Eighth Thor/Being Human Crossover: Chapter Fifty-Four

[coneycat_fic]

Notes: In case anyone's forgotten the timing, I just want to point out that H!Loki's concern about the safety of ants was written into the series before the first Avengers movie was released. And yes, I was amused by the ant/boot exchange.

The agency mentioned in this chapter is entirely fictitious-- in fact, it turns out one version of it was actually created by Marvel, although I don't think this version bears any resemblance at all to that one.

Warnings: In case we need some.


Chapter Fifty-Four

Agent Coulson very sensibly suggested that, if he was not planning to rest any longer, then Loki of Bristol should go along to the briefing while he, Coulson, remained in the guest quarters with the new Loki. Loki of Bristol chose not to wonder very hard whether that was for the new Loki's peace of mind, or for the safety of Jane and the others. New Loki's expression suggested his thoughts were proceeding along similar lines.

Regardless, when he got up to leave Annie rose as well.

"I'll go along to the briefing with you, and then I can come back and tell Loki anything Colonel Fury needs him to know," she said firmly, before anyone could speak. She smiled at New Loki. "Is that all right with you?"

New Loki drew himself up a little, perhaps holding himself together. "Yes, that is acceptable," he replied, rather stiffly but without anger. "I will wait to hear from you."

"Good," Annie said warmly. After confirming that the others would be in the familiar conference room near the flight deck, Loki and Annie left. Loki glanced back as he closed the door, to see Elizabeth had already leapt onto the sofa and was marching toward the other Loki, apparently intent upon claiming a share of his lap. And it was not that he believed his pets had any special ability to judge the intent of others-- how could they, when so far as they were concerned the world was kind and so was everyone in it?-- but he found himself reassured by the fact the other Loki seemed to welcome the kittens' overtures.

As they hurried down the corridor-- it seemed rude to simply teleport into a briefing, and Loki thought it best not to antagonize the second set of Avengers if he could help it-- Loki received input from a much more trustworthy source.

"What did you think of his story?" Annie asked.

"I thought it was appalling," Loki admitted.

"So did I, but that's not what I meant," she said. "Did you believe him?"

"I did. Had you any doubts?"

"He hadn't told me most of it. Which is understandable, I wouldn't want to talk about it either." Annie had, of course, only recently remembered the circumstances surrounding her own death, partly because it was only now she the emotional resources to withstand the knowledge. She went on, "Now that I've heard it, I believe him. What about you? Were you trying to figure out whether he was lying?"

Loki smiled crookedly. "You know me too well," he said, which was exactly the opposite of a complaint.

Annie smiled back, her eyebrows lifting, and slipped her arm through his. "And--?" she prompted.

"I am sure he was not," Loki replied. He resolutely refused to picture any of the things New Loki had described to them, but was unable to repress a shiver.

Even so--

"You still have doubts about him, though," Annie said. "Maybe not his story, but him."

Loki's response was part shrug, part uneasy squirm, and then he said, "Whether he was in control of himself or not, the harm done to the people of Midgard was terrible. Has he ever spoken of that?" Does he care?

Annie looked down, chewing on her lip, and for a moment Loki feared she thought him ungenerous. Which was, of course, true, but he did not mean his question that way. He genuinely wished to know whether the other Loki had told Annie things he preferred not to share with Coulson or himself-- whether to mask a vulnerability of his own, or out of fear of putting a thought into their minds regarding punishment. Even Loki of Bristol was inclined to sympathize with the other's wish to be excused further suffering.

"No, he hasn't," she admitted. "But… I think he's beginning to see us differently. I mean, compared to Asgard we probably looked, to him, like little ants crawling around on an anthill. Why would he care what happened to us?" She squeezed his arm. "Yes, I know, you care about ants."

"To be perfectly accurate, my concern to begin with was for the children who cared about the ants," Loki reminded her.

Annie laughed. "And that amounts to exactly the same thing, if you think about it. No, I don't think he was bothered by what those creatures made him do to, to Midgard. Not when he was actually doing it. I don't think he could-- I mean, if he was in the state you were, when he fell into the void in the first place-- " she tightened her grip on Loki's arm as he stiffened in recollection-- "and then he… went through all that-- "

"-- he was in no condition to worry about anyone but himself," Loki completed the thought.

