADA compliant means of providing the floor and office info. And don’t even get me started on Google translate — Oh man, I’m sorry,” he caught himself and huffed a laugh. “I’m rambling.”

“Not at all. It’s very interesting.” Loki was imagining Matt trying to grocery shop. Probably Nelson would go with him, but if not, he was gregarious and handsome and so could certainly manage… But to think of an older person? Or someone less familiar with the language? The vulnerability of it made him distinctly uncomfortable.

“Anyway, yes. The tech can do a lot — but it’s not human. And its translation skills are hilariously bad.  And people adjusting often just want and need a friendly guide. Something familiar can mean more than all the assistance gadgets — and a real voice provides that, so what you’re doing is huge. Thank you.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at Matt — again, a wasted gesture — and yet… “You’re welcome… Why do I sense there’s something more?”

The lawyer’s instant grin was dazzling. “Totally buttering you up. How’s your Italian?”

”Excellent.”

“How familiar are you with confidential attorney client privilege and would you be willing to sign something reflecting that?”

Ah. Finally the intrigue from his call with the volunteer coordinator.

“Please tell me more.”

Foggy:

Foggy looked up from helping Leif into the Uber he’d called in time to see Karen hustling up the sidewalk.

She tailed him back inside. “Did you break Matt’s translator?” She asked, taking off her coat and beginning to unload research material on the common table for their meeting.

“Minor misunderstanding with a wet curb when he got here.” Matt laughed.

“How’d the orientation go?”

Foggy was curious himself, but glad she was the one to ask.“Yeah, if the commute and neighborhood didn’t scare him off, did we?” Nelson laughed. He dug into sorting the files Karen had brought, trying to look busy. His ears had gone hot and he realized he was probably more interested in Matt’s answer than Karen was.

“Oh, ah, you know, the comedy of errors aside, I think it went fine.” Matt shrugged. “He’s new to the program, and not super tech savvy, but he knows his stuff on languages.”

“Aww… A little absent-minded professor?”

Nelson shook his head. “Nope. No. No way. Not with a voice like that.”

Matt cleared his throat and allowed a smile. “Yeah, okay. Microphone friendly doesn’t begin to cover it. I think the latin languages’ weather and news lines are about to get super popular.”

“Really? Crap. And I missed it!” Karen fumed and shook the deposition she held in mock fury. 

“You’ll get a chance – he doesn’t have a mic or the software at home. I told him he could use my workstation.”

Foggy’s mouth went dry. “Oh, yeah?” He tried to sound nonchalant. “Until he gets his own set up?”

“No, just in general. He hasn’t decided to make that kind of investment. Also–

But Karen frowned in concentration and narrowed her eyes, cutting him off. “Is it just me or did he look a little familiar? I mean, I just got a glimpse.”

“Like someone you know?” Matt asked.

“No, no. Like reminding me of someone, like an actor or something?”

“Elrond.” Nelson breathed. It just slipped out and he groaned at himself. “He’s like a cute elf from Lord of the Rings or something.”

Karen cracked up, but she nodded. “Oh my god. Yeah, I think you’re right.”

Nelson suddenly put his face in his hands with a moaned laugh.

“What? What is it?”

“His name. Leif. Leif Bowers. It’s even an elf’s name…”

Karen giggled. “Crap. Really?”

Foggy suddenly spun to Matt. “Oh shit, he isn’t court ordered community service is he? Did you sign off on his hours?”

“Wait no. An elf with a possession charge?” Karen struggled. “For what?”

“Duh,” Foggy snorted. “Magic mushrooms.”

“No and no.” Matt shook his head and wrapped on the table top with his knuckles. “And I was about to say, you guys might want to tread lightly, whether he’s cute or not...”

Karen and Foggy looked at each other, both amused and shocked to be chastised in their private office.

“The guy’s in mourning, okay? He just lost his parents and moved to New York for a complete change. I offered my workstation because the equipment is totally new to him – he hasn’t done any assistance work. He said he volunteered to help him meet people.”

“Oh shit.” Foggy blanched, feeling his stomach drop. “Yeah, okay.”

Karen held up her hand like she was swearing in. “HR approved professionalism all the way.” She agreed. “Poor guy. That’s awful.”

Chapter Text

Loki:

Once inside the hired car and seeing that the driver was only focused on navigating the late evening traffic and rain, Loki settled and took a deep breath.

His ankle still hurt, but the radiator had dried out his socks and shoes.  It was… Hmm.  He wasn’t disturbed or anxious, but the encounter, the meeting… It  had all been… A lot.

