Chapter Text
“You.” You look up with a very good impression of a deer caught in headlights. The woman beckoning to you is clearly high up in the SHIELD hierarchy; her suit probably costs more than your entire life is worth. “Are you free?”
You glance down at the coffee you were supposed to be delivering to your coworkers. That could probably wait. “Um, yes ma’am?”
“Come with me.” She starts off in a brisk walk down the corridor, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. You follow without question, trying not to tug on your uniform too harshly in an attempt to break it in a little better. You still aren’t used to the issued clothing, considering you’ve worn the default uniform of hoodies and jeans of a college academic most of your life.
She herds you into a bare bones room, just a table and a few chairs. You stand until she gestures for you to sit, not sure why she’s even glancing your way. You’re a lackey, nothing more. Certainly not worth the attention of Maria Hill.
The woman tosses a folder onto then table, and it impressively lands squarely in front of you. “I’m assuming you’re aware of recent events?”
You raise an eyebrow. “If you’re referring to Manhattan, then yes. It’s been a bit hellacious around here.” Like there wasn’t a person on earth who hadn’t seen the footage of monstrous black aliens pouring out of a glowing portal in the sky. Everyone has been scrambling to control the situation that is blatantly so far out of their control they might as well be fighting sci-fi aliens with Neanderthal tools. It’d be amusing if it wasn’t so terrifying. “Are you with the clean-up crew?”
“Sort of.” She gestures to the folder and you open it. Inside are crystal-clear photos of Earth’s newly minted heroes and a horde of special agents escorting a raven-haired man into a transport vehicle. “Look familiar?”
You release a small breath. Intellectually, you know this is the man- god- who just tried to make himself king of humanity and threatened the entire Earth to do it. But that doesn’t stop the wonder and amazement from washing over you. Loki, Norse god of mischief, real and in the flesh. In the background you can see the golden-haired Thor, swinging his mythical hammer. Well, not exactly mythical, is it? It’s real. They’re real. All the gods and realms and monsters and mayhem that have captivated you since childhood and ultimately lead to multiple degrees on the subjects- they’re real. It’s absolutely incredible. “Yes,” you say, probably a little more wondrously that you meant for it to be.
“We’ve got Loki in custody.” She says his name so nonchalant, like she isn’t referring to a thousands of years old immortal demigod of the golden realm of Asgard. “And we have no idea what to do with him.”
“And this has to do with me somehow?”
“Yes and no.” She sighs heavily, like she needed to be done with this shit a decade ago. “The government is treating the prisoner with kiddie gloves. They want every single loophole filled and locked down three times over. So we can’t just throw him in a deep dark hole and forget about him- he needs to be afforded certain… rights.” The tone of her voice implies she doesn’t agree with this sentiment.
“Like what?”
“Like company, while we sort out all the red tape so we can prosecute him properly.”
“Company.” You’re completely lost. “He needs a babysitter?”
That makes a small smile flick across her lips. “If you want to call it that. We’re not happy about it, believe me. It’s an undeniable risk. But the lawyers are demanding it, and god knows we have to keep the lawyers happy.” A pinch appears between your eyebrows. You don’t like where this is going. “So. Will you do it?”
“Me?” You squeak, then immediately try to get yourself under control. “Why me? I was literally hired a month ago, I have no qualifications to do anything like this-”
She holds up a hand. “We know. That’s the point. All you need to do is sit in his cell for a few hours every day and pretend to look interested in whatever he’s rambling about. Most likely he won’t talk; he’s been completely silent since we picked him up. Take a book and a few snacks with you, don’t let him talk you into doing anything traitorous, and you’ll be fine. Plus,” she continued, “with your background we figured you’d be at least mildly interested.”
Damn. They’ve got you there. Several masters’ in mythology along with years of studying it yourself means you’ve been ridiculously curious about Earth’s new visitors ever since Mjolnir landed in New Mexico. The spark in your eyes must have been obvious, because Agent Hill holds out a slender hand. “Have we got a deal?”
And so, not hours later, you find yourself wandering into the depths of SHIELD’s base. “Hi there.”
The room is depressingly stark and sterile- you thought you’d gotten used to being surrounded by the chrome and weird futuristic plastic that are apparently now the only two building materials left on Earth since starting at SHIELD, but this place takes it to a whole new level. And it’s newly constructed, based on the smell of drying concrete and fresh shavings peeling up around the screw holes in the corners. There’s a small, utilitarian metal desk and chair that’s been provided for you in the center of the room, so you drop your notepad and pencil onto the tabletop with a clang and pull out the chair. It screeches painfully against the floor, making you wince. Okay, no more of that. You suck in your stomach and slide in between the table and chair so neither of them have to move. A little tight, but you can make it work.
The other man in the room, framed behind a wall of glass, has not reacted to any of this.
He looks exactly how he did on TV, minus the leather armor and extravagant gold horned helmet thing. It’s all been replaced with the thin grey uniform SHIELD deems prison garb. You have to admit, he looks a lot less intimidating sitting pale and silent against the wall, handcuffs glowing faintly around his wrists.
“Um- can you hear me?”