"Exactly," Annie said. "I mean, it's understandable."

"True," Loki agreed. "I have been remembering that I was myself a considerable time in the void before I was able to regret my own actions. And my sojourn there was specifically meant to enable me to do so."

"The thing is," Annie said, "I think he's starting to-- When he let the Doombots take him, at Tony's place, he did it partly to protect the rest of us. He said he owed us that much. I'm sure he meant it. He also… before he said that, when he was arguing with us, explaining his thinking, he said something about the house being destroyed." Loki blinked, uncomprehending, and Annie spelled it out for him: "He was explaining why it made sense for him to surrender, that if he didn't we'd all be killed-- well, not me obviously, but George and Nina and the Avengers-- so there'd be nobody to rescue him anyway. And that all made sense if he was just thinking about his own interests, but then he said something about how the house would be destroyed, too, and everything in it. Everything, including the kittens, and JARVIS-- I don't know if he knows exactly what JARVIS is, that he doesn't just exist there, but 'the house and everything' had nothing to do with his safety, so why would he include that if he was only thinking about himself? I'm pretty sure he just thought he owed us something. If he still thought we were ants, why would he even consider that?"

"True," Loki said, a warm feeling of relief beginning to bloom in his chest. Annie looked sharply at him.

"Even if he didn't, he's not you," she pointed out. "It would be nothing to do with you."

"No, of course not," Loki replied, fidgeting under her regard.

But still…

~oOo~

Ordinarily, Edgar Wyndham was a being much concerned with his own dignity, little inclined to see humour in situations that resulted in himself looking foolish. In fact, such circumstances generally ended in bloodshed.

However, as he recalled the incident in the corridor he found himself for once nearly inclined to laugh-- not out of any sudden decrease in his own self-esteem, but because the memory of pompous Doom, arms and legs flailing as he slid across a soap-slicked marble floor, was almost irresistibly funny.

Almost. As much as he enjoyed seeing Doom humbled in such a manner, Wyndham did not appreciate receiving the same treatment. Loki would be made to pay for this.

He did not, of course, say as much. It was hardly necessary, not with plans for retribution already written in the set of Doom's shoulders as he strode down the corridor to his study (his drenched cape slapping against and clinging to his legs with every stride.) Wyndham had followed in silence, then had returned to his assigned chamber to change his clothing and incidentally receive a message from his servant in England. Seth was a fool, but fools had their uses, and he was a true believer in the goals and ambitions of his fallen leader, Herrick. Herrick had been only slightly less a fool, his grand intentions less plans than assumptions, but the followers he left behind were useful indeed.

When he returned to join Doom in his study, it was to find the other standing before his great oaken table, studying the papers and plans scattered upon it. The iron mask naturally concealed his features, but Wyndham was an excellent interpreter of posture, and he had little difficulty reading Doom's current thoughts.

"Has anything been disturbed?" he asked bluntly, aware this was not a confidence Doom would volunteer.

After a brief hesitation, Doom shook his head, saying sharply, "Of course not."

Wyndham accepted the answer, but now he had another question. The room smelled of human, and he could not recall whether it had done so before they ran out to respond to the alarm. He therefore inquired,

"Do your servants enter this room? Not the-- " Doombots was such a foolish word he was unable to utter it-- "the mechanical servants. Humans. Are they permitted entry here?"

Doom turned slowly to face Wyndham. The vampire reflected that this gesture was probably meant to be threatening, but here was the disadvantage to keeping one's face covered: Doom was unable to use his expressions to emphasize the threat in his body language. Wyndham cocked his head slightly, permitting his expression to reflect a trace of amusement in addition to ordinary inquiry. Wyndham's intent was to unsettle Doom, remind him that, whatever the sorcerer believed, he was no mere minion.

Doom, as Wyndham expected, seemed to realize that losing Loki was enough of a setback for one day, without also alienating his supposed partner.