Midgardians.

He couldn’t put his finger on it. He liked Murdock, definitely. Possibly because the man immediately impressed Loki with his confidence and ease. The demigod seriously doubted he would handle a world he couldn’t see with such aplomb. But what struck him most working with Murdock was that the man’s face was open and completely non judgemental. Unlike Natasha, the lawyer couldn’t examine Loki’s every micro expression, every flick of his gaze for a hidden or deeper meaning. Not having a pair of eyes pinned on him with shrewd scrutiny let something in Laufeyson relax in a way very new to him. Once he’d gotten over the embarrassment of being spun, splashed and sprained -- but nothing worse thanks to Nelson -- doing the orientation with Matt had been interesting, even fun?

Nelson.

Beyond the appealing solid bearlike build of him and that stupid pretty wheat colored hair  (because of course if Loki was going to look ridiculous the Norns would throw in someone he found attractive to witness it. Damn them.) That one made something odd squirm in his middle that he wasn’t sure he understood at all. Mostly he was glad his temper hadn’t come out. He didn’t have a history of doing well with things that were humiliating, and while the cascade of accidents weren’t Nelson’s fault, the old Loki probably would have struck out at him as the closest target the moment he felt his cheeks go hot. He’d even felt the impulse, but the full understanding that he’d consciously stopped himself?  He’d made that choice?

It was very confusing.

And the man had been so damned nice about the whole thing.

That’s what this weird buzzing in his center was… It was like Natasha looking out for him with company, food and advice.  Like a person who cared about him?

Loki didn’t know what to do with nice.

And it apparently wasn’t a currency for manipulation. Not for the law partners at least. Loki still couldn’t be sure about the Widow as she knew too much about him…

He wanted to get back to his apartment and be alone behind a closed door. That would make his nerves dancing around his middle and chest calm down.

The Uber hit a pothole and he winced when he automatically put his feet down to steady himself. Damn but that ankle was annoying. And it would be more so if he didn’t do  something before he had to hobble back into his building from the car. A glance at the preoccupied driver bobbing to music in his earbuds told Loki the backseat was private enough for his purposes. He straightened his right arm and closed his eyes as he struggled to gather the right subtle energies.  It was hard. A headache stabbed behind one of his eyes almost immediately and Loki realized it would almost be a trade off in terms of pain. Still, it would be easier to get into his building with a headache than on one foot.

He traced a healing rune into his right palm and pushed the feeble magical heat down his thigh, his knee, his calf, until… there. It found its mark in the inflamed tissues of the sprain and did its work.

Slumping back, he let his head lol on the car seat, nestling down into the loaned fleece hoodie. It smelled of someone else.  What was that scent?  Pleasant. Like freshly turned earth mixed with the warmth of black pepper.  Would this be Murdock or Nelson? The smell distracted him from the headache and he let his eyes close as he focused on it, ferreting around for any missed details or interesting clues tangled in the scent.

The effort of his spell made him feel the cold and damp of the rainy night, and he pushed his hands into the soft jacket’s pockets for warmth.

By the time he reached his apartment, the headache had abated to a faint dull throb and he just felt tired.  Not feeling like cooking, for dinner he slapped together some cheese toast and cut up a pear, then, after eating, cocooned himself in the covers and dark, glad once again that the rain kept the bucket drummers and other night life away from his block. 

Tomorrow the spider would come and he could report that he’d fulfilled his assignment and attended community service…

When he woke the next morning, the sun was high and his phone -- he’d forgotten to put it safely in the freezer damn it -- was chiming.

How had he slept until almost noon?

He was still in his clothes and the loaned hoodie from the day before and his mouth tasted stale.  Bleary, he texted some excuse to Natasha and hurried into the shower.

The water woke him up some more.  This was weird. When had he last slept that soundly?  Even after he’d acclimated to the sounds of the area, he was still wary, sleeping in small two or three hour snatches.

Stranger still, as he washed his hair, he found a peppering of faint blue black marks on his right arm.  Small, fingerprint sized or less, the bruises began in a heavy cluster at his wrist then fanned and faded as they went up his forearm.

Surely it was from when he backed into the parked car and slammed his arm down. It happened so fast. The damned shackle had probably made it worse.

But a few bruises would sort themselves out. It wasn’t worth the drain to try to address them as he had his twisted ankle, and besides, Natasha would be here presently.

He finished up and managed to get dressed before she knocked.

Natasha:

“Good morning, sunshine.” She deadpanned when he finally tossed open the door. “Oversleeping isn’t like you.”

