Eighth Thor / Being Human Crossover: Chapter Fifty-One
Notes: Back to the rest of the gang! Those of you who watch Being Human will be aware that I'm both simplifying Ivan and Daisy's relationship, and skating over some of Daisy's appetites. I plead "this story is complicated enough already." Those two are a terrific couple, and by "terrific" I mean "devoted, complicated, murderous, and very scary." I've always been sorry we didn't get to see more of them in canon.
Obviously this story takes place in a universe in which Thor: The Dark World hasn't happened, but there was one moment I really liked from that movie, so I've stolen it for inclusion in this universe. You'll know it when you see it.
I know my posting cycle has slowed down considerably on this story. Part of the reason is that I no longer live in a rented apartment, and it turns out you really do take more interest in housework when it's your own place. Who knew? And because it's the first summer in the new place there are a number of things I've needed to get done or organized. I'm still writing, just going a little slower these days.
Chapter Fifty-One
One thing-- the main thing-- that had always made Mitchell seem very different from every other vampire George had encountered was his capacity for friendship. Ordinarily, it seemed, that was one of the first things lost in the transition from human to vampire, which naturally made sense when you considered who they preyed upon. They didn't even seem to be all that fond of one another, most of the time, which also made sense for solitary predators. George himself thought that sounded terribly lonely and depressing, but then again as a werewolf he supposed there was something in him that wanted the cooperation and security of some kind of pack structure.
Mind you, even so-called solitary predators weren't necessarily solitary all the time. George and Loki had recently been fascinated by a television documentary about great white sharks and the scientists who tagged and studied them in a hunting ground off the coast of California. One of the most interesting pieces of information they'd learned was that, in some cases, particular sharks routinely traveled and hunted together. The scientists had explained that it would be anthropomorphic to call the animals "friends," and instead referred to them as "preferred associates."
(Loki hadn't liked that at all. George recalled him protesting that surely many species were capable of ties of affection and friendship. It didn't take a genius to realize Loki was thinking about his own ambiguous-or-possibly-dual species, so George had merely pointed out that the scientists didn't know very much about the emotional lives of sharks, and the sharks weren't telling. Loki had ended the conversation with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, defiantly mumbling that cats had friends. George, looking at Elizabeth and Philip rolled up in a chair together like a pair of socks, hadn't argued.)
Bringing his wandering mind back to the point, George reflected that "preferred associates" was a pretty good term for most of the relationships he'd personally seen among vampires. Certain vampires did spend time in each other's company, but George had always gotten the impression they were mostly hunting companions. He'd never seen much sign of them caring for each other.
He'd asked Mitchell about it once and had gotten an ambiguous response that made him think vampires like Mitchell were uncommon mostly because they tended to get killed off for their weakness. Which would probably have happened to Mitchell as well, if he hadn't thrown in with Herrick in the beginning.
Which was definitely not something Mitchell would thank him for mentioning.
The point to all of this, however, was that George was starting to think Ivan and Daisy were strangely, uncomfortably, like Mitchell, at least in that one way: their attachment to each other was much more than hunting companions and clearly not just sex. It was reminiscent of the way Mitchell cared about his own friends, and for some reason that felt unsettling to George. He supposed he compartmentalized vampires in his mind-- there was Mitchell, and then there were all those other arseholes-- and he wasn't happy about having to rearrange his categories, especially about one of these Old Ones.
He suspected he was uncomfortable at least partly because he knew there was a very good chance that if it came to a fight, his side was going to have to kill a lot of vampires. And knowing Mitchell wasn't unique among them-- knowing there were other vampires, probably also on the other side, who were capable of affection and... recognizable feelings-- suddenly changed the complexion of the situation. It was easier when you could think of Mitchell as unique, and all other vampires as soulless monsters.
Which, George suddenly realized, was probably exactly what Loki had been thinking back when he turned the Bifrost on Jotunheim.
"You're very quiet," Mitchell commented from the driving seat. George glanced at him and shrugged uncomfortably.
"Just thinking," he said. Mitchell cast him a sideways glance and didn't ask what about.
"This is madness," Daisy murmured from the back seat.
"Probably," Mitchell agreed, and George went back to looking out the window.
Deciding who would go back to the airport hotel and fetch Daisy and Geoff had reminded George of the riddle about the fox, the goose, and the bag of wheat being rowed across a river in a tiny boat: what configuration of those going and those staying would create the least danger of someone-- Clint-- getting eaten?
In the end, the witches seemed the best guarantee of Kyle and Campbell's good behaviour. Ivan was less of a problem because Ivan, as an Old One, had better control over his bloodlust-- he chose to indulge it quite regularly, but he wasn't at the mercy of his condition in the same way younger vampires were.
Younger vampires like Daisy, for instance, although using the word "mercy" in connection with Daisy seemed foolhardy. George had come along specifically to back up Mitchell, in the event Daisy got any bright ideas about overpowering him, stealing the car, and going on the lam with Ivan. Ivan appeared to have a pretty solid grasp of political reality, but George thought that would mean very little if it came up against his attachment to Daisy.
