Darcy had no idea what SHIELD’s Enemy Number One (Chronologically Speaking) had come to do in her kitchen on Christmas Eve. She had plenty of ideas about how he was going to kill her, though. And judging by the glint in his eye, so did he.
“Stay back,” she warned, pointing her taser at him as he came sauntering toward her. Her voice shook. Stupid traitor muscle. “This baby has knocked out bigger gods than you.”
With a nonchalant twist of his fingers, like flicking lint from a sleeve, he turned the thing into a bouquet of poinsettias and white roses.
“SHIELD really should invest in some magic-proof armaments,” Loki observed. And then he was right smack in the middle of her personal space, and his hand was around her wrist, and... he was smelling his freaking magic bouquet. “Perfect.”
“What the hell do you want?” Darcy squeaked.
“Nothing but the pleasure of your company on this dreary evening. None of my super heroes want to play with me tonight, so you will have to help me ward off boredom in their stead,” he said smoothly. Releasing her wrist, he crowded her against the counter with his arms on either side of her. “And I mean ‘company’ in the most restrictive sense of the word,” he went on, sans man-eater smile but instead with an eyebrow gesture that made it look like the honest-to-god truth. “Just your company. No sex, no inflicting of pain, no murder or theft or any of those nasty things.”
Because she had a fully functioning fight-or-flight response, thankyouverymuch, Darcy ducked underneath his arm – but was obstructed by the foot Loki swiftly placed against the kitchen cabinet. This resulted in a position so ridiculous, embarrassing, and, she decided, telling of her helplessness, that she quickly straightened and went back to trying to be Shadowcat.
“I give you my word that you will come to no harm while in my presence. Unless – and only if – you were to resist,” Loki added dryly.
Darcy let out a heartfelt, “What the fuck?”
“Fear not, it is a one-time offer only. The universe will right itself again soon enough.”
They heard the front door open. The noisy slamming of wood against stone and stomping of boots was accompanied by the usual ever so pointless, and currently ever so lethal, “Honey, we’re here!”
“More guests,” Loki said brightly. “Excellent.”
Hell no, not excellent. Those were Darcy’s parents. Loki was about to mindfuck her entire family out of existence.
“Darcy,” he said in a low voice, and drew her panicked gaze back from the kitchen door with what must have been magic. (Mortal fear? What mortal fear?) “I am many things, a liar and a cheat and a sadistic bastard certainly among them. But if you’ve done your homework, you should know that an oath breaker I am not. I gave you my word. Relax.”
She would’ve liked nothing more, but you try relaxing when you have a god-alien-whatever leaning into you, doing things only Dumbledore should be allowed to with his eyes, and your mother walks in and goes “Oh! You didn’t tell us anyone else would be here, honey.”
And then Loki turned around and smiled. It was guileless, friendly, charming, and it pinched the corners of his mouth in a way that transformed him from a prowling panther in a sleek suit to an unassuming cutie dressed in his Christmas best. It was so very undoubtedly fake that its convincingness made Darcy’s head hurt. Cognitive dissonance to the max. Does Not Compute.
Until her brain – stupid traitor lump of neurons – decided that enough was enough, it had to compute, and obviously the only logical explanation of the Lewis family’s continued existence and lack of bizarre-but-therefore-no-less-agonizing pain was that Loki was being sincere. Darcy sagged, weak-kneed, against the counter, clutching her hocus-pocus Christmas bouquet like it was the only sense-making thing left in the world.
Meanwhile, Loki was genially shaking her mother’s hand. “Mrs Lewis! Darcy has told me so much about you. What a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Oh!” her mother puffed excitedly. “Well, the pleasure is all mine, Mr...?”
“I’m Luke. Perhaps Darcy’s mentioned me to you in return? Maybe just once...?” He looked between Darcy and her mother, and it was such a fucking perfect display of self-deprecating humour that she really should have seen her mother’s delighted laughter coming.
“Darcy, why didn’t you tell us there was a man in your life!”
But then again, if she had, it wouldn’t have been a very good joke, now would it.
Mr Lewis joined them. Drinks were poured. A vase was dug up. The obligatory obnoxious parental questionnaire was filled in, down to the most nitpicky tickybox and “Other: please elaborate on the dotted line”. Apparently, Darcy and ‘Luke’ had met through work. Bonded over their fondness for tasers in a field dominated by guns and mystical hammers. Were taking it slow, because please don’t laugh at him for this, but he was raised to hold open doors and spread his coat over puddles. Military brat, you know how it goes. And the first time he tried to kiss her, Darcy chimed in, pausing to knock back her eggnog in one go, his brother Don showed up out of nowhere and scared him so much that he fell down three flights of stairs. It only made her mother coo more, but the annoyed squint Loki sent her way was satisfying while it lasted.
He insisted on setting the table, because the Lewises hadn’t seen their only daughter in so long, and when would they get the chance to tally up his approval and disapproval points otherwise? Besides, Darcy had done most of the work already, and oh, look, all done while they were still busy arguing over it.
“That is not my home-made Christmas dinner,” Darcy pointed out under her breath.
“You let yours burn in the excitement,” Loki whispered back blithely. “But don’t worry, this one won’t be missed.”
Darcy’s parents adored Luke. He complimented her cooking. He complimented her degree. Her complimented her new glasses. (A near-Hulk experience had killed the old ones, which he tactfully ignored to mention.) He complimented her daughterhood. He complimented her mother.
He was a perfect gentleman, a perfect co-host, and he made Darcy laugh. A lot. It was hard to keep up a decent level of mortal fear, or even a lot of suspicion, when her cheeks hurt from too much grinning.
When it was time to open the presents, he unwrapped a multifunctional watch and an abominable snowman-print tie Darcy sure as hell hadn’t put under the tree, and – Asgardian hand kisses were truly a wonderful thing – masterfully circumvented the need for her to french Mister Boyfriend senseless in thanks for the magical appearance of a pair of earplugs, a garishly pink spectacle case, and a diamond pendant necklace, all with her name scribbled on the wrappings in an unfamiliar, looping hand.
For once, her mother’s favoured variety show didn’t make Darcy want to snark until she dropped, because there was other entertainment to focus on. Either Loki had studied Midgardian sports in depth just to endear himself to Mr Lewis even more, or he was the best damn improviser in the universe. Probably both.
By the time the evening drew to a close, Darcy caught herself regretting having to part so soon. But the bastard made to leave along with her parents like any ordinary guest, and even in parting he was on his best behaviour.
Not a drop of blood was spilled all night. Now that was freaky.
“You,” Darcy declared as she grabbed his grey chequered scarf from its hook and swung it around his neck in a totally scheme-savvy move. “are the best boyfriend I have ever had. It’s totally not fair.”
He let out a breathy, eye-crinkling laugh. “The pleasure has been entirely mine, Miss Lewis.” Then he touched his lips briefly to her forehead and was off.
The next morning at the lab, Thor complained loudly about the sudden and mysterious disappearance of his, Jane and Erik’s meal from their freshly decked Christmas table the night before. Jane was quick to remind him, for what sounded like the hundredth time, that it had probably just been Loki, and they were lucky he hadn’t opted to blow up half the city instead.
“He is a prince of Asgard and an unparalleled sorcerer,” Thor groused. “Stealing food is beneath him.”
Jane shook her head gently. “Regular food, maybe. But there’s something special about a friend’s home-made meals you couldn’t get on your own with all the magic in the world.”
Erik heaved a long-suffering sigh and muttered into his coffee about reading nonsense into random acts of magical vandalism.
“Dude,” Darcy said to no-one in particular. “I should totally ask for a repeat performance for Valentine’s.”