“Not lately, no.” Laufeyson was already fumbling into… not the jacket Jarvis had ordered, but a worn heather gray gym hoodie? Interesting. This dressing was done hurriedly, with a bleary frown. “But I was once a great master at it, I assure you. I wish to go some place with coffee, please. Coffee that I do not have to make.”

“We can do that.” Natasha smirked.  Something was up. Different. She decided to settle in and see what emerged.

By the time they got to the street, she’d narrowed down their destination choices on her phone. “Lunch? Breakfast? Any requests to celebrate your first day of community service?”

He balled his fists in the fleece pockets, hugging it to his slender frame against a cool breeze. “You mentioned your friend who would go shopping on a budget…”

“Darcy? And the thrift stores?”

“Yes, but I’m not a… … Barbie. I thought after we ate, I might ask you ...for pointers.” He finished awkwardly.

“You want help looking for clothes?”

“If you have time. And will avoid pastels. And cartoon animal graphics. Or ears.”

Today Natasha was wearing a wine colored skater skirt  with dark yellow leggings and black lace up heeled boots. On top she had a band t-shirt he didn’t recognize and a baggy thick black cardigan. Compared to her previous outfits, it was much more hipster and less kawaii: there was not a single cartoon image, fanciful font or cute animal on her person.

“You’re not making this sound tempting, but sure. Why me?”

“Personal taste or lack there of aside, you are adaptable and good with character costuming.”

She looked at the map on her phone. “Gosh. I bet you say that to all the girls.” She smirked. “There’s a Cuban place down there. We can fuel up and grab a train.”

“And they have coffee?”

“It’s like three cups in one. You’ll love it.”

The Cuban place was basically a shotgun diner with a lunch counter to serve grilled sandwiches. And the coffee was two wee shots of pitch black whipped sweet sin. She watched Loki, a scowl of doubt all over his face, sniff and taste it, before a delighted smile crooked the corner of his mouth and he downed the cup.

By the time he was on his second cup and had devoured half a medianoche, harried, bleary startled-awake Loki was replaced by calm, perfect posture, smooth and sharp-tongued pain in the ass.

“Good, huh?”

“Where does a person your size tuck such a sandwich?”

“I could ask you the same thing. I work out a shit ton. What’s your excuse?”

“Maintaining one’s connection to the energies of multiple metaphysical planes is taxing. Stark has made it more so.”
Nat narrowed her eyes, not quite sure whether to call bullshit on this. The woo stuff begged her credulity at the best of times, despite being a first hand witness to it.  She preferred Jane’s explanation that it was simply natural phenomena that science hadn't explored and documented yet. 

But before she could decide, the Jotunn continued. “Also, food is delicious. And you pick interesting dining establishments.” He shrugged.

That was unexpected. Nodding in thanks at the compliment, she elbowed him and decided to press his expansive mood.  “I’m still not over you asking for help with the clothing thing. What’s up with that?”

Loki sighed. “Apparently those in my immediate vicinity have opinions about my appearance.”

“Oh?”

“In the past week I’ve been called Dracula, Johnny Cash, Icadbod Crane, Edward Scissorhands and a visigoth.”

“I think that was just ‘goth’”

“Be that as it may. And I do not like or understand Midgardian clothes. Why are so many things made of plastic?” He wrinkled his nose.

“That’s a college lecture with a Ted Talk chaser. But it sounds like you need some colors and fewer synthetics. Shouldn’t be a problem. Also, it’s cooling off. You’re gonna need a real coat and some layers soon anyway.”

Loki:

The spider brought him first to an unadorned shop in little Italy. Outside, a neon script sign -- probably from the 60’s or so -- read Russo’s Furriers, but ‘Furriers’ was now dark, and underneath was a contemporary light box addition that read “Fine Wool and Leather Goods”. 

Inside it was clear she intended to cover the acquisition of a winter coat first. The store was jam packed with racks of various leather and long wool greatcoats. The place was bare bones, with zero wasted space and zero decor or ornamentation.

He followed her lead and began flipping through a rack of different jackets, and mimicking her in examining tags. What were the sizing conventions? The measurement units? In the instances where he didn’t materialize his own garments, they had been bespoke. A royal tailor taking he and Thor’s size and crafting the pieces to their -- or before that, to his adoptive mother’s -- specifications. The only time he’d tried something on unsure of its fit was in some game he and Thor made sneaking into the armory and playing in the Aesir’s royal battle garb.  What were they? Nine or ten?