Geoff was of course a non-factor in the decision, and he probably knew it. In spite of his own personal reasons to carry a grudge against Geoff, George found himself feeling a little sorry for the vampire. He certainly had plenty of experience with the feeling of hanging around on the fringes, knowing you were eventually going to be targeted by someone bigger or tougher than you were. In George's case things hadn't even changed when he became a werewolf, because plenty of vampires (the arseholes) liked nothing better than to gang up on werewolves, and then make themselves scarce when the moon cycle was against them. He'd actually met Mitchell one night when a crowd of vampires attacked George and Mitchell ran them off.
Geoff had probably been a member of similar crowds, and George knew it-- probably in hopes that, if he was part of the crowd, he wouldn't become a target himself. It wasn't a choice George had ever made, but it was an understandable one.
Which, when you came to think of it, made Geoff's defiance of Wyndham and Doom even more surprising. It was one thing to disagree with the plan. It was quite another to actually try to do something about it, especially after Ivan disappeared and the dissenters seemed leaderless. It took a lot of guts for someone like Geoff to actually go looking for Ivan, alone, not knowing what he was going to find or what he might be up against.
George figured that was something he should keep in mind.
"And here we are," said Mitchell, inanely, as he pulled into a parking space across the street from Catherine Bennett's teashop. "Come on." Daisy needed no second invitation, and it was just as well her door opened onto the pavement instead of the street, because she was in no condition to check for traffic and might have bolted right into the path of a car. Not that she'd have been injured, but George reckoned that, in Daisy's state of mind, an encounter with a human just now was apt to lead to a lot of complications-- up to and including heinous murder in the middle of the street.
Mitchell got out of the car in time to intercept Daisy, saying firmly,
"Daisy. Don't let the others see you're anxious. It'll only make things more dangerous."
"Do you think I care about danger?" Daisy hissed, turning her head to fix Mitchell with a look that probably held her prey paralyzed in their tracks.
Mitchell, not being prey, was unmoved. "I think you care about increasing the danger to Ivan, yes," he replied. "And you know what could happen if it looks like he's weak-- the others won't follow him and then you're right back where you started." Daisy cast him a look of thwarted rage-- or maybe just hatred-- but she must have seen the sense in his words because she visibly took hold of herself. Mitchell nodded and led the way across the street to the teashop.
When they entered the shop they spotted Ivan almost immediately, sitting at one of the larger tables in the corner with the two other vampires, Clint, and the witches. There was a teapot in the middle of the table and cups and plates sitting in front of each of them. Apparently instead of casting a spell on the vampires to ensure their good behaviour, Catherine had brought out the heavy artillery in the form of baked goods.
Ivan, spotting his own personal cinnamon bun as she entered the shop, rose to his feet and extended a hand. Daisy immediately ran into his arms and kissed him in a way that made most of the others feel like they should look away-- which was probably why Clint didn't. Catherine, without comment, fetched a teacup for Daisy, but an extra chair turned out to be unnecessary.
George had to hand it to Daisy: if she was scared by the situation she didn't let it show. In fact she was the very picture of Crazy Daisy: mad, bad, dangerous to know, and absolutely electric with sex. Next to her Ivan looked more languid than ever, but subtly more in control of the situation than he had a moment ago. It occurred to George that Daisy was both Ivan's consort and his first lieutenant, and the Old One probably only felt truly like himself when she was nearby.
Oh God, they're exactly like Tony and Pepper, only with more murdering.
Snapping himself back to the present, George forced himself to listen to Ivan's (deliberately?) aggravating drawl as he reviewed his take on the situation.
"I've already said I can't stand up to Mr. Snow," Ivan said, the admission sounding like a statement of fact rather than a confession of weakness. Apparently something showed on George's face, because Ivan glanced at him and explained, "It's a question of relative power. A twelve-gun sloop couldn't take on the Victory-- " a disorienting little reminder that Ivan personally remembered the Napoleonic Wars-- "and I would just bounce off Mr. Snow. In fact, I don't think I could stand up to Wyndham directly, either." He turned his head slightly, acknowledged Clint, and went on, "So we're going to leave him in the hands of your archer."
"I'll work something out," Clint shrugged, and Daisy flashed him a particularly appreciative smile. Clint didn't seem to notice it, but if Natasha had been here she might have raised an eyebrow.
Ivan probably saw the smile, but was apparently not bothered. He went on, "Our best chance of neutralizing the threat from the Old Ones is to keep them from coming here at all."
"Agreed," said Mitchell. "I hope you have an idea how to make that happen."
"Catch them in transit," Clint offered.
"Disrupt their support system," Ivan said, then turned to Clint quite courteously and said, "I know your agency is very good at what they do, but-- so are the Old Ones. And yours wouldn't be the first organization that's tried to hunt us down." Daisy uttered a small amused noise that suggested the probable fate of those hunters.
George briefly, and possibly hysterically, wondered whether watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer with Daisy would be as funny as watching old Dracula films with Mitchell.
"Talk to us about disrupting their support system," Clint suggested, ignoring Daisy's wordless commentary.
Ivan shrugged. "I may have said this before, but it's worth repeating: vampires-- we-- are opportunistic predators. If the risk is too high, we won't pursue an attack."
"Like sharks," George blurted.
Ivan appeared unoffended-- and really, from his point of view it was probably a compliment. He looked amused as he said,
"Wyndham has allies here, no question. And he's using them to organize a support network for the plan."