"Yes, my human servants enter this room. They are loyal to me," he added, and his ominous tone did not quite conceal a certain defensiveness, a hint of protesting too much. And then it hardened, became more definite: "You will not touch them."

Wyndham raised his hands in a parody of surrender. "Of course, of course," he murmured. Doom did not ask what had prompted the question, so Wyndham did not volunteer his reasons, instead dismissing the thought from his mind. If a servant had taken the opportunity to spy on his master-- her master, unless he was mistaken-- that was Doom's concern.

Unless, of course, Doom's hesitation meant he suspected the prisoner had not escaped entirely by his own efforts. Wyndham wondered that himself-- he intended, if Doom did not, to have a word with any servants who might have access to this room. Mere curiosity could of course explain any meddling with these documents, and mere curiosity was to Wyndham an offence ordinarily punishable by death. On the other hand, it was not worth the conflict with Doom to carry out such a sentence.

"Do any of these same servants have access to the dungeons?" Wyndham asked now.

"No," Doom replied, and this time the tone was curt, matter-of-fact. No doubt here at all. "There are wards on the door at the bottom of the stairwell, so that no living creature may pass through it without my leave."

"Ah," said Wyndham, thoughtfully. "Though this of course explains why I was able to enter and exit the dungeons unescorted-- I am not, after all, alive-- we are no closer to learning how Loki was able to effect his escape. Is there perhaps another way out, one unprotected by your spells?" Doom grunted, and Wyndham passed on to another interesting question: "And-- he was in a weakened condition when last I saw him, so is it possible he had assistance?" Had Wyndham been given a free hand, he would certainly have found out what the servants knew of this matter-- it was truly astonishing how flaying concentrated the mind.

Or perhaps--

"Might someone have got in to help him?" he asked.

"Not without my knowledge," Doom asserted.

Wyndham uttered a short, sharp laugh, rather like a fox's bark. "And yet Loki regained his powers without your knowledge." He frowned. "Rather quickly, when one comes to think of it-- I had overpowered him quite easily only a short while ago. Are you sure he escaped on his own?"

There was, from Doom, an aura as of raised eyebrows. "Are you sure he was not making play of falling under your power?" the sorcerer retorted.

"Yes," Wyndham replied simply.

"And I, too, am sure. Were there others here, I would have sensed it. The cloak of magic that envelops this castle is my second set of eyes."

Wyndham allowed his expression to suggest the second set of eyes might be in need of spectacles, but chose this time to hold his peace. Enjoyable as it would be to bait Doom further, he must be sensible. The loss of Loki was a setback, and despite his amusement at Doom's chagrin, he was also very much aware of the difficulty of his own position.

Schooling his tone into something more conciliatory, he changed the subject:

"I have received a message from Seth. He tells me the Bristol vampires are now… receptive… to our plans. I should return to England to meet with them." Doom turned back to his papers, grunting a species of dismissal.

Internally, Wyndham sighed. He was experienced enough in politics (one did not live a thousand years as a vampire without being very good at politics) to know when to conciliate.

"Loki cannot have gotten far," he reminded Doom. "And his powers must be greatly depleted by the effort of his escape. Your mechanical servants will capture him soon, and then you will of course immediately turn to… stronger forms of persuasion."

"Indeed," Doom intoned, with an unmistakable air of brightening up. Rather sorry he could not be present to assist in the stronger forms of persuasion, Wyndham nevertheless felt it wisest to assert his own leadership over the other vampires before the other Old Ones arrived.

One did not live a thousand years as a vampire without learning to protect one's place in the hierarchy.

Leaving Doom to the contemplation of both his papers, and the amusement to come, Wyndham returned to his chamber to prepare for his own departure.

~oOo~

Clint, Mitchell, and George made it to London in a little over two hours, driving the inconspicuous black Honda at a pace that suggested a little extra under the bonnet. Instead of the rebuilt SHIELD HQ, however, Clint took them directly to Whitehall, where they left the car in a government car park and then made their way to the Admiralty.

Well, not quite the Admiralty, more a warren of corridors somewhere below the Admiralty.