He shook off the thought.

“So…” Romanov glanced over at him from deep in a row of moto jackets “Community service.  Do I get to hear a debrief?”

He swallowed and reigned in a small smile. “I was given an orientation and worked on an assignment.”

“Ok. Sure. So spill. What’d ya do? How was it?”

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose many details.”  If anyone thought for a minute he’d be recounting the whole mess with traffic, the rain, his stupid drink and stepping off the curb… just no. Especially not to the spider. He needed a summary out and quick… “It’s a legal matter. For a law firm. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize the case.”

Romanov blinked at him. “Really.”

His look back was all puzzled innocence. Who would doubt him? “Really. I signed a DNA and everything.”

“That’s an NDA.”

“Excellent. Yes, then you’re familiar.”

“You had to enter into an agreement invoking attorney client privilege on your first day.”

She stared at him.

Loki stared back.

“Ok. Fair enough.” Nat shrugged. “What do you think of this one?”

“It’s black.” He stated flatly.

“That’s pretty common in men’s coats. No black at all?”

“None please.”

He thought he saw her eyebrow go up at the ‘please’, but chose to ignore it. His amusement with the game faded as, still looking over the tags, he tried to estimate what he could accomplish today without wiping out the month’s stipend. The coats would take a large chunk, but presumably some other garments would be less dear?  A thought struck him that this was his future. Measuring out his resources in this sort of humiliating tedium at the whim of Stark’s mercy and largesse. This realization settled like a cold hard rock in his middle.

Eventually they settled on a long toffee colored belted top coat of wool and a casual plain tobacco brown bomber. The disinterested woman ringing them up had frosted auburn hair piled up high on her head and highly decorated red and gold acrylic nails. Around her neck she wore a gold St. Christopher medal and a small cross. Just below her pendants was a small Soul Mark shaped like a cornicello, which she’d had a tattoo artist add a little chain to her throat to make it blend in with her other jewelry. So far Loki had not spotted a Mark so discrete before. He glanced away before she noticed, finding it strange that other’s Marks kept calling themselves to his attention. 

Leaving, he was satisfied with the two items, but the spider informed him they would do better at places that offered used clothing.

“As opposed to where we just were? What was that?”

She shrugged. “Probably stuff that fell off the back of a truck. You won’t find anything like that cheaper.”

Oh.

So he was reduced to used and fenced garments.

He followed her brisk clip towards the subway thinking about Murdock in his tidy button down with a silk tie, and Nelson, in a full suit. These were professional men with their own offices, dressed appropriately for their work… He’d shown up in a t-shirt. And now he learned his options to improve that were someone else’s cast offs.

Natasha:

Sitting on the subway, Nat people-watched and studied Loki in the opposite window’s reflection. Somewhere in the coat shop the more playful mood that had begun over Cuban food had evaporated.  “Ok. Not talking about community service legal details. But was it ok? Did you like it?”

He shifted in the drab hoodie he’d picked up somewhere. “I think I shall. It is not what I expected. And it’s very early.” He frowned, eyes lazily inventorying the train car, assessing the other passengers.

“But you can’t talk about it.”

“No.”

“Not even orientation?”

He shifted and sighed giving her a sour look like she was a pestering little sister. “I’m to record news stories in various languages. And other items as requested. Are you fascinated?” He snipped.

“Fine. Clothes then. You’re doing a shift from your usual routine. Have you thought about how you want to present?”

“Ordinary.” He said automatically.

On the outside her face remained mild and neutral. “That’s a plot twist. Wanna expand on that?”

“Ordinary. I wish to blend in. To not draw attention to myself. To be normal.”

She nodded. “Yeah, but in New York ‘normal’ can cover a lot of territory.” She ventured with a small smile. She tipped her head at the subway car that included a group of orthodox Jews, two women in hijab, a hipster guy dressed basically like a lumberjack and some boys in voluminous baggy pants and sports jerseys.

He scowled at her and stiffened. “Please do not pretend you don’t understand my meaning.” He hissed, before swallowing his next words and slumping back in the subway seat with a sigh. “This is… All of this is… difficult.”

“Ok. Yeah. Are we still talking about clothes?”

He sighed. “No. Yes, but no.” Loki looked at the gym hoodie he had on. “This isn’t even mine. It’s… It doesn’t matter. I am trying to do as we agreed. I am trying.  And…  I don’t deserve even to balk at used clothing -- but has Stark ever worn such?”

Nat twisted her mouth. “Possibly in Afghanistan?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Touche.”

