#tomstinkerbell

You just shrug when Loki tells you this news.  You don’t care in the least about that side of things, and you say as much to him.  He probably already had a pretty good idea that that was going to be your response.  You’ve always been that way – who he is, the fact that he’s royalty and a God are not selling points to you at all. 

The first time you two were at the same party at the Tower - when other women were swooning and flocking around him, trying to curry favor with him – you had ignored him completely. 

Frankly, you’d been doing your best to avoid him for the past few months, which had only served to do the opposite of what you intended and catch his eye.

When you were inevitably introduced, you managed to present him with a cool, polite facade, while your insides were shaking and your loins had begun aching from the moment he bowed low to you.  Then he compounded your agony by rising gracefully to bring the back of your hand to his soft, warm lips, all while maintain the kind of eye contact that had you practically melting into a puddle.

Despite your attraction to him, though, which you hid so successfully that he didn’t even think you liked him, the Prince had a terrible time just getting you to agree to go on a date with him.  You appeared to him to be utterly disinterested – and it was that much worse for him because he could sense that it was very real.  You weren’t just trying to play hard to get.

Your body might practically already be his, but the rest of you really wasn’t impressed by him – far from it.

But he definitely managed to change your opinion about him - over time - his patience in his pursuit of you amazing you no end . 

And now, if your positions had been reversed, you’d have gone up against Odin with no holds barred until he agreed to make Loki a Prince.

But this is about you, and you know you’re a mutt and a mongrel and you don’t care one whit about titles and such in the least.  All you want out of your life - however long it is – is to be with Loki.  His royalty is a matter of complete indifference to you.

And, frankly, you also don’t much like the idea of giving Odin any more attention than you absolutely have to.  Even if you did feel disrespected by his action, you would never let him see that.  You would never let the fucker – who treated your love horrendously, as far as you were concerned and therefore deserves no respect or acknowledgement whatsoever – have the satisfaction of knowing that he had affected you in any way.

Loki, however, is totally affronted by Odin’s petty little decree - as you suspect Odin knew he would be - and he’s frowning at you because – although he loves that you’re so “down to Midgard”, as he insists on saying, instead of “down to Earth” – he can’t bear the thought that you would be denied your rightful title as his wife.

“If anyone deserves to be a Princess, my love,” he vows, practically seething, “it’s you.”  Loki hauls you up against him, kissing the breath out of you.  “And he is going to change his mind about that, or I shall hold his feet to the fire until he does.”

His wife’s family, who never liked him - out of holdover anger from his attack on New York and general suspicion of him as an alien Gawd – appears on his doorstep one day not long after his wife has died, entirely unannounced.

It’s the little girl’s aunt and grandmother, wanting her to come live with them – her aunt and uncle – in Idaho, where her grandmother and grandfather also live in the same town. 

They are obviously nervous to be around him, although he is very polite and tries to be welcoming despite their stated intent, bringing them into the house and offering them refreshments, which, just because he can, he uses his magic to make appear on the coffee table in front of them, secretly enjoying how amazed – and somewhat more tremulous – that makes them.

Loki hadn’t formally adopted her, and therefore technically – legally - has no real claim on the child.  His wife had always meant to name him as the child’s guardian in case something happened to her, but she never got around to it.  But he is loath to give her up for any reason.  The little girl doesn’t know her relatives at all, and he firmly believes that she needs the stability of living in a place and with a person with whom she’s familiar, who knows her and loves her.

And the little girl loves him right back – very much - and adores living with him – especially since her mother has died.  She’s become a bit clingy, not that he minds at all.  He’s doing his best to reassure her both that he will never leave her, and that she is safe enough with him to continue doing what she already enjoys doing.  So he’s been taking her to school and play dates and generally trying to shower her with affection and attention while keeping things as normal, stable, and secure for her as he can.

And it doesn’t hurt that he lives in Avenger Tower, and the Avengers are always around her, too.  They’re also all actively helping him make certain that she feels safe and loved.

But, despite everything how secure he’s trying to make her feel, and how much she loves him,  she also mistakenly gets the idea that he doesn’t really want her there, that she’s just getting in his way – which is very much like her mother believed about him at first. 