"Terrorizing himself a support network," Mitchell replied.
"If you will," Ivan shrugged. "The point is, if that network is undermined, the odds will no longer favour an easy win by the vampires. And if that happens, especially if the target is alert for trouble, the Old Ones will simply sheer off and go home."
"They'll just give up?" Clint fairly radiated skepticism.
"They'll wait for a more opportune moment to try again," Ivan explained. Clint's expression made his disbelief clear. Ivan smiled, an amused and almost warm smile. "Mr. Snow is three thousand years old. He's learned to be patient. And he won't hesitate to leave Wyndham holding the baby."
Clint sat back, blinking. George sympathized: you could hardly blame a human for not truly comprehending vampire lifespans. Ivan turned back to the rest of the group, particularly the vampires, and went on,
"If I understand correctly, things more or less fell apart after I disappeared. Correct?"
"Yes," Geoff spoke up, although the question was more properly addressed to Kyle and Campbell. "We didn't have a leader anymore, so the community scattered." Which was when Geoff, George noted, went out looking for Ivan.
"And the ones who'd willingly followed Herrick, Gareth and them, started trying to round everyone else up and pressure us to go along with Wyndham's plans," Kyle added.
"Who's Wyndham's contact here?" Mitchell asked.
"I heard Seth is back," Kyle replied. Mitchell made a face. Seth wasn't the smartest vampire in the bunch, but he'd been devoted to Herrick and his grand plans, and he was as ruthless as only someone with no imagination could be.
"Very well," Ivan said thoughtfully. "Well, Wyndham isn't here. But I am. So I should be able to... remind a lot of people that they don't really want to pick a fight with the Avengers. Or-- in the absence of Doom and Wyndham-- me." He looked around at the others. "I'll talk to our people. If necessary, I might do more than talk. And the lot of you can get the word out as well, that I'm back and as far as I'm concerned the position is unchanged. Right?" Ivan's voice and eyes had gone suddenly hard, and-- except for Daisy-- the other vampires all lowered their gazes, apparently involuntarily. Even Mitchell instinctively responded to Ivan's sudden assertion of dominance.
At this point Catherine and Agnes Scott exchanged a glance, and then Catherine leaned forward.
"We can probably help you with this," she said. All the vampires looked at her, which most people would have found unsettling. Catherine, on the other hand, didn't seem bothered-- which might have had something to do with the fact she was more than four hundred years old. So far as George knew, witches got more powerful with age, same as vampires, and between the two of them Catherine and Agnes had at least a thousand years of power and experience. George supposed he would be unflustered as well, if that was the case.
"Help us? How?" Ivan asked, while Daisy's lip curled in apparent scorn at the idea of needing help from-- non-vampires? Witches? An apparently-middle-aged woman? Ivan, meanwhile, looked interested.
"There are spells of protection we can employ," Catherine explained. "Not, perhaps, as powerful or long-lasting as the rhinoceros spell-- " Ivan looked distinctly amused at the reminder-- "but strong enough at least to protect you from others of your kind, and perhaps to defend you from Doom."
"Perhaps?" Mitchell asked.
Catherine made a palms-up gesture. "I've never attempted to take on Doom, so I can make no guarantees. But we can offer a degree of protection."
"It will involve laying a spell on some object-- like a wristwatch-- to turn it into an amulet," Agnes explained.
Mitchell, possibly remembering the mobile phone app that had opened a portal, looked thoughtful. "Right, then. Let's not waste any time."
~oOo~
"I'm sure we'll be all right," Jane protested, probably thinking more of the work she had to do than the risk of another attack. Thor, wearing a stubborn expression Loki knew very well and Jane probably should have recognized, insisted,
"If Dr. Doom has chosen you as a target, you will not truly be safe until he is dealt with." And then his expression softened. "Please, Jane, say you will come with us. For me." Loki found himself wondering how he could have believed for so long that he was himself the only manipulative member of their family.
"Manipulation" was of course an unfair term. Tactically, Loki thought, his brother could not have handled the matter any better. Even Loki knew Jane well enough to suspect she would not respond well to efforts at coercion, but such a heartfelt plea--
Jane's resistance visibly wavered, and then collapsed. "Oh, all right," she muttered.
"Great," said Darcy, who sensibly had no objection whatsoever to being protected from the supervillainous attentions of Dr. Doom. "Where are we going?"
"We shall all return to the helicarrier," Thor explained. "War Machine and the Falcon-- " he gestured toward the man Loki had been thinking of as the angel-- "have agreed to join us, and so we must make haste."
"Where is the helicarrier?" Jane asked, perking up somewhat at the prospect of getting to see the giant vessel close-up.
"We left it in Scotland," Thor replied.
Jane's eyes widened. "And how are we going to-- ?" she began. Thor gave her one of his best smiles, the smile that had for centuries convinced his friends and his brother to join him in whatever scheme or adventure he had in mind, and swept her into his arms in a very good approximation of the cover of a romance novel.
"Like this," he replied, and looked upward. "Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!"
Evidently, Heimdall was waiting for just such a call-- which, since he must have delivered Thor and Tony to the battle in the first place, was not too surprising.