“Do you know what vintage means?”

“Like wine?”

Nat pulled out her phone and tapped. “Here. This is a band shirt from the 1980’s. Some guy in Williamsburg just paid $300 for it. Probably cost $10 bucks at the original show.”

Loki frowned at the tiny image of a Def Leppard shirt.

“And here.” She tapped some more. “These are the most popular Levi’s right now. Three times what new ones cost.  Look around the train. No one looks the same. Everyone here is normal and ordinary.”

The Jotunn lowered his voice. “I will never understand Midgard. And I cannot protect myself with magic here -- If you continue to point out the social cues I have no context for reading, I will go back to the apartment.”

Nat sighed watching him hunch deeper into the hoodie. “Let’s not do that. We’re going to stop at one more place. And, how’s this? We’re gonna get a genuine Midgardian opinion on dressing you. No history. No backstory. You game?”

Loki:

“I am surprised you don’t demand that I build my alias. Grill me on who this Leif Bowers is. Isn’t that what a spy does?”

Nat grimaced uncharacteristically. “You’ve got plenty of time to develop Leif. And I think I’m done playing twenty questions today.  One more place?”

He was already out and about.

And as prickly and strange as he felt, it was at least no worse than the morning of his orientation, or the first night in the apartment when Jarvis paid its visit. And faced with the choice between another shop with a spider who knew he was hitting his limit of patience and returning to Nelson and Murdock in more of the clothing sold in three pack plastic bags… Loki took a long sniff of the pleasant smell of the hoodie --would the lawyers notice if he kept it?--  and straightened, chin up and jaw set. “Yes. At least one more place.”

Exiting the subway on a high street of the lower east side, Natasha led the way deeper into the neighborhood at a quick pace. When they were held up by a train of kindergarteners flanked on either end by two teachers herding them towards a fenced park, Loki paused, looking into an apothecary with a gold gilt window full of expensive toiletries. Behind him, reflected in the glass, two elderly men hugged one another, kissing in a quick, but comfortably familiar way before one of them hurried off towards a waiting car. The window display seemed hollow compared to the warmth of such a quaint scene.

“You coming?” Nat asked, from the cleared wake of the children.

He trotted after her.

A few streets down, they found a small shop with a picture window crowded with a colorful rack of mismatched clothes and a chalkboard sandwich sign outfront with slogans about ‘reduce, reuse, recycle’.

Inside, the first thing Loki noticed was a row of black trash bags in front of the register.  The shop was tiny, and its perimeter was covered in wall racks, with the clothing organized by garment, length and then color to form an orderly spectrum. But the sales area was all mounded piles and plastic bags. Two workers were sorting and labeling while a third sat before an olive green sewing machine reattaching a patch pocket to a pair of jeans.

The tallest of the workers, a young Asian man wearing a white Beastie Boys t-shirt and whose forearms were covered in scarlet orange and sky blue bangle bracelets tilted his head at them as they entered. His black eyes slowly flicked up and down over Loki and then Nat, who he nodded to. “Browsing today, Red?”

“Mmm. Got a project. This.” She wafted a hand at Loki. “We need to shed a skin. Reinvent. And we’re feeling fragile about the budget.”

“Oh, Bunny. We’re all so fragile.” The young man nodded slow and somber, stepping delicately over a trash bag -- his feet shod in black leather platform boots -- to get a closer look at Loki. “Wants? Needs? Hard limits?”

That got a smirk from the spider, but she hid it quickly. Laufeyson shot her a confused and irritated look.

“No more black and natural fibers are preferred. Other than that, he’s a blank slate.”

“I’m right here.” Loki hissed at Nat.

“Red’s so annoying that way.” The clerk confided, showing no sign of humor or spite in the statement. “But I see you. Let me show you a few things.”

Loki swallowed and followed the man -- a boy really -- to the far wall where there was a full-length mirror and several racks of men’s shirts and pants.  “Look through those.” He pointed a short manicured nail the same color as his turquoise bangles to a group of shirts. “I’m going to see what trousers we have in your length.”

Loki glanced over to see Nat nosing through the items still being sorted at the register. The look of the young people working here, tattooed and calico, did nothing to reassure him that they could dress him, but the store was small and not crowded, so he didn’t feel harried or stared at. The woman sorting and the one sewing were all focused on their work…

Among the shirts, he found a simple cotton button down. Like Murdock had been wearing. Yes. To this he added a forest green v neck sweater. Glancing at the tags, the items were in the single digits. Feeling better, he flipped through more garments and found a pale blue shirt. It was long and slim, with arrow pockets, midnight blue piping on the collar and cuffs and pearl snaps down the front. He liked the pearls.

