Darcy tumbles from the Bifrost, her forward motion sending her hurtling directly into Loki. He catches her easily, steadies her on her feet with his hands on her waist.

He shakes his head slightly, looks utterly unsurprised that she's followed him. "Are you ever not going to throw yourself headlong into danger?"

Darcy pushes her hair back from her face, noting with distaste that the strands are clotted with the dried mud of Helheim. "Where you're concerned, the answer to that is pretty much always going to be a no." She grins, loops her hands around his neck. "Can't let the girl who tased Thor fall down on her game, right?"

Loki's eyes search her face, as though he's looking for an answer hidden beneath the words.

"I'm telling the truth," Darcy says. "You're the liar, remember? I'm the idiot Midgardian who says whatever she thinks, no filter." She raises herself up on tiptoes, kisses him lightly. "You don't have to do any of this on your own. I'm not going to let you. I walked into Helheim for you, what makes you think I'm going to let you deal with your family alone? You're stuck with me."

Loki's eyes grow liquid, his brows drawing together, and then he pulls her to him, embracing her fiercely. Darcy closes her eyes, listens to the steady beating of his heart. Hears her own heart slow, until it is beating in rhythm with his.

The sound of a throat being cleared pulls her attention away from Loki. Darcy opens her eyes to see Heimdall watching them, his expression more than slightly perplexed.

"Hi?" Darcy says.

Heimdall inclines his head. "One of you is - as far as I am aware - already locked in the palace dungeons, and has been for some years." His tone is stern, but Heimdall's hands are loose around his sword. "The other is forbidden from Asgard for all eternity."

Loki arches an eyebrow at Darcy. "Should I ask?"

"You're locked in the dungeons, and you're questioning me?" Darcy shrugs a shoulder. "I kind of told Odin off. A lot."

Loki draws back from her, though he keeps his hands on her arms. "You chastised the Allfather?"

"He was being a dick to Jane. And I was pissed off at him about you. And yeah, technically speaking, he banished from Asgard." Darcy turns to Heimdall. "Could you just, like, pretend that you didn't see me? I'll behave this time."

She swears she sees Heimdall's lips twitch. "I believe you are being permitted to stay. For now."

As soon as he finishes speaking, a dozen guards appear, all of them heavily armed. Every weapon is immediately pointed at Loki.

Loki keeps one of his hands curled into Darcy's, raises his free hand and falls to his knees.

"I surrender," he says.

The guards exchange uncertain glances. "It's a trick," one of them says.

"No tricks." Loki bends his neck, his whole demeanour submissive. "Not this time."

The sound of footsteps running down the Bifrost, and then Thor is there. The guards part smoothly for him, though none move their weapons away from Loki. There are shadows beneath Thor's eyes, new lines around his mouth speaking of too many frowns. His armour looks battered, even scorched in places. The leather and metal hang heavy on him, his shoulders bowed beneath its weight.

"Brother?" he asks, his voice uncertain.

Loki looks up, meets Thor's eyes evenly. "Brother," he whispers, his voice breaking on the word.

Emotions war in Thor's eyes: disbelief, sorrow, a spark of hope. "We thought you both dead."

"This time, I was dead," Loki says. "Torn apart, scattered around Helheim."

"Helheim?" Thor asks, frowning. "Then how…"

Loki nods towards Darcy.

"Darcy?" Thor asks. "I do not understand."

Loki's eyes meet Darcy's. "In truth, nor do I. But Darcy walked into Helheim all the same, and brought me back."

Thor's eyes rest on Darcy for a long moment, a weighing gaze, and then he nods slowly. "Jane has mourned you these five years, as has Erik."

"I kind of wasn't expecting to be away so long," Darcy says. "Is Jane…okay?"

"She is well," Thor says. His eyes move back to Loki. "I have been commanded to bring the both of you to guarded chambers to await an audience with the King."

Loki's fingers tighten around Darcy's, then he releases her hand, holds both of his out before him. Darcy is confused, until Thor produces a set of silver cuffs. He fixes them around Loki's wrists, the metal sliding into place with a cold click.

"I don't get a pair of handcuffs?" Darcy asks. "That's no fun."

Loki flashes her a positively wicked smile, and Thor actually chuckles, some of the strain lifting from his face.

"I see your time in Helheim has not changed you, Darcy," Thor says.

Darcy is aware suddenly of Heimdall's eyes upon her. Aware, too, of the scars that pull at her wrist and her breast, the heavy ball of memories that drag her down. "You'd be surprised."

Thor turns to Loki, produced a tooled silver and leather muzzle. "I am sorry for the bindings, brother."

Loki just lifts his chin, allowing Thor to tie the muzzle in place. Thor keeps his fingers on Loki's cheek for a moment, his expression warring between relief and concern. Then he nods, and turns to lead them to the city.

