Dark Star || Loki [1]

[10] A Spoonful of Sugar

28 JANUARY, 2011

ASTRID

For a Friday, Astrid was feeling more sluggish than ever.

She suspected the biting cold and grey sky was no help. The instant she pulled back the curtains in her bedroom, she was faced with five inches of snow on the roof of the adjacent building. She dressed herself in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Astrid liked to look her best on most days, but the sun was being a bitch, which put her in a mood. She splashed some cold water on her face and ventured out to the living room to see if Loki had arisen.

He had spent nearly one week acquainting her with the books he brought her from Asgard. Loki had been right about their library. Her pride would never let her say that, however, so she had kept her mouth shut and scoured through the pages while he sat by her side.

He wasn't a terrible reading partner, but as had become tradition in the last few days, there were moments when she wanted to sew his lips shut. He was gracious enough to remain mostly silent while she read; he would, however, stop her every now and then to point out something she had missed or taunt her for turning the pages too slowly. He seemed to like watching her, whether it was a long stare when he thought she wasn't paying attention, or pointing out every mistake she made. He was remarkably meticulous.

The first book she read, a small one, detailed necromancers: those who could communicate, and even perform magic, with the dead. She knew Loki was convinced she was some sort of magical being, but she had never felt anything that remotely suggested she could talk with the dead. Another book, called Astrology: An Asgardian Guide, recalled the craft of predicting the future simply by observing the stars and planets in the sky. On one hand, the stars did fascinate her. On the other, being either locked in her apartment for weeks or sent on a suicidal mission for Scott Gilbert warranted a heavy lack of stargazing.

"I'm not saying that I can predict when and how a person will die just because of their zodiac sign, but I am saying that, according to this book's very specific instructions, if you were born on the sixteenth of June, you should watch out for derailed trains," Astrid had said, tossing the book aside with a huff.

The third book, heavy and bound with smelly old leather, had been her most useful one. Not because it explained anything about her condition, but because there were quite a few tidbits of helpful information about Asgard. She had made a mental note to look through it when Loki wasn't breathing down her neck.

She found Loki in the living room, sitting on the sofa with his long legs outstretched on the table and a steaming cup of tea in his hand. In the other was The Great Gatsby. Astrid smiled.

"Good morning," she said softly, so she wouldn't startle him out of his trance. She did not want tea spilt all over her sofa, although it seemed he had claimed it.

He actually smiled back. She had never seen him look so serene. His eyes were not as wide as usual, less overwhelmed and a more concentrated green. His mouth was set in a relaxed smile, one that was neither smug nor sly. His posture was not stiff, not proper; he sat like a human being. Astrid found that for the first time since she had met him, she didn't feel like hitting him. "Good morning," he said.

"I didn't think that you knew how to work my coffee machine," she said, sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa, "especially since it doesn't function worth a shit."

"I'm afraid I don't, actually," said Loki. "This is the worst tea I've ever had."

Astrid took the mug from his hands. "That's not the machine's fault—it's the man behind the machine."