“A western shirt?” Nat asked, now at his elbow, her unreadable face giving no hint of judgment.

The clerk re-emerged from his excavation of a rack, arms full, and looked Nat in the eye, head tilted again, equally neutral and matter of fact. “Everyone loves a cowboy.”

The two stared at each other, as though in a contest to see who could out deadpan the other. Cat-like, Nat finally pretended something shiny caught her eye and went to explore a ceiling chain festooned with hand bags.

Loki decided he liked the clerk.

The young man returned his attention to Loki, studying his face, then his build. He shuffled through the pants he had over one arm, humming a little. “Do you read?”

“I love to read.” Loki’s brow furrowed.

“Same, Bunny, same. What do you love to read?” He began holding up different garments.

Loki doubted the boy would know many titles of non Midgardian literature. He decided to go with genres. “Poetry. Mysteries… Languages.”

“Mm. Combien de langues parles-tu?”

Loki gasped a little laugh. “Eh, sais pas… Trop pour compter."

By now the clerk had located a pair of trousers and plucked a cardigan out of another rack. He handed the cardigan to Loki and held the pants up in front of him before the mirror. “That, you could do with a white t-shirt.”

Natasha had drifted back over to look at the ensemble too. In the mirror, Loki could see the pants were a yellow-y dun with wide straight legs and cuffs and the cardigan was cream white, shawl collared and with two bands of navy stripes around the waist and wrists. 

“Very collegiate. Sort of twenties looking?” Nat murmured.

It was definitely softer looking than anything Loki had worn before.

The girl from the sewing machine had drifted over. “Oh, I want to see this on. Very nice.”

“It’ll need shoes. I was thinking kind of a Cecil Beaton’s Beauty Book, all the bright young things…”

Loki did not understand the young man’s references, but it sounded smart and attractive. Leif could be smart and attractive, right?  Also, ‘bright’ was the exact opposite of all the stupid names he’d been called lately. He flashed a vulpine smile at the seamstress. Yes. This would do.

The pocket-sized shop had a fitting room that was just a curtain cutting off the back corner of the room. He sniffed. Yes, the curtain was wide and heavy, but still. No door. No latch. Natasha and the other strangers’ voices right there in the same room. They could see his feet beneath it.

Whatever. He’d been disrobed in worse, either by choice or misadventure. Dragging the curtain shut, he toe-ed off his shoes and started with the trousers.

They were a decent fit. Good. That done, he turned to the shirts and began reluctantly shucking off the hoodie.

Right arm out, he glanced at his wrist, ever aware of the bracelet and remembering the odd bruising.

He stared.

He swallowed and stared some more.

“Everything OK in there?” Nat’s voice.

“How are the pants? I liked those.” The seamstress.

Somehow he managed to take a breath. He coughed and cleared his throat. “The pants fit.”

“You gonna show us?”

He heard a wolf whistle from outside. 

“I’m, ah, still trying on the shirts...” He managed, still staring at his arm.  Looking down, he realized the half shed hoodie was dangling to the floor off his left arm. That might look strange under the curtain.  He yanked it off and fumbled it over a hook before his mouth went completely dry seeing his left arm…

There were no bruises.

Blackwork had appeared on both of his arms: On his right was the outline of a dagger. It ran from his inner elbow with the hilt down to its point appearing among the fork of sea green veins in his wrist. Muddy bruise-like clouds were gradually filling in the outline, like watercolor meeting resist, in a process too slow for him to perceive its development.  On his left wrist, also on the delicate inside, about four inches tall, was a thin line drawing of a human heart.

Loki closed his eyes and tried to draw breath. The very air felt cold around him, like too high an altitude. His hands felt numb and his chest like it was full of heavy rocks he couldn’t expand his lungs around.

All the blood had drained from his face and he felt a bolt-like stabbing with each beat of his heart.

How...

Here...

It was not possible.

“You do know the mirror is out here, right?” Nat’s voice again.

He shoved the panic down into the smallest box he could find and stepped on the lid. Trembling, he plastered on a disdainful smile to help keep his voice even. “I’m aware.” He called.

This could not be happening, and yet.

No.

Loki could handle this. It was a part, like any other. He was the irritated fish out of water. He was the unwilling project and reluctant friend of Natasha Romanov who was most likely spying and reporting on him.  Doors slammed shut in his head and Loki, the real LOKI, Master of Illusion and Disguise donned his golden horns and swiftly grabbed the helm.