Still no response. He doesn’t even seem to notice you’ve entered the room. Uuuuum, okay… There’s a microphone attached to the desk. You lean into it, frowning, fiddling with a few of the dials at the base. Then you tap on it and speak directly into the mic. “Can you hear me?” The man flinches wildly, a radical break in his composure, and his eyes dart to you angrily. “Oh, gosh, sorry, okay, let me-” you turn the dial down a few notches. “Better?”
The volume doesn’t seem to be at max level anymore- he doesn’t flinch again- but he also doesn’t say anything else. “I’m going to need verbal confirmation that you can hear me.”
He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t seem to be looking at anything. His gaze is focused on some middling thing opposite of him, something invisible on the horizon, but he’s hardly glazed over- emerald eyes are bright and sharp, flickering lightly. They are not the eyes of a defeated man, far from it. More like one who has about fifteen thousand and twenty three plans all running through his head at once.
You suppose that should scare you, but SHIELD has reassured you that the cell is one of the most technologically advanced cells they’ve ever constructed. Also, those cuffs have some sort of magic-diffusing abilities, so no funny business there. Then again, he did basically destroy all of Manhattan, like, less than a week ago. You hadn’t even been in that part of the country at the time, SHIELD had called you in from D.C., but you can still feel the horror grip your chest in a vice watching skyscrapers fall to tatters on the news-
“Yes.”
His voice is so soft you almost don’t catch it. It pulls you from your thoughts nonetheless. “Oh. Okay, great.” You pull your pencil to you and neatly label the first page of your notepad with today’s date in the top corner. If you were going to talk to him, you might as well take notes. Think of the papers you could publish! “Can you please, uh, state your name for the record?” That sounded professional, right? You’ve heard it on Law and Order a lot, anyways.
The prisoner raises one eyebrow slowly. “Really?” He draws out that one word into a three-second attack of sarcasm, but you simply shrug your shoulders.
“It’s protocol.”
“I am Loki Laufeyson, Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief and Lies.” With every title he spits from his mouth, his eyes flash dangerously.
“O-kay.” You jot that down on your notepad, giving it an underline for good measure. “And how would you like to be addressed?”
“Your highness.” He says it as easily as he might’ve said Bob or Ricky.
You blink. “Um. Not sure that’s within my pay grade, but we’ll see how it goes.”
“Where am I?”
“A very secure holding cell,” you answer confidently, and the god scowls at you. He’s apparently waiting for more information, but you shake your head- “that is literally all the information I’m allowed to give you about that.” You glance up at the camera tacked to the ceiling of the room. “Also, you’re being recorded at all times. Gotta tell you that for legalities sake.”
“SHIELD has always so been worried about legalities.”
That gets a small snort from you, and you tap the end of your pencil on your paper. “So-”
“Who are you, exactly?” He suddenly sounds very, very tired, and a little angry, like he’s already done humoring you. “And why are you bothering me?”
“Y/N.” You give him a little wave, since you obviously can’t shake his hand. “I’m a, well- archivist, of sorts. SHIELD brought me in to talk to you.”
“And you’re, what? Fury’s pet?”
“Hardly. I’ve been here less than a month. I don’t think this uniform has even been washed yet.”
Another eyebrow raise. “An interesting choice to interrogate their most wanted suspect.”
You tap a little more frantically. “I think it’s so if you end up getting into my head, I won’t be able to give anything up,” you say thoughtfully. There’s a huff over the speakers you’re hearing him through. “Also, this isn’t an interrogation.”
“No?”
“Nope. I’m not really qualified for that.”
“Then what are you qualified for?”
“Jeg snakker norsk,” you offer, honestly wondering that question yourself. The look he gives you is a mixed amount of horrified and amused. “They thought it might be helpful speaking in a familiar language, I guess?”
“They do know I can speak literally hundreds of thousands of languages spanning any galaxy you care to name,” he says, apparently stunned by the new heights of SHIELD’s stupidity.
You sigh. “Yeah. I thought it was a stupid idea too.”
“This is laughable.” He’s on his feet now, close to the glass and staring you down threateningly. “Why have I not been removed to Asgard? They will presumably want to prosecute me for my crimes.”
“Um, I think they’re planning on it. But they want me to talk to you first.”
“About what.”
“Well. Anything you want, really.”
“I have nothing to say to you mortals,” he spits, and the word splats on the ground like it’s a curse.
“That’s cool, I get that. But right now all the bureaucrats are running themselves in circles trying to figure out what to do with you, and all that red tape is going to take some time to untangle. In the meantime, they want to make sure you don’t go crazy from the solitude or something.”
“Since when has SHIELD cared about my well being?”
“I mean, you’ve still got rights and stuff. You can’t just sit here for who knows how long with only yourself for company.”
“And why not?”
“Wouldn’t you get lonely?”
“Forgive me, but I hardly think you are going to provide any sort of adequate mental stimulation.”
Geez, way to hit below the belt. “You can request someone else if you want. They pretty much just picked me out of a lineup and threw me on you, I don’t really think they care who sits here with you.”
“What would be the point? SHIELD only hires imbeciles and fools.”
“Well, then. I guess you’re stuck with me for a while.”
The man slumps back, apparently not encouraged by your words. Then he punches the wall with one of his restrained hands and screams angrily in clear frustration.
This is going to go so well.