The Armorer

As I thought, he's captivated by Sherlock Holmes, so I bring in a Basil Rathbone screen version, the awesome movie with Robert Downey Jr, and the British TV series (swoon.) Then we have to pause the first episode and I have to explain the differences between a psychopath and a sociopath. He gives me a long look.

"Which do you think I am?" he inquires silkily.

"Psychopath," I say instantly.

"You've studied me," he purred. I suppressed the eye roll.

"The DSM doesn't make a distinction. They're both antisocial disorders. I suspect that you're the only one who truly knows, though. It's thought that psychopathy is a hereditary condition and sociopathy is the term used if there's a brain injury or if the cause comes from sociological factors like severe parental neglect, delinquent peers, or negative upbringing. Psychopaths are incapable of empathy and forming loving relationships, but they can pretend to be charming and loving, so those around them can't always see it. Because psychopaths also have no conscience or moral compass, they don't feel guilt. Sociopaths, though, can feel empathy and guilt. While sociopaths can be impulsive, hot-tempered and erratic, they may form some kind of attachments to some people or groups. Either disorder may result in violent behavior but doesn't have to." What can I say? I did my research. I'd known that he'd be interested as soon as Sherlock had his little temper tantrum over the terminology. I looked at him steadily. "It's well known that you're a spontaneous killer, even though you mostly just sort of swanned around during the Chitauri invasion."

"There is nothing wrong with me!" he says, looking highly offended.

I decide to say only "then why are you the one who's locked up?"

Loki turned his back on me and I went away for several days.

When I came back, we did not refer to the incident, although the guards told me that he'd watched the rest of the TV episodes. Loki had started Pride and Prejudice. Not surprisingly, he heartily endorsed Mr Darcy's pride and his reservations about Elizabeth and had questions about the British class system. I didn't understand it past the broadest strokes, so again it was Google to the rescue. Then the BBC miniseries with Colin Firth (yum) since it was a pretty faithful translation of the source material.

He worked his way through the stack of books steadily. He got hung up on the third chapter of War and Peace and moved onto lighter fare. Eventually he was reduced to even reading the romances; I had some work to do and missed a week. When I finally went back, he had some scornful questions about why women read the books.

"I dunno, wish fulfillment, probably. If you're trudging from work to home to deal with the kids, the husband, the housework, even if it's shared, stories about adventure, a beautiful, spirited heroine and an uberhot guy who's smoking in the sack would probably be awesome escapist reading."

"And do you need some escapist reading?" he asked, and I was reminded of a snake moving gracefully and sinuously, hunting for prey.

"I usually read technical material," I say, shrugging, deliberately misunderstanding him. "I don't have as much time for fiction as I used to, and I'm a lot busier. And frankly, your invasion attempt has put me off science fiction, which I used to really like. Aliens are more fun on the page than they are when they're tearing up a major city."

He looked put out, and I told him I'd have some more books for him in a couple of days.

When I arrived, pushing a cart of new books, he was in the shower. I specifically came in the afternoons or evenings so that he'd have his grooming out of the way. "I'll come back," I called.

"Don't leave on my account," he said, turning around and walking out from behind his modesty wall.

I kept my eyes on his face, but I have excellent peripheral vision. Holy cow.

"You could come inside," he murmured seductively. "You must be lonely, you come to see me so often."

"I visit a lot because there aren't a lot of people to talk to around here yet," I tell him flatly, keeping my eyes north with an effort. "Do you really think I'm that easy?"

"I don't think you're easy at all," he purred. "I like a challenge."

"Get a grip on yourself," I said sternly.

"Oh, but I have one," he said. And he did. I meant that he should get a grip on his imagination, not... you know.

"Not going to happen," I said. "Now go put your clothes on if you want to talk. If not, I'm leaving."

He glared and turned his back. I did briefly notice his very nice ass. He must do calisthenics in the mornings. I shrugged and left.

This time I stay away longer to indicate my displeasure. I get a message from Nick, telling me that a bunch of them are coming out for a meeting. I brighten up at the distraction.

The day of the meeting, I finish up my work and decide to get lunch before going up for the meeting. I was about halfway through my meal when I got an emergency alert from the guard installation downstairs. I promptly abandoned my lunch and ran for the stairs, grateful for the new scanner; it made getting in and out a lot faster. I was appalled to see Loki out of his cell and Thor unconscious inside. The guard in the room was locked in his observation booth, unable to leave unless his shift was over. The guard changed every two hours. Rather than rushing around in a frenzy, I cocked my head, then approached Loki, who was smiling at me confidently. I walked up to him and poked him in the chest.

Or tried to. My finger caused him to fuzz out. Damn it, it was one of the projections of himself. Loki stood, scowling, where he had been hiding behind the modesty wall. I turned and marched to the door, shouted instructions, and marched back to the cell, where the guards reluctantly opened the door.

I was livid, and stripped the top blanket off the bed, shoving the unconscious Thor onto it so I could drag him out. Loki approached me, and I hauled off and punched him. He's a lot taller than I am; I couldn't reach his face. Besides, he had it coming. "You asshole!" I shouted at him. "You promised! You promised that you wouldn't try to escape as long as I came for visits!" He wheezed at me, and I dragged Thor out before my adrenaline expired. He's a heavy bastard. I tipped him off and went to throw the blanket back on the bed.

"Hammer--" Loki said, and in my anger forgetting that I was probably going to dislocate my shoulder trying to pick up Mjolnir, I grabbed the hammer and heaved.

I staggered back a couple of paces and stared at the hammer that dangled from my hand.