Well. Not surprising to Loki. As they were enveloped in light, Darcy's startled shriek was cut off--
-- and completed as they landed in Heimdall's Observatory. She was clinging to the arm of the angel-- the Falcon-- with one hand and to Loki with the other. The look on her face made Loki count himself lucky she managed to retain possession of her most recent meal.
"What the hell?" Darcy squeaked.
"I was about to say the same thing," agreed the angel, who also looked quite nauseated.
"Can we do that again?" requested Jane, whose eyes were shining like a woman who had just relived all the best Christmases of her childhood at once.
"As you wish," Thor cheerfully replied, which was certainly deliberate, and turned to Heimdall. "We need to return to the rest of the Avengers."
Heimdall nodded. Darcy screamed in advance, and Jane uttered what was manifestly a shriek of glee as the Bifrost engaged once again.
A moment later, they were standing on the deck of the helicarrier.
"Thanks for the ride in your Great Glass Elevator, Thor, but let's not do that again any time soon," Darcy, by now clinging with both hands to the Falcon's left arm, said as they both stumbled away from the landing point. Pepper, still the picture of unruffled calm, stepped forward to take charge of her, Jane being quite clearly too excited to pay proper attention to her disoriented friend.
In the meantime, Tony addressed Coulson, emerging onto the landing pad, with a cheerful, "Honey, we're home," and then asked, "Where's the Quinjet?"
"About forty minutes out," was the reply. "They got away without any trouble." Coulson smiled one of his cool greetings toward Jane, Pepper, and Darcy, then turned back to Tony. "I assume you brought them along to prevent a repeat performance by Doom?"
"Exactly," Tony agreed. "I thought we could stash them in the VIP quarters until it's safe." He jerked an armoured thumb at Loki. "And he should probably lie down for a while."
"I do not need to lie down!" Loki protested, drawing himself up and trying very hard not to wobble.
"Oh really? I understand you put on quite a performance," Coulson said dryly, and Loki deflated.
"Well, at least he wasn't a duck," Tony said quickly.
"No," Coulson agreed. "I'm sure he'll look much more impressive on the evening news this time."
"The news?" Loki asked weakly.
"You do know that even people who live way the hell out in the desert have cell phones with cameras on them, right?" Coulson inquired. "That little escapade is all over the Internet even as we speak."
"Oh," Loki muttered. "What does... is Director Fury very angry?"
Coulson shrugged. "He'd probably have been a lot angrier if you hadn't done whatever was necessary to protect civilians. No smart remarks, any of you. And now that people know you can turn into a dragon they're going to expect it. Keep that in mind for the next time something big threatens New York or someplace. Now, off you go. There's a crew member ready to escort you. Loki, we'll send someone to call you in an hour or so, unless something drastic happens before that. I'm serious, get some rest. I'll make sure Annie knows where you are, and that somebody brings you your cats."
"Very well," Loki grumbled, as though it was a favour to Agent Coulson-- who was not deceived but kindly pretended to be. Coulson gestured to a crew member, and Loki and the women followed him to the guest quarters.
~oOo~
Loki was not aware he was holding his breath until Annie took his hand. He told himself it was only the chill from the contact that pulled him back to reality.
"Helicarrier's up ahead," Natasha Romanov announced, in her calm flat voice, as if that was not the cause of Loki's shortness of breath in the first place. It suddenly made no difference that, the first time, being captured and taken to the helicarrier had been part of his ramshackle plan: finding himself once more restrained in the humans' aircraft, watching the huge airship draw closer, was still an intensely uncomfortable experience.
Frightening. All right, it was a frightening experience, and he was frightened. He hated the reminder of being under compulsion, on one level aware he was deliberately courting disaster and yet completely powerless to stop himself, able only to serve his purpose.
He hated the thought of the glass cell, where he could be studied like a specimen, mocked, dismissed. Yes, it was true he had only remained in that cell because it suited his own purposes... but now he was weak, and these Avengers had experience with magic. Suppose they had studied the magic of the other Loki, learned how to contain him...
Suppose, this time, he was confined in a cell from which he really could not escape? Was held there for the other Avengers, the other Thor, to capture and take away, back to the cell and the chains?
Across the aircraft, Natasha Romanov spoke again:
"Annie and Loki, when we land I'll escort you directly to the rooms you'll be staying in. We sometimes transport important guests on the helicarrier, and you're going to stay in those quarters. I'll warn you both right now that you won't have complete freedom of movement on the helicarrier because neither of you is officially part of the crew, but you'll be able to move around on the deck you're assigned to. Okay?" She did not acknowledge the fact Annie, at least, would only be contained for as long as she chose to comply, and Annie did not bring it up. Loki, too, chose not to mention that when his powers recovered he, too, would be difficult to contain. If she had forgotten this detail he did not need to remind her.
"Will the kittens be with us?" Annie asked, giving Loki's hand a little squeeze as she spoke.
"Sure, I can get someone to bring them to you. I think they're in the crew quarters right now." Natasha focused her attention on Loki. "It might for some reason be necessary for you to interact with the other Avengers, but we'll warn you beforehand, and at the moment we have no plans for that to happen. You'll just stay in the guest area while we figure out what to do about Doom. Does that sound all right to you?"
In spite of himself, Loki was beginning to believe such questions were asked in earnest, and so he nodded. And then, in case he left the impression he was too frightened to speak, he cleared his throat and said plainly,
"Yes, it is acceptable."