She overheard him not long ago saying to his big brother, Thor, that he couldn’t join a mission because he had to take care of her, and misinterprets it that he is unhappy about that, when that is the farthest possible thing from the truth.

He hadn’t been complaining to Thor about having to stay behind with her, he was explaining.  In truth, he is eager to put her first in all things, and he has no problem at all declining missions in favor of daddying his little girl to the best of his meager abilities.

Regardless, that cemented in her mind her childish worries about being a bother to him, and that he’d prefer she live with her relatives so he wouldn’t have to take care of her, even though he’s never once made her feel like that - ever.

Loki assumes that the little girl knows how he feels about her – he tells her that he loves her all the time – and that she realizes that he truly wants her to be with him.

After a certain amount of negotiation, during which he feels their thinly veiled hostility towards him, he and the family finally settle on the idea that she should be allowed to decide for herself where she’s going to live.

Loki only does so because he is very confident that she will choose him, and is utterly devastated when she decides to go with his wife’s family, instead.  He tries to make the best of it, though, for her sake, not wanting her to feel badly about leaving him since this is her choice.

She doesn’t seem to be very excited about going, though.  She doesn’t want to pack or do anything that has to do with moving.  She’s listless and obviously sad, although every time he asks her if there’s anything bothering her, she shakes her little head of red waves and curls and says in a heartbreakingly tiny voice, “No, Sir.”

When they arrive a few days later to take her with them back across the country from him, they refuse to come in, preferring to stand expectantly in the doorway instead.

He lifts her up in his arms, ruthlessly holding back his tears so as not to upset her as he hugs her incredibly tightly while kissing that baby soft cheek goodbye.  Loki murmurs quietly to her as he tries to drink in and permanently imbed a picture of her in his mind, “You remember that I love you, honeybunch.”  It’s the nickname her mother used to use for her and he consciously adopted it.  “You can email or Facetime or text me or call me any time you like, and I’ll come out to see you whenever I can.”

But her grandmother corrects him, none too gently, “Not for quite a while, please, so that she can get settled into a new routine and new surroundings.  If you want to talk to her, please contact my daughter so that she can arrange a time that would be convenient for her to be there with Lily while you do, and also before you come out and we’ll decide whether or not it’s a good time for you to visit.”

Loki frowns fiercely at the idea of being denied the ability to contact or see her, but reigns himself back in because he doesn’t want her to see them arguing, giving them a tight lipped, “Of course.”

Then he squats down and sets her on her feet, reluctantly relinquishing the little girl’s hands to her grandmother and aunt, who pull her eagerly away from him and through the open door, although her head is nearly swiveled all the way around while she toddles away from him, desperately trying to continue looking back at him.

All of a sudden, though, the little girl tears herself unexpectedly away from them, running back to where he’s still crouched down and nearly knocking him over as she practically takes flight and launches herself into his waiting arms, weeping pitifully.

With her little mouth buried against his neck and his hair surrounding her face, she wails loudly through her tears, “Pease – I don’ wanna go!  I won’ be in tha way, I promise!  I’ll be good an’ take care a’ myself so you can go on missions wiv the ‘Vengers ‘n don’ gotta stay behind ‘cause a me.  An’ I’ll stay outta your hair an’ never be a bother – pease can I stay wiv you, Daddy Loki?!  Pease?!”

He’s startled to hear her mention something about missions, but then dismisses that thought in favor of being ecstatic that she’s run back to him, his eyes closing on a blissfully relieved sigh as his arms wrap around her tightly.  Loki is surprised at this turn of events, but is also incredibly happy.  Still hunkered down, he sets her on his knee while everyone else looks aghast at what she’s said, and immediately tries to change her mind, crowding around her and touching her and talking loudly over each other in their haste to try to convince her to go with them.

But she leans away from them, clinging to Loki, tiny arms looping around his neck as she tries to bury her face against him while the other adults surrounding her close in on her.  He can feel her tiny body trembling against him, and she begins to cry louder, and he knows it’s because she fears that she’ll be taken away from him.

And now that he knows that she really wants to stay with him, Loki simply won’t have that.