"Where are we?" George whispered-- the sound of their footsteps had an uncanny sound down here, and he didn't want to hear his own question echo back like something out of Poe. "Not SHIELD?"

"No," Clint replied, in a normal voice. "Apparently MI-13 is assisting us on this operation."

"MI-13?" George repeated, incredulous.

"Yeah. Military Intelligence, Section Thirteen. Don't feel bad, I didn't know about them until about ten minutes ago myself. They're apparently kind of a shadow agency, they deal with… weird occurrences around Britain. They were probably responsible for Loki getting his papers as easily as he did." Before either of his companions could press for more information, he stopped at a heavy iron door, glanced up at a camera above it, then looked around the frame for a moment and pressed something. George couldn't hear anything but he assumed it was some sort of buzzer. A moment later, the door unlocked itself. Clint pushed it open and the group stepped through.

Just inside the door they encountered a sober-suited male agent aged somewhere between forty and a thousand, sort of a less-cheerful, British version of Coulson.

"This way," he said briskly, already beginning to walk down yet another corridor. "My chief is waiting for you."

The "chief," when they encountered him, turned out to be a very senior civil servant; a little grey man in a grey suit, spare and dry with a desiccated yet plummy voice. Sort of a pruney voice, as it were. George felt his hackles rise as the door closed behind them. Either not noticing or not caring, the little grey man directed the three to sit in what turned out to be quite comfortable armchairs. In spite of the distance underground, the office they occupied had the faint echoes of an old-fashioned study, down to the glass-fronted book cases that lined one wall and the discreet side table bearing a tray with crystal glasses and a heavy decanter of a deep red liquid that might have been port.

Might have been port. This soon after the full moon, George should have been able to identify the contents by smell from across the room. Something made him decide not to try.

"Good of you to come," the grey man greeted them. "Felt we should offer our help. We were notified you were in need of some armaments for a specialized job. Hem. Quartermaster thought these would suit."

Clint opened his mouth, possibly to inform the grey man that SHIELD was good for weapons, thanks-- and then he closed it again when he realized the grey man was gesturing toward another side table where lay a quiver of arrows. Arrows with smooth brown shafts.

"Are those-- ?" Clint began, in a courteous, incurious voice that concealed his emotions very well. The grey man nodded as he broke in,

"Wooden. Yes."

"You don't often see classic wooden arrows in my line of work," Clint noted, as he stood and approached the table to take a look.

"Hem," said the grey man again, and this time the sound appeared to be an attempt at a chuckle. "Well. Our office is rather specialized as well, so to speak."

"Specialized how?" Clint asked, as he slipped one of the arrows from the quiver and held it up to look professionally down the shaft. There was no arrowhead, just a sharpened taper at the end. Mitchell went suddenly very still, and with an apologetic glance at him Clint replaced the arrow with its fellows in the quiver.

The grey man grimaced. It was probably the closest he could get to a smile. "I'm sure you have been made aware of our mandate."

"Weird occurrences," Clint replied flatly. "I assume that includes vampires?"

"Hem," said the grey man. By this time George was almost certain their host was a vampire, himself. "Have to be ready, don't you know, in case anyone gets ideas. In case someone has to be… put down."

"But you tolerate them," Clint said coolly. "The vampires. You put up with them." George felt a sudden shiver of dread crawl down his spine. Don't antagonize him.

He had underestimated the grey man, who offered a much closer approximation of a smile as he said,

"Bloodthirsty lot, of course, but so far their intentions have never been translated into serious action. Your friend Herrick, for instance-- " the little grey man's equally grey gaze fixed itself on Mitchell, who did not move-- "my office followed his career with a great deal of interest, up to its untimely-- and may I say quite unexpected-- end. We never had to do anything about him, but of course if he had ever looked like being more serious we would have… taken steps. Still, there are undeniable benefits to our… tolerance, shall we say."

"Yeah?" Clint asked, inclining his head.

"What benefits are those?" George asked, partly out of an obscure desire to cover for Mitchell's continued and obviously intimidated silence.