#

The last Darcy sees of Loki is him being led in the opposite direction, his head meekly bowed as he walks between the guards, Thor leading the group. Just before he rounds the corner, he glances back, and she feels the magic within her grow warm, knows that behind the muzzle, he's smiling at her. Telling her that things will be okay.

As soon as he's out of sight, the warmth is replaced by cold fear. The last time she was in Asgard, things were decidedly not okay, and she can't see how they're going to be now. She had hoped, as they crossed the Bifrost, that she and Loki would be able to be together while they waited, at least, but that doesn't seem to be the case.

Two guards had remained with her, and they walk ahead of her, chatting casually as they lead her deep into the palace. She doesn't suppose she appears much of a threat, being small and female and Midgardian to boot. She wonders if they know what she did, wonders if she should tell them.

She half expects a dungeon, but the guards lead her to a small room on a lower level of the palace. Judging by the dust and general lack of light, she suspects that it's a little-used area. Everything is silent, but for the sound of their boots on the floor. Darcy suppresses a shudder as one of the guards unlocks a door, hoping they're not planning on just leaving her here to rot. From what she knows of Odin, it could be an entirely amenable plan to him.

The guard ushers her inside the room. Warmth tingles over her skin as she crosses the threshold. So the room is guarded by magic as well as physical locks. She gets to chance to inspect the magic barrier, the guard closing and locking the door behind her as soon as she's inside.

The room is comfortable, at least, though plain by Asgardian standards. The walls are panelled with dark wood, the floor made from a greyish stone warmed with a woven rug of greens and golds. There are no windows, and apart from the entrance, only one other door. It stands ajar, allowing her to see the small bathing chamber beyond. The only furniture is a narrow bed, wardrobe, and desk and chair, all plainly carved from pale wood. The linens are plain white, but the bed has been furnished lavishly with cushions.

In the small space, she is acutely aware of the stink of Helheim still clinging to her skin and hair. She strips off her armour-cum-gown, kicking it and her boots into the corner before going into the bathing chamber.

She luxuriates in the bath for a long time, scrubs herself over and over with soap that smells minty and clean and good. If there are any hidden tricks or magic in the bathroom, she doesn't care. All she cares about is being clean again, ridding herself of every scrap of Helheim that clings to her.

When she finally emerges from the bathing chamber, it is to find that her filthy clothes have been removed, and fresh clothing laid out on the bed. There is a white nightgown made from almost transparent linen, the full fabric gathered beneath the bust with ribbons. There is also a dark green formal gown of heavier linen, the dark emerald colour revealing Frigga's hand in having it made. There is underclothing as well, and matching slippers and a set of plain hair combs.

There is also a tray of food waiting on the desk: a vegetable stew, bread and butter, a glass of pale wine. Darcy shucks her towel and pulls the nightgown over her head. The neckline is modest enough, she supposes, but the lacing beneath the bust turns it into something somewhat less modest on her figure. She settles for simply running her fingers through her hair, then sits down to her meal.

She manages only a few bites of bread before her stomach knots hard. The bread sits heavy as lead in her, and she swallows hard, half fearing that it's going to come back up. She knows that she should probably make herself eat, that her body probably needs the fuel, but she can't find the energy to force herself.

Her body fairly aches with the need to sleep, but she finds herself pacing back and forth across the room, restless. She wishes that she had her iPod, or that Asgard at least possessed trashy reality television she could lose herself in for a few hours. But there's nothing but the walls, nothing but her own mind and the images it keeps on producing.

Loki in chains. Loki muzzled. Loki catatonic in the prison cell beneath Stark Tower.

Loki broken. Loki dead.

She feels like she should be weeping, but when she touches her cheek, her skin is dry. Maybe she's lost the ability to weep, now. Maybe she's used up her lifetime of tears.

She's finally eased the restlessness enough to consider trying to sleep when she feels the magic within her awaken. It vibrates, turning around within her as though it's seeking something. Fatigue instantly forgotten, she focuses on it, tries to get it to communicate to her what it wants.

The magic, of course, tells her no such thing, just keeps turning and turning around. Darcy gets increasingly frustrated, and begins pacing the room again. Only when she reaches the far wall does the magic stop moving.

"You want the wall?" she asks. "Um, okay?"

She reaches out a hand towards the wall, feeling remarkably foolish, and at the same time grateful for the lack of windows in the room.

Sapphire light gathers around her fingers, cool prickling across her skin. The light flows towards the wall, slides across the surface like liquid. It shimmers there for a moment, and then the wall shudders. One moment, there is only the wall and the pool of light. The next, there is a door. A door very much like the one Frigga had conjured in order to enter the Asgardian rooms she had conjured for Loki.

Darcy's heart leaps; she doesn't hesitate, just turns the door knob and pushes the door open. Walks through.

The room on the other side of the door is larger than hers, and almost as plain. The bed is larger, and covered with deep gold velvets. No windows, but several large oil paintings hang on the wall. All are landscapes, ranging from a moonlit beach to a snowbound mountain top.