He stands with her in his arms – and is, then, immediately taller than everyone else, of course – holding her very securely to him, but distinctly away from them at the same time, saying firmly, “I believe her true choice is clear, ladies.  I’m sorry that you were misled, and for any other inconvenience we have caused you, but apparently my little one thought incorrectly that I considered her to be a bother,” he turns back to her, cupping her cheek in his hand and pressing his nose and forehead to hers, “when she is my greatest joy and dearest love, and could never, ever be a bother or an inconvenience in any way.”

It’s impossible to miss how crestfallen his wife’s family is at the thought of not having her close.

So Loki turns to them, wanting to reassure them of his feelings about them, too, and proceeding to treat them much more graciously than they had him.  “But I want you all to know that you are welcome to come see her any time you like.  You are her closest relatives.  You were all close to my wife and she loved you very much, I know.  I want my little girl to get to know you all and I want you all to be a part of her life.”  However generous his first statements are, his last statement is very emphatic and does not invite any kind of argument or discussion whatsoever.  “But she will be living with me, and that is final.”

The relatives leave with obvious reluctance – after making unsuccessful, abortive attempts to cajole and coax his little one to recant, which he immediately puts a stop to.

When they’re gone, Loki takes the little girl to sit on the couch on his lap.  “I’m very, very glad you decided to stay with me, babygirl.  I would have missed you something terrible.”

She’s still clinging to him, and he rubs her back, holding her close against him.

Eventually, when she’s calmed down at bit, he leans her away from him, gentle fingers beneath her chin coaxing her to look up at him.  Going on his instincts, which were hardly finely honed in this instance, he nevertheless vowed firmly, “I don’t know what you might have thought you saw or overheard, but you were completely mistaken, little love.  I adore staying home with you and taking care of you, and I would always much rather do that than go on any old mission.”

Her eyes go round at what he’s said.  “But I hearded you talk to Uncle For ‘bout not been able to go wiv him and th’other ‘Vengers on a mission ‘cause you hadda stay home wiv me.”

Loki tapped the tip of her nose lightly with the tip of his finger.  “I don’t have to, babydoll.  I want to. You are not now, nor have you ever been, nor could you ever be any kind of a burden to me, angel.  And I will never again let anyone even try take you away from me.  You are my little girl, and I love you.  And I promise you that you’ll always be with me.”

  Author’s Note:  Here are some of my thoughts about the possibilities of where this might go:

Does the family sue him for custody?

Loki could take her to Asgard, of course.  Maybe that’s his first impulse.  But he knows that that would result – because of his previous bad behavior – in him being banned from going back, and he doesn’t want his little girl to experience banishment, too.  She’s Midgardian, and that is where he intends to raise her.

Hopefully.

And if they do try to sue, are the Avengers character witnesses for Loki – even Tony?

Part of Loki’s argument for him to retain custody is, “What could be better than for a little girl to grow up surrounded by superheroes who all love her and help take care of her?”

The family’s lawyer of course mentions the Hulk, and everyone they’ve killed, the danger, etc, especially pointing out that Loki was a danger, at one point, who attacked the very place where she’s now living.

Of course you find the one that you’re absolutely in love with, but it’s unbelievably expensive, and you’re not at all sure that you should get it, or that you want to get it.  You’ve been poor all your life and you’re having a hard time making the transition to not worrying at all about money.

Loki’s been very supportive – but is also kind of amused – at your struggles in this area, but when it comes to you having the dress of your dreams, he’s not going to allow you to compromise.

You call him to see what he thinks, and he’s his usual marvelously indulgent with you, reminding you gently that you can spend as much as you want – there’s no limit – and gently insisting that, if you are in love with the dress, you get it.

“But, Loki,” you practically whisper, as if it you’re committing a crime or something, “it’s a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and I’m only going to wear it once for a few hours!”

He chuckles softly, but his voice is firm, “My dearest darling Princess, the only thing you need concern yourself about in regards to the dress you select is that, if I ever find out that you settled for one that was not exactly what you want – regardless of the cost - you will be in very big trouble indeed.  Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes,” you answer, barely suppressing a “Sir”, knowing that there are too many witnesses out there waiting for you to reappear who would be only too happy to rat you out to him if you did compromise in your choice.

“Very good.  Are you enjoying yourself with the girls?” he asks warmly.