"Good," Natasha said, and Steve Rogers smiled at him with real warmth. Loki glanced uneasily away and pretended to be fascinated by the lights of the helicarrier growing larger as they approached.
Obviously this story takes place in a universe in which Thor: The Dark World hasn't happened, but there was one moment I really liked from that movie, so I've stolen it for inclusion in this universe. You'll know it when you see it.
I know my posting cycle has slowed down considerably on this story. Part of the reason is that I no longer live in a rented apartment, and it turns out you really do take more interest in housework when it's your own place. Who knew? And because it's the first summer in the new place there are a number of things I've needed to get done or organized. I'm still writing, just going a little slower these days.
Chapter Fifty-One
One thing-- the main thing-- that had always made Mitchell seem very different from every other vampire George had encountered was his capacity for friendship. Ordinarily, it seemed, that was one of the first things lost in the transition from human to vampire, which naturally made sense when you considered who they preyed upon. They didn't even seem to be all that fond of one another, most of the time, which also made sense for solitary predators. George himself thought that sounded terribly lonely and depressing, but then again as a werewolf he supposed there was something in him that wanted the cooperation and security of some kind of pack structure.
Mind you, even so-called solitary predators weren't necessarily solitary all the time. George and Loki had recently been fascinated by a television documentary about great white sharks and the scientists who tagged and studied them in a hunting ground off the coast of California. One of the most interesting pieces of information they'd learned was that, in some cases, particular sharks routinely traveled and hunted together. The scientists had explained that it would be anthropomorphic to call the animals "friends," and instead referred to them as "preferred associates."
(Loki hadn't liked that at all. George recalled him protesting that surely many species were capable of ties of affection and friendship. It didn't take a genius to realize Loki was thinking about his own ambiguous-or-possibly-dual species, so George had merely pointed out that the scientists didn't know very much about the emotional lives of sharks, and the sharks weren't telling. Loki had ended the conversation with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, defiantly mumbling that cats had friends. George, looking at Elizabeth and Philip rolled up in a chair together like a pair of socks, hadn't argued.)
Bringing his wandering mind back to the point, George reflected that "preferred associates" was a pretty good term for most of the relationships he'd personally seen among vampires. Certain vampires did spend time in each other's company, but George had always gotten the impression they were mostly hunting companions. He'd never seen much sign of them caring for each other.
He'd asked Mitchell about it once and had gotten an ambiguous response that made him think vampires like Mitchell were uncommon mostly because they tended to get killed off for their weakness. Which would probably have happened to Mitchell as well, if he hadn't thrown in with Herrick in the beginning.
Which was definitely not something Mitchell would thank him for mentioning.
The point to all of this, however, was that George was starting to think Ivan and Daisy were strangely, uncomfortably, like Mitchell, at least in that one way: their attachment to each other was much more than hunting companions and clearly not just sex. It was reminiscent of the way Mitchell cared about his own friends, and for some reason that felt unsettling to George. He supposed he compartmentalized vampires in his mind-- there was Mitchell, and then there were all those other arseholes-- and he wasn't happy about having to rearrange his categories, especially about one of these Old Ones.
He suspected he was uncomfortable at least partly because he knew there was a very good chance that if it came to a fight, his side was going to have to kill a lot of vampires. And knowing Mitchell wasn't unique among them-- knowing there were other vampires, probably also on the other side, who were capable of affection and... recognizable feelings-- suddenly changed the complexion of the situation. It was easier when you could think of Mitchell as unique, and all other vampires as soulless monsters.
Which, George suddenly realized, was probably exactly what Loki had been thinking back when he turned the Bifrost on Jotunheim.
"You're very quiet," Mitchell commented from the driving seat. George glanced at him and shrugged uncomfortably.
"Just thinking," he said. Mitchell cast him a sideways glance and didn't ask what about.
"This is madness," Daisy murmured from the back seat.
"Probably," Mitchell agreed, and George went back to looking out the window.
Deciding who would go back to the airport hotel and fetch Daisy and Geoff had reminded George of the riddle about the fox, the goose, and the bag of wheat being rowed across a river in a tiny boat: what configuration of those going and those staying would create the least danger of someone-- Clint-- getting eaten?
In the end, the witches seemed the best guarantee of Kyle and Campbell's good behaviour. Ivan was less of a problem because Ivan, as an Old One, had better control over his bloodlust-- he chose to indulge it quite regularly, but he wasn't at the mercy of his condition in the same way younger vampires were.
Younger vampires like Daisy, for instance, although using the word "mercy" in connection with Daisy seemed foolhardy. George had come along specifically to back up Mitchell, in the event Daisy got any bright ideas about overpowering him, stealing the car, and going on the lam with Ivan. Ivan appeared to have a pretty solid grasp of political reality, but George thought that would mean very little if it came up against his attachment to Daisy.
Geoff was of course a non-factor in the decision, and he probably knew it. In spite of his own personal reasons to carry a grudge against Geoff, George found himself feeling a little sorry for the vampire. He certainly had plenty of experience with the feeling of hanging around on the fringes, knowing you were eventually going to be targeted by someone bigger or tougher than you were. In George's case things hadn't even changed when he became a werewolf, because plenty of vampires (the arseholes) liked nothing better than to gang up on werewolves, and then make themselves scarce when the moon cycle was against them. He'd actually met Mitchell one night when a crowd of vampires attacked George and Mitchell ran them off.