"Your friend here is unusual, but not unique," the grey man said mildly. "Very useful agents, some of them. And there are… circumstances, in which such allies are most welcome."

"Such as?" Clint prodded. His tone wasn't exactly challenging, but… it wasn't exactly not, either.

"You have probably heard of Operation Sea Lion," the grey man replied gently. "Had the invasion actually occurred, there was an agreement in place with a number of senior vampires, to have their people… turn their attention to the invaders." At Clint's momentarily dumbfounded expression, the grey man pointed out, "One does not have to be alive to be a patriot." When his guests had nothing further to say the grey man went on, "Obviously my department has no intention of allowing vampires-- or any other supernatural force-- to take over the country. However, over the past thirty years our funding has been repeatedly cut by governments with little vision and less imagination, and so our contribution to this operation will be largely advisory."

"And arrows," said Clint.

"Indeed," said the grey man, head inclined in what the others were more than happy to take as a gesture of dismissal.

They were very grateful indeed when they were above ground once again.

"Whew," Clint murmured as they walked back to the car. "I thought Coulson was a cool customer. Was that guy-- I mean, do you think he was-- ?"

"Yes," Mitchell replied flatly.

"Did you know him?" Clint asked. Mitchell shook his head. "I wonder if Ivan does?"

George had been wondering the very same thing.

~oOo~

After the door closed behind Annie and the other Loki, Loki had a moment of unease that was only slightly diminished by the second, mostly-black, little cat crowding into his lap. He was acutely aware that he was alone with a man he had murdered-- well, more or less-- and despite Coulson's air of calm acceptance (and the fact he was once again peacefully reading) Loki found the whole situation deeply uncomfortable.

For that reason he was more relieved than he would have believed possible when Jane Foster, followed by two other mortal women, hesitantly entered the room.

"Um, hi," Foster said, and smiled rather tentatively at both of them.

"Hello, Dr. Foster," Coulson replied courteously, as he set down his book. "Ms. Lewis, Ms. Potts. Good to see you all safe."

Foster made an awkward noise of thanks. One of her companions, a young dark-haired woman, spoke up.

"Jane and Pepper and I were just about to have lunch when, you know, the whole Doombot thing happened. We were wondering if there's any chance of us getting something to eat?"

"We've checked the kitchenette," Foster added apologetically. "There's nothing there."

"Not even crackers," said the dark-haired young woman, her tone exaggeratedly mournful. In the next second she noticed Loki's lap. "Ooh, kitties!"

"That was thoughtless of someone," Coulson said, and rose to his feet. He glanced at Loki, who was struggling to remain composed as the young woman practically sat in his lap to make a fuss of the little cats. The mostly-black one immediately slithered to the floor to hide under the sofa. Loki rather wished he could follow her. "Loki, are you hungry? I could eat, I think."

Loki blinked, suddenly aware that, under his rising anxiety, he was indeed hungry, and the two things were probably connected.

"I, too, could eat," he murmured. Coulson nodded agreeably and went over to speak into a communication device in the wall.

As they waited for the food to be brought, Loki forced himself to turn to Jane Foster. "I… earlier, when I spoke to you, I… it was not my intention to alarm you as I did. I… apologize."

"Don't worry about it," said Jane Foster, awkwardly. "I guess I surprised you. Darcy, come on, leave him alone. And the cats."

Darcy made a face at her friend, but moved to the other end of the sofa. Jane Foster smiled apologetically at Loki and sat next to her friend, between them. The third woman, this Ms Potts, a tall woman with reddish-golden hair, moved gracefully to another chair and sat. Loki, reminded of another tall, graceful, golden woman, could hardly bear to look at her.

Coulson turned back to the room. "Lunch, or whatever we want to call it, will be along shortly. Loki, have you met everyone?" Loki nodded tensely, and Coulson looked amiably around the room. "Well, then."

Agent Coulson was correct; the food did arrive before very long, hot and savoury meat with steaming vegetables, and the group moved to a table in an alcove to eat. The young woman named Darcy coaxed the two little cats to sit on the tabletop next to her and eat from her plate-- behaviour which Loki felt quite sure was not permitted and would later need to be corrected. However, since the alternative was listening to her incessant chatter, he said nothing. Surely Annie and the others would be able to remind the little cats of the rules of appropriate behaviour at some later date.