You knew that he really would have preferred to accompany you – he didn’t much like to be separated from you at all – but he was also keen to observe Midgardian traditions, so he’d gone all out to be certain that you had a great time.  Not only had he made sure that you got an appointment at the most expensive, most exclusive dress salon in the city, but he had also arranged for you and your three best friends, as well as your mom and favorite aunt to spend the weekend at a luxurious hotel, and that you had a driver and limo at your disposal, too, to take you anywhere you want.

“Oh, yes, I am.  Thank you again, so much – this is an amazing trip, even if I don’t find a dress.”

“Babygirl.”  Just one word, one of his favorite endearments for you, spoken quietly and calmly, but with an unmistakable thread of steel through it.

“Yes?” you ask, biting your lip.

“Buy.  The.  Dress.  And don’t forget shoes and hose and everything else, especially a pretty veil that I can lift before I kiss you for the first time as your husband.”

His tone was making you melt right there in the dressing room.

“I will.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, then continues in a low purr, “I love you and miss you terribly, but you have a wonderful time and come back to me safely.”

“I adore you, and I will, I promise.”

You heard his kiss over the phone, and kissed him back before ending the call. 

Then he takes it up a notch, getting really personal – insulting your age, your size – you’re very small, almost elfin – your looks …

You’re literally taken aback by the extent of his vitriol, feeling yourself automatically stepping a bit away from him in self-defense, trying to shrink physically so that you’re even smaller and thus less of a target, even though what happened really wasn’t your fault – it was one of the other team members who didn’t do as she should have.  He isn’t giving you the chance to say anything, though, so you don’t even begin to try to defend yourself. 

In fact, you were the one who had noticed that the other woman was frozen by her own error and how badly things were going as a result of it, stepping in and taking over her post as well as your own, solving the problem as quickly and efficiently as you could and to the best of your ability, heroically managing to rescue the team from what was rapidly becoming an untenable situation.

Still, you feel you do bear some responsibility for what happened, since you were that person’s supervisor – despite the fact that you’re new here.

And you don’t want to lose this job – you can’t lose this job.  You are the sole support of your brother, who is developmentally disabled and you need the money this job brings in to be able to keep him at a really good facility that he loves and is helping him a lot.

So you endure his verbal scourge for much longer than you might have if the situation had been different, as the rest of the Avenger team quickly surround you, trying to get Loki to stand down, but he gets right in your face, teeth practically bared in anger.

He is an utterly terrifying sight, and you are completely cowed long before he begins to wind down.  You stand there, looking anywhere but at him, stiff and hurt and battling to keep the tears out of your eyes because you don’t want to show any further kind of weakness to him, and you’re already embarrassed enough without adding breaking down in front of him, too.

But, in the end - your body taut and unbending - you say, quietly and stiffly but with as much dignity as you can muster while you force yourself to look him in the eye, “My apologies, Prince Loki.  Be assured that it will never happen again.”

Then you walk away, back straight, head held high, at last until you’re all the way out of the room, even though you can hear Natasha and Thor calling you to come back, making your way to your small apartment in the Tower, aware that you’ve just left a debriefing that you really needed to attend, and realizing that you might well just have lost your job anyway for walking out.

But he’d succeeded in driving you pretty close to a “fuck it” state, closing your door behind you and leaning back against it to dissolve into tears.

Your phone is blowing up, but you just turn it off, then reach up and take down the hair that you always scrape back into a neat bun, allowing it to wave and curve around your face and down past your shoulders, figuring that you are going to take a mental health day after that. 

If ever you’d needed one, it’s now.

Then, still sobbing, you hear a firm knock at your door, and figure that it’s either your very good friend who got you this gig, here to commiserate with you and tell you what happened after you left the meeting, or it’s Mr. Stark – Tony, as he insisted everyone call him – there to personally hand you your pink slip, or maybe it’s – Aja  the employee who screwed up, who was hopefully going to throw herself at your feet and beg for mercy you aren’t sure you’re a good enough person to grant to her.

Or better yet, she’s confessed to Loki himself that she was the cause of the problem, not you, although you couldn’t see that happening, either.

But, when you open the door, it isn’t any of those people standing in front of you, still looking all tall, dark, and intimidated in his armor.