Geoff had probably been a member of similar crowds, and George knew it-- probably in hopes that, if he was part of the crowd, he wouldn't become a target himself. It wasn't a choice George had ever made, but it was an understandable one.
Which, when you came to think of it, made Geoff's defiance of Wyndham and Doom even more surprising. It was one thing to disagree with the plan. It was quite another to actually try to do something about it, especially after Ivan disappeared and the dissenters seemed leaderless. It took a lot of guts for someone like Geoff to actually go looking for Ivan, alone, not knowing what he was going to find or what he might be up against.
George figured that was something he should keep in mind.
"And here we are," said Mitchell, inanely, as he pulled into a parking space across the street from Catherine Bennett's teashop. "Come on." Daisy needed no second invitation, and it was just as well her door opened onto the pavement instead of the street, because she was in no condition to check for traffic and might have bolted right into the path of a car. Not that she'd have been injured, but George reckoned that, in Daisy's state of mind, an encounter with a human just now was apt to lead to a lot of complications-- up to and including heinous murder in the middle of the street.
Mitchell got out of the car in time to intercept Daisy, saying firmly,
"Daisy. Don't let the others see you're anxious. It'll only make things more dangerous."
"Do you think I care about danger?" Daisy hissed, turning her head to fix Mitchell with a look that probably held her prey paralyzed in their tracks.
Mitchell, not being prey, was unmoved. "I think you care about increasing the danger to Ivan, yes," he replied. "And you know what could happen if it looks like he's weak-- the others won't follow him and then you're right back where you started." Daisy cast him a look of thwarted rage-- or maybe just hatred-- but she must have seen the sense in his words because she visibly took hold of herself. Mitchell nodded and led the way across the street to the teashop.
When they entered the shop they spotted Ivan almost immediately, sitting at one of the larger tables in the corner with the two other vampires, Clint, and the witches. There was a teapot in the middle of the table and cups and plates sitting in front of each of them. Apparently instead of casting a spell on the vampires to ensure their good behaviour, Catherine had brought out the heavy artillery in the form of baked goods.
Ivan, spotting his own personal cinnamon bun as she entered the shop, rose to his feet and extended a hand. Daisy immediately ran into his arms and kissed him in a way that made most of the others feel like they should look away-- which was probably why Clint didn't. Catherine, without comment, fetched a teacup for Daisy, but an extra chair turned out to be unnecessary.
George had to hand it to Daisy: if she was scared by the situation she didn't let it show. In fact she was the very picture of Crazy Daisy: mad, bad, dangerous to know, and absolutely electric with sex. Next to her Ivan looked more languid than ever, but subtly more in control of the situation than he had a moment ago. It occurred to George that Daisy was both Ivan's consort and his first lieutenant, and the Old One probably only felt truly like himself when she was nearby.
Oh God, they're exactly like Tony and Pepper, only with more murdering.
Snapping himself back to the present, George forced himself to listen to Ivan's (deliberately?) aggravating drawl as he reviewed his take on the situation.
"I've already said I can't stand up to Mr. Snow," Ivan said, the admission sounding like a statement of fact rather than a confession of weakness. Apparently something showed on George's face, because Ivan glanced at him and explained, "It's a question of relative power. A twelve-gun sloop couldn't take on the Victory-- " a disorienting little reminder that Ivan personally remembered the Napoleonic Wars-- "and I would just bounce off Mr. Snow. In fact, I don't think I could stand up to Wyndham directly, either." He turned his head slightly, acknowledged Clint, and went on, "So we're going to leave him in the hands of your archer."
"I'll work something out," Clint shrugged, and Daisy flashed him a particularly appreciative smile. Clint didn't seem to notice it, but if Natasha had been here she might have raised an eyebrow.
Ivan probably saw the smile, but was apparently not bothered. He went on, "Our best chance of neutralizing the threat from the Old Ones is to keep them from coming here at all."
"Agreed," said Mitchell. "I hope you have an idea how to make that happen."
"Catch them in transit," Clint offered.
"Disrupt their support system," Ivan said, then turned to Clint quite courteously and said, "I know your agency is very good at what they do, but-- so are the Old Ones. And yours wouldn't be the first organization that's tried to hunt us down." Daisy uttered a small amused noise that suggested the probable fate of those hunters.
George briefly, and possibly hysterically, wondered whether watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer with Daisy would be as funny as watching old Dracula films with Mitchell.
"Talk to us about disrupting their support system," Clint suggested, ignoring Daisy's wordless commentary.
Ivan shrugged. "I may have said this before, but it's worth repeating: vampires-- we-- are opportunistic predators. If the risk is too high, we won't pursue an attack."
"Like sharks," George blurted.
Ivan appeared unoffended-- and really, from his point of view it was probably a compliment. He looked amused as he said,
"Wyndham has allies here, no question. And he's using them to organize a support network for the plan."
"Terrorizing himself a support network," Mitchell replied.
"If you will," Ivan shrugged. "The point is, if that network is undermined, the odds will no longer favour an easy win by the vampires. And if that happens, especially if the target is alert for trouble, the Old Ones will simply sheer off and go home."