Instantly he slipped into the cardigan, fastened the front, and stepped back into his shoes. Flipping back the curtain, he stepped out, chin up, and eyes narrowed in a perfect facsimile of appraising himself in the mirror.

It worked.

The shop girls smiled and made comments about looking like a vintage preppy or an extra in the Great Gatsby, whatever that meant. But their voices told Loki the effect his dresser wanted was achieved.

The young man mirrored Loki’s stare in the glass.  Then, holding a hand up --presumably to shield his eyes from Loki’s feet-- he hurried to a far shelf. “It still needs shoes…”

Despite his fugue state, Loki maintained the confidence act through settling up at the thrift shop. Two coats, three shirts, a pair of pants, a cardigan and some chestnut spectators. He didn’t know the cost, but he would look clean cut and presentable for community service. The rest of the details dropped out of his head: the subway home, the blather he parroted to Romanov about the outfit and his impression of the young store clerks.

Until finally, finally. He was back to the apartment, his back against the locked door, where the first thing he did was lift up his sleeve and pull back the shackle until he could see the black dagger tip poking out on his wrist.

Another wave of cold panic and disbelief jolted through him so hard and fast it was like he could feel the brain chemicals waft swift and icy down his spine.

Norns be merciful…

He’d half expected it to be gone.

But rushing to the bathroom, he ripped off the hoodie, leaving it balled up in the sink and stared down at his arms.

Both arms.

The heart was filled out and shaded with robust detail now.  The dagger’s edges were more distinct -- definitely one of his daggers -- but the clouds inside it still hadn’t fully resolved. Shaking, he ran the pads of his fingers over both of them and double checked that they, like him, had a reflection in the mirror. That was always a good all purpose test for illusion and magical chicanery.

Beyond how was this possible, the other thought that dropped empty and hard into the Jotunn’s middle, was why now ?

Why, by the Norns, would this appear when he was a cast off, a convicted criminal and worst of all, sworn to maintain anonymity? If he dared be open and seek the person, could he reveal himself to them? By the Kree and Counsel’s agreement, no, he could not. But even if he fucked off and did so anyway, who in their right mind wouldn’t reject him in his current disgraced state?

He swallowed and began counting deep breaths, ramming his eyes shut and trying and failing not to inventory everyone he could remember coming across the day before. Daniel the tiger cat and Gajan. A man who was looking at his phone and not watching, that bumped him on the sidewalk. So many people in the crowded subway and those idiot pickpockets. The clerk where he got coffee. The cyclist. 

Nelson.

Murdock.

A few more breaths and he was able to be more analytical. He stalked to the kitchen and began making tea to have a task to do.

Right. He could rule out the cat and child, of course. Also Murdock, easy. And then there was the more glaringly obvious issue: He was on Midgard. How was there another Jotunn here?  Or was there? Why a human heart?

If only there was someone he could ask or talk to.

He dashed his mug, splintering, to the kitchen floor at the very thought.

If the spider knew, she would tell his brother.  

No. No. No. No one must know until he figured this out... No one must know because it was not possible and clearly did not happen... It was a joke. 

A joke.

Of course! Yes! Something of Stark’s with his horrible magic shackle and counterfeit soul that did his spying and bidding had produced this! That was it. Yes. How much worse could the man’s revenge on him be? And this made so much more sense than the thought that after all this time, in this most improbable of places, the Norns would Mark him!

His certainty lasted only a moment.

Who was he kidding?

Both theories were equally probable.

And bound and permanently glamoured as he was, would he even recognize another Jotunn in disguise?

Still. His were not a people known for their gregarious and social natures. They did not travel and explore other planets readily. And it was a human heart. The likelihood--?

No. It was a joke of Stark’s. Perhaps speaking to his awful phantom inspired it.

Loki looked at the mess on his stained floor and scrubbed hot angry tears off his face.

Something in him was quaking and he could not stop it… His hands shook, and he staggered back into the bedroom.

In his mind’s eye he flashed on walls. Empty walls of different cells in solitary confinement.  On how he would not think of his brother. His mother. He had blocked it all – he had to.  There were no words or conscious thoughts on doing this. 

To consider the isolation, the loneliness…

In his confinement, his mind had done the only thing it could. It retreated. Slowed to a sloth’s pace of considered wary instinct. To do otherwise was madness. A pain too hot to touch.

And now…

He couldn’t stop the dam from breaking. The thoughts and feelings flooding, flashing, crowding in at once.