Your back instantly goes up, and you stand a bit straighter, looking all that way up at Loki, wishing you didn’t know that he could plainly see the evidence of your tears as you will yourself not to show just how scared you still are – and were – by him, but your instincts tell you that you need to defend yourself from him.

So you close the door again.

Or rather, you try to.

His big, booted foot is in the way, and even leaning your full weight against the door isn’t enough to make him move it.

You’re still leaning hard, wondering what you’re going to do now that that’s proven useless, when he drawls slowly, but not unkindly, “You do realize that I can simply come in through the door, regardless of any effort you might make to prevent me from doing so, do you not …?”

Sighing in defeat, you step away from the door, opening it, but not able to bring yourself to issue an actual invitation for him to come in.

He pauses for a very short amount of time as if he is expecting one from you, but then realizes that it’s not going to be forthcoming, instead brushing past you to enter your small apartment, which immediately seems just that much smaller with him in it.

You cross your arms over your chest and meet his eyes, willing yours not to fill with tears, and it’s fifty-fifty whether or not you’re going to be able to stave them off.  “Say what you came here to say and get the fuck out.”

For a long moment, he merely stands there, considering you so carefully that it’s disconcerting, then his hand comes up, surprising you, and you rear back, which makes him frown deeply, although he doesn’t stop reaching towards you until he’s slipped a finger into one of the loose corkscrew curls the ends of your hair always fall into whenever it’s down.  “I’ve never seen your hair like this,” all husky and much too intimate.

Even more alarmed by warmth that courses through you at his words and tone, you step further back, yanking your hair away from him, and repeating what you’d just said through gritted teeth.  “Say what you came here to say and get the fuck out.”

His hand falls with surprising reluctance to his side as he meets your eyes, and you can literally feel how heartfelt his words are.  “I came here to apologize to you.  One of your coworkers – not the actual culprit who was responsible for the fiasco, but one of the others who was there – explained that you were the true hero of the day.”  He clears his throat, then continues, “Regardless, I am very sorry for what I said and did - for how I treated you.  It was highly inappropriate and boorish and ungentlemanly.”  Loki straightens, bringing his heels together with a click and bowing his head to you.  “Please accept my sincerest apology.”

He did sound sincere, and your emotions – which are very close to the surface at the moment – cause your eyes to well with tears.  But you force yourself to stiffen your back, saying curtly, “Accepted,” as you head pointedly to the door, realizing as you stand next to it with your hand on the knob that he would likely feel no more compunction about staying – although you couldn’t really see why he would want to - than he had about coming barging in in the first place.  “Now get the fuck out.”

You try not to show it when you’re amazed that he actually walks to the door, where he bows to you again - this time in a more formal, almost courtly manner - putting his foot forward and kind of leaning over it, then standing impossibly tall again and looking down at you intently.  “Thank you for accepting my apology.  If you are going back to the meeting, I would be glad to escort you.”

You give him no sign as to what you intend, although you move as if to follow him out the door, but as soon as he is fully in the hallway, you shut it behind him – between you – locking it, although you realize how utterly useless it is to do that.

Then, figuring he’s long gone in annoyance at the very least, and for the second time in less than a half hour, you lean back against the door and let the tears flow, crumpling messily down it into an ungainly heap on the floor, burying your face in your hands as you sob loudly.

What you can’t see is that Loki is still standing there, in the hallway, facing your door, hearing you dissolve into tears and wrestling with very unfamiliar feelings of guilt, and the equally unusual urge to violate your privacy and ignore the locked door in favor of gathering you into his arms to hold and soothe you as you cry.

His jaw is clenched – a muscle visibly ticcing – as he’s balanced on his toes, ready to do so any second, his hand already raise to make the gesture necessary to transport himself to you, but then he pauses, hesitating uncharacteristically, not wanting to make you feel any worse today than he already has.

So he turns, very reluctantly, and leaves, the sounds of your weeping ringing in his ears and echoing painfully in his chest in a way that he cannot seem to banish, and which gives him troubling dreams that night about how stricken you looked as he was screaming at you, and how horrible he feels about having done that, despite his apology and your understandably brusque acceptance of it.

He’s not sure what he’s going to do to make it up to you.