"They'll just give up?" Clint fairly radiated skepticism.
"They'll wait for a more opportune moment to try again," Ivan explained. Clint's expression made his disbelief clear. Ivan smiled, an amused and almost warm smile. "Mr. Snow is three thousand years old. He's learned to be patient. And he won't hesitate to leave Wyndham holding the baby."
Clint sat back, blinking. George sympathized: you could hardly blame a human for not truly comprehending vampire lifespans. Ivan turned back to the rest of the group, particularly the vampires, and went on,
"If I understand correctly, things more or less fell apart after I disappeared. Correct?"
"Yes," Geoff spoke up, although the question was more properly addressed to Kyle and Campbell. "We didn't have a leader anymore, so the community scattered." Which was when Geoff, George noted, went out looking for Ivan.
"And the ones who'd willingly followed Herrick, Gareth and them, started trying to round everyone else up and pressure us to go along with Wyndham's plans," Kyle added.
"Who's Wyndham's contact here?" Mitchell asked.
"I heard Seth is back," Kyle replied. Mitchell made a face. Seth wasn't the smartest vampire in the bunch, but he'd been devoted to Herrick and his grand plans, and he was as ruthless as only someone with no imagination could be.
"Very well," Ivan said thoughtfully. "Well, Wyndham isn't here. But I am. So I should be able to... remind a lot of people that they don't really want to pick a fight with the Avengers. Or-- in the absence of Doom and Wyndham-- me." He looked around at the others. "I'll talk to our people. If necessary, I might do more than talk. And the lot of you can get the word out as well, that I'm back and as far as I'm concerned the position is unchanged. Right?" Ivan's voice and eyes had gone suddenly hard, and-- except for Daisy-- the other vampires all lowered their gazes, apparently involuntarily. Even Mitchell instinctively responded to Ivan's sudden assertion of dominance.
At this point Catherine and Agnes Scott exchanged a glance, and then Catherine leaned forward.
"We can probably help you with this," she said. All the vampires looked at her, which most people would have found unsettling. Catherine, on the other hand, didn't seem bothered-- which might have had something to do with the fact she was more than four hundred years old. So far as George knew, witches got more powerful with age, same as vampires, and between the two of them Catherine and Agnes had at least a thousand years of power and experience. George supposed he would be unflustered as well, if that was the case.
"Help us? How?" Ivan asked, while Daisy's lip curled in apparent scorn at the idea of needing help from-- non-vampires? Witches? An apparently-middle-aged woman? Ivan, meanwhile, looked interested.
"There are spells of protection we can employ," Catherine explained. "Not, perhaps, as powerful or long-lasting as the rhinoceros spell-- " Ivan looked distinctly amused at the reminder-- "but strong enough at least to protect you from others of your kind, and perhaps to defend you from Doom."
"Perhaps?" Mitchell asked.
Catherine made a palms-up gesture. "I've never attempted to take on Doom, so I can make no guarantees. But we can offer a degree of protection."
"It will involve laying a spell on some object-- like a wristwatch-- to turn it into an amulet," Agnes explained.
Mitchell, possibly remembering the mobile phone app that had opened a portal, looked thoughtful. "Right, then. Let's not waste any time."
~oOo~
"I'm sure we'll be all right," Jane protested, probably thinking more of the work she had to do than the risk of another attack. Thor, wearing a stubborn expression Loki knew very well and Jane probably should have recognized, insisted,
"If Dr. Doom has chosen you as a target, you will not truly be safe until he is dealt with." And then his expression softened. "Please, Jane, say you will come with us. For me." Loki found himself wondering how he could have believed for so long that he was himself the only manipulative member of their family.
"Manipulation" was of course an unfair term. Tactically, Loki thought, his brother could not have handled the matter any better. Even Loki knew Jane well enough to suspect she would not respond well to efforts at coercion, but such a heartfelt plea--
Jane's resistance visibly wavered, and then collapsed. "Oh, all right," she muttered.
"Great," said Darcy, who sensibly had no objection whatsoever to being protected from the supervillainous attentions of Dr. Doom. "Where are we going?"
"We shall all return to the helicarrier," Thor explained. "War Machine and the Falcon-- " he gestured toward the man Loki had been thinking of as the angel-- "have agreed to join us, and so we must make haste."
"Where is the helicarrier?" Jane asked, perking up somewhat at the prospect of getting to see the giant vessel close-up.
"We left it in Scotland," Thor replied.
Jane's eyes widened. "And how are we going to-- ?" she began. Thor gave her one of his best smiles, the smile that had for centuries convinced his friends and his brother to join him in whatever scheme or adventure he had in mind, and swept her into his arms in a very good approximation of the cover of a romance novel.
"Like this," he replied, and looked upward. "Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!"
Evidently, Heimdall was waiting for just such a call-- which, since he must have delivered Thor and Tony to the battle in the first place, was not too surprising.
Well. Not surprising to Loki. As they were enveloped in light, Darcy's startled shriek was cut off--
-- and completed as they landed in Heimdall's Observatory. She was clinging to the arm of the angel-- the Falcon-- with one hand and to Loki with the other. The look on her face made Loki count himself lucky she managed to retain possession of her most recent meal.
"What the hell?" Darcy squeaked.