More cruel than solitary, Natasha (duplicitous or not) was kind to him. Barnes. Hector. They were chipping away at him with small human gestures of compassion and hope. Things anyone would do. Any feeling human at least.

But Loki was not human.

He was a Frost Giant.

Or was he?

His knees buckled and he sat hard on the edge of the bed, hugging himself fiercely against the suppressed sobs that started to knife through him with an animal grief he couldn’t control.

They had chipped away at his glacier, and then that foolish Nelson… Arms whipping him out of harm’s way. The sensation of a solid warm body against his back, catching him before he fell… That… that…

In that was a longing… 

Unspeakable.

A bottomless ache for things he was now far too sullied to deserve.

He dared not look at his arms. Perhaps this was Stark’s mischief, but if so the damned engineer was just a tool.

No. This was his fate, and the Norn’s vengeance on him was perfect and complete.

Banished, broken and irredeemable, they decided to now Mark him with what he could never have.

Chapter Text

6:00 am that same morning…

Foggy:

It wasn’t even quite light yet.

Foggy rubbed an eye with his knuckles and reluctantly slid away from the warm lump that was Marci burrowed under his covers.  She smelled sweet, like rum, cherry body wash and stale sugary hairspray.

He padded to the dark bathroom and quietly pushed the door shut before sleepily stepping up to the plate.

It wasn’t until he was washing his hands that his groggy brain told him something looked… …different. 

He blinked in the dim light, confused, and rubbed at his wrist.

Both wrists.

What had he gotten into? Had a pen exploded? It wasn’t coming off…

Wait.

What.

He slapped on the overhead light so fast and hard, he heard a startled thump from the bedroom.

The flood of fluorescents didn’t chase away the dark shapes he thought he saw on his forearms though. It threw them in stark detail.

Marks.

On him. On both his arms.

Foggy put a hand over his open mouth, then immediately drew it down as though the Marks would smudge off on his face. He stared, his heart pounding in his ears.

Him?

Mr. Regular Guy?

He hiccuped in disbelief, then rubbed at them some more.

His second hiccup sounded a bit more hysterical. He forced a deep breath.

No one in his family had gotten Soul Marks. Not his father or mother or siblings. And no one but no one could tell them that they didn’t love each other, or that his parents weren’t tried and true Soul Mates.  He was the son of a butcher. He put himself through law school, the first of his family with a college education… The Nelsons didn’t have things handed to them. They weren’t part of any fairy tale.

Except there was this.

Feeling stupid for doing so, but equally unable to stop, he pinched himself to make sure it wasn’t a dream. A mean dream in really bad taste. He was a little prone to those.

Nope. The skin on his right arm flushed red, then pink, then freckled flesh again beside the blackwork Mark.

He gasped a laugh and opened the bathroom door…

“Ew, crap. Gross.”

“Marci! It’s a Soul Mark , not an STD!”

“Yeah, ok Foggy Bear I know. Okay… just wow… Who is it?”

“I don’t know!”

“Well, think about it.  Who’s new that you pawed yesterday?”

“Marci, I went to a hiring mixer for paralegals at breakfast followed by a first meeting with the guys I was assigned as public defense attorney. I shook hands with probably thirty people!”

“Ok... So we know they’re either in your field or probably an ex-con?”

“You’re not helping!!”

“Shit. Does this mean we’re off for Saturday night?”

“YES!”

Foggy sat down in his boxers on the closed toilet, staring and alternately running either hand over each Mark. He frowned, feeling his brow furrow in thought even as butterflies continued to explode in his stomach and chest. He had no words for what he was feeling.

“I get the heart. But a knife? That’s ominous – you don’t think…?” She trailed off.

No. Foggy didn’t think it pointed to one of his new defendants. Or he hoped it didn’t. Sweet Jesus. What the hell did he know? But another impossible candidate had just popped in his head.

“I think…”

“What?”

He looked up at Marci and shook his head. “I don’t know. Nothing. I just don’t know.”

“And both arms, huh?” Marci came over, still wearing his t-shirt and rubbed his bare freckled back while she considered the Marks. “That’s serious business if you buy into all the woo-woo symbolism people talk about.” She leaned over and pecked Foggy’s cheek.

“What was that for?”

“Congratulations.  Also, if I’m losing my bed buddy, I guess at least I have a fun mystery to figure out, right? Hand me that pen – Let’s go through the guest list at that mixer.  Oh, and by the way, am I losing my bed buddy ?”

“YES!”

“Ok, ok. I just wanted to be clear.”

END OF PART 1