Jane Foster and the other woman, this Mizz Potts whose given name was revealed to be "Pepper," talked in a more restful manner to Agent Coulson, and even made efforts to include Loki in their conversation. This was less than successful until Foster leaned forward and said,

"Look, I know being kidnapped by Dr. Doom must have been pretty disorienting for you, but Agent Coulson and his people are really good. They'll figure out a way to get you back home. Oh no, wait, I'm sorry," she went on, in almost the same breath, as Loki stiffened. "I'm sorry. I forgot-- things are pretty different, where you come from. Thor is pretty different."

Loki could not deny that it was balm to hear Jane Foster speak of the golden prince in such a tone, but Agent Coulson was there, and Agent Coulson knew… everything. And perhaps he would not give Loki away to Jane Foster if he told her lies, but perhaps he would. And anyway, an experienced liar such as Loki was not wasteful of his lies, did not tell them in circumstances in which he would immediately be found out, at least not when there was no obvious tactical advantage to so doing.

"I, too, am different," he reminded her. "I am not the well-disposed Loki of this realm. You should… remember that."

"Oh, he wasn't 'well-disposed' either, the first time we met him," Darcy spoke up from down the table. "As a matter of fact he was pretty much a total dick, practically destroyed our whole town."

Loki held perfectly still, Annie's voice suddenly filling his ears once again. He'd made some terrible mistakes, had done some terrible things…

…and he thought he could never make up for them…

"There was a, sort of a robot-- Thor called it the Destroyer," Jane Foster spoke up, with a glance of warning at Darcy. Loki, busy remembering the rest of Annie's words, barely noticed it. He fell. He had forgotten that conversation, forgotten Annie's numerous hints, the suggestions that her Loki was after all not the blameless innocent he had constructed in his head, nor indeed the petted favourite he imagined when he thought of that youthful face.

"It blew up a lot of stuff, buildings and things, and if Thor's friends hadn't drawn its attention there probably would have been a whole bunch of people killed," Darcy went on, ignoring Jane's efforts to silence her. "I don't suppose you-- "

"Oh, yes," Loki interrupted. Why not? Harshly, he went on, "I did exactly the same thing, attacked Thor, gave him the same chance to prove himself a worthy son of the Allfather and win back his place in Asgard. He then foiled all my evil schemes." That last was uttered with scathing bitterness -- When did Thor begin to care for monsters? Had he not always sworn to hunt them down? Why was it different when Loki was the one destroying them? Once again he remembered Annie's words, as they sat in the other Loki's sleeping chamber, about that Loki's attack on the Jotnar. When he attacked them, he didn't realize he was committing a crime against people. "I tried to destroy a realm of monsters, and of course the hero of Asgard saved them as well." The other Loki had done the same thing. They were the same then, but now they were not. What was the difference between them? Did it even matter? "And then, since there seemed little further purpose in my continued existence-- "

Jane winced, as did the golden woman, Pepper Potts. He did not look at Darcy. Agent Coulson spoke up, confirming-- as if it was necessary-- Annie's account of the matter.

"This Loki did pretty much all the same things. And then he fell into the void. Let himself fall. His experiences there were… different from yours. As were his actions, after he emerged."

"So I gathered," Loki said drily.

"There was a spell," Jane Foster said apologetically. She looked unsure of the wisdom of continuing, but after a moment's hesitation she went on, "He was protected by magic, when he was in the void. It kept him safe, helped him heal, so that by the time he emerged here on Earth he could… He was given a second chance, I guess you'd say." Loki nodded stiffly, looking down at his plate. He was still hungry, but the contents no longer looked appetizing.

And then Agent Coulson said quietly,

"This could be your second chance. Whether you join us against Doom or not, whether you stay in this reality or go back to the other one. What you do from now on will be up to you."

Loki nodded without looking up from his plate. After a moment, the others resumed their conversations, and their talk quietly eddied around him.