"I was about to say the same thing," agreed the angel, who also looked quite nauseated.
"Can we do that again?" requested Jane, whose eyes were shining like a woman who had just relived all the best Christmases of her childhood at once.
"As you wish," Thor cheerfully replied, which was certainly deliberate, and turned to Heimdall. "We need to return to the rest of the Avengers."
Heimdall nodded. Darcy screamed in advance, and Jane uttered what was manifestly a shriek of glee as the Bifrost engaged once again.
A moment later, they were standing on the deck of the helicarrier.
"Thanks for the ride in your Great Glass Elevator, Thor, but let's not do that again any time soon," Darcy, by now clinging with both hands to the Falcon's left arm, said as they both stumbled away from the landing point. Pepper, still the picture of unruffled calm, stepped forward to take charge of her, Jane being quite clearly too excited to pay proper attention to her disoriented friend.
In the meantime, Tony addressed Coulson, emerging onto the landing pad, with a cheerful, "Honey, we're home," and then asked, "Where's the Quinjet?"
"About forty minutes out," was the reply. "They got away without any trouble." Coulson smiled one of his cool greetings toward Jane, Pepper, and Darcy, then turned back to Tony. "I assume you brought them along to prevent a repeat performance by Doom?"
"Exactly," Tony agreed. "I thought we could stash them in the VIP quarters until it's safe." He jerked an armoured thumb at Loki. "And he should probably lie down for a while."
"I do not need to lie down!" Loki protested, drawing himself up and trying very hard not to wobble.
"Oh really? I understand you put on quite a performance," Coulson said dryly, and Loki deflated.
"Well, at least he wasn't a duck," Tony said quickly.
"No," Coulson agreed. "I'm sure he'll look much more impressive on the evening news this time."
"The news?" Loki asked weakly.
"You do know that even people who live way the hell out in the desert have cell phones with cameras on them, right?" Coulson inquired. "That little escapade is all over the Internet even as we speak."
"Oh," Loki muttered. "What does... is Director Fury very angry?"
Coulson shrugged. "He'd probably have been a lot angrier if you hadn't done whatever was necessary to protect civilians. No smart remarks, any of you. And now that people know you can turn into a dragon they're going to expect it. Keep that in mind for the next time something big threatens New York or someplace. Now, off you go. There's a crew member ready to escort you. Loki, we'll send someone to call you in an hour or so, unless something drastic happens before that. I'm serious, get some rest. I'll make sure Annie knows where you are, and that somebody brings you your cats."
"Very well," Loki grumbled, as though it was a favour to Agent Coulson-- who was not deceived but kindly pretended to be. Coulson gestured to a crew member, and Loki and the women followed him to the guest quarters.
~oOo~
Loki was not aware he was holding his breath until Annie took his hand. He told himself it was only the chill from the contact that pulled him back to reality.
"Helicarrier's up ahead," Natasha Romanov announced, in her calm flat voice, as if that was not the cause of Loki's shortness of breath in the first place. It suddenly made no difference that, the first time, being captured and taken to the helicarrier had been part of his ramshackle plan: finding himself once more restrained in the humans' aircraft, watching the huge airship draw closer, was still an intensely uncomfortable experience.
Frightening. All right, it was a frightening experience, and he was frightened. He hated the reminder of being under compulsion, on one level aware he was deliberately courting disaster and yet completely powerless to stop himself, able only to serve his purpose.
He hated the thought of the glass cell, where he could be studied like a specimen, mocked, dismissed. Yes, it was true he had only remained in that cell because it suited his own purposes... but now he was weak, and these Avengers had experience with magic. Suppose they had studied the magic of the other Loki, learned how to contain him...
Suppose, this time, he was confined in a cell from which he really could not escape? Was held there for the other Avengers, the other Thor, to capture and take away, back to the cell and the chains?
Across the aircraft, Natasha Romanov spoke again:
"Annie and Loki, when we land I'll escort you directly to the rooms you'll be staying in. We sometimes transport important guests on the helicarrier, and you're going to stay in those quarters. I'll warn you both right now that you won't have complete freedom of movement on the helicarrier because neither of you is officially part of the crew, but you'll be able to move around on the deck you're assigned to. Okay?" She did not acknowledge the fact Annie, at least, would only be contained for as long as she chose to comply, and Annie did not bring it up. Loki, too, chose not to mention that when his powers recovered he, too, would be difficult to contain. If she had forgotten this detail he did not need to remind her.
"Will the kittens be with us?" Annie asked, giving Loki's hand a little squeeze as she spoke.
"Sure, I can get someone to bring them to you. I think they're in the crew quarters right now." Natasha focused her attention on Loki. "It might for some reason be necessary for you to interact with the other Avengers, but we'll warn you beforehand, and at the moment we have no plans for that to happen. You'll just stay in the guest area while we figure out what to do about Doom. Does that sound all right to you?"
In spite of himself, Loki was beginning to believe such questions were asked in earnest, and so he nodded. And then, in case he left the impression he was too frightened to speak, he cleared his throat and said plainly,
"Yes, it is acceptable."
"Good," Natasha said, and Steve Rogers smiled at him with real warmth. Loki glanced uneasily away and pretended to be fascinated by the lights of the helicarrier growing larger as they approached.