The room is silent and empty, the only sign of occupation a tray of food sitting untouched on a small table.

In the opposite corner, a door stands cracked. From beyond it, Darcy can hear the sound of water dripping. She takes a step towards it, and her magic uncoils again, reaching out. She visualises it as a kitten, imagines giving it a friendly stroke. It just wants to return home. And there's only one home she knows now.

Loki's bathroom is also larger than hers, though nowhere near as luxurious as the bathing chamber Frigga had conjured up. Loki is sitting on the edge of the bath, his back to the door. He's still wearing his muddy, ragged clothes, and his shoulders are slumped, head in his hands.

"Loki?" Darcy asks softly.

He starts, almost falls into the full tub. "Darcy? How…? Did the guards bring you?"

Darcy holds up her hand. Blue light still glimmers in scraps around her fingers. "I kind of made a door. It brought me here."

Loki blinks. "You made a door."

"Your mother showed me. Kind of, anyway. I think the magic does what it wants, really. Kind of like someone else I know." As if on cue, the magic turns around within her. "Right now, I think it's kind of pissed at being stuck in a lowly Midgardian and wants to be back with the rest of its buddies."

She closes her hand over his wrist. She expects the magic to flow from her immediately, but strangely, it recoils, curling back in on itself. The sapphire light flares briefly, then dies.

"Um." Darcy lifts up her hand, shakes it. Hits her wrist with her other palm. Tries again, but nothing happens. "Maybe you need to do something?"

Loki lays his hand over hers. Emerald light flickers around his fingers, and in answer, sapphire glows around hers. "It believe it belongs to you now."

Darcy holds up her hand again, turns it back and forth. Points at a towel. "Wingardiaum leviosa!"

Nothing happens.

"Crap," she says, shaking her hand again.

Loki chuckles. "Real magic is somewhat more…complicated."

"No patronus, then?" Darcy mock pouts. "Dammit, you're no fun." She dips a finger into the water in the tub. It's warm, and scented with the same minty soap that she had used. "You know, you actually need to get into the water to get clean. And, like, take off your clothes."

Loki looks down at the water. "I keep imagining that I'm going to come apart. Drift away."

Darcy puts her hands on either side of his face, looks into his eyes. "You're here, Loki. I brought you back." She runs a hand through his hair, and promptly makes a face as her fingers catch in the mud-clotted strands. "Come on, time to scrub a dub dub."

Loki catches at her hand when she reaches for his shirt. "Will you stay?"

"What about the guards? Won't they check on us?"

"They have orders to leave us be until the morning. Until the audience."

Darcy smiles. "Then wild horses couldn't keep me away."

He frowns. "What do horses have to do with anything?"

"I don't know. Have you read the mythology they attribute to you?" Darcy grins. "Or is there something you'd like to tell me?"

His clothing basically disintegrates to threads and dust when she pulls at it, and soon Loki is naked. He's dropped weight, his ribs pressing out against his skin, shadows visible even beneath the smudged dirt. He trembles lightly as she helps him into the bath, and Darcy reminds herself over and over that he's Asgardian, that he'll recover from this.

Loki is loathe to let her stop touching him once he's in the water, grabbing at her hands every time she moves away. It takes some manoeuvring, but Darcy manages to balance keeping a hand in his while she soaps his skin over and over. It seems like layers of skin come away along with the dirt, but Loki shows no discomfort. The bath sluices away the dirt as it comes loose, the water remaining clear and warm around him.

Finally, Loki's skin is clean, and he relaxes back into the bath for the first time. Darcy soaps up her hands and begins working on his hair. Loki lets out a low moan when she digs her fingers into his scalp, begins to gently work at the knots and tangles. For a while, she fears she's going to have to find a knife to cut away the worst of it, but something in the soap proves to be as magic as anything else in Asgard, and finally Loki's hair is clean and smooth flowing again. An alarming amount of hair comes away in her fingers, but the bath takes the loose strands away as easily as it had the dirt.

Loki grasps at her hand again, holds tight. His eyes catch the light in the room, gleam emerald.

"You walked into Helheim. For me," he says quietly. "For me."

"Come on," Darcy says. "You should get dry and eat something. Sleep."

Loki doesn't let go of her hand. "Will you stay?"

"Wild horses, remember?"

He lets her help her out of the bath, dry him. There are clothes waiting for him as well: black trousers and a loose green shirt. Loki pulls them on, though he leaves the collar of the shirt unlaced.

He manages to eat about the same amount of his food as Darcy had before he pushes the tray away.

"Worried?" Darcy asks him.

Loki stands, begins pacing back and forth across the room. For a moment, the old, cold mask flickers over his features, and then he slumps. "The last time I saw Odin, things did not end…well."

"Maybe things will be different this time."

"Odin does not change. Most of Asgard find change a…difficult thing."

"Thor changed." Darcy grasps Loki's hand. "You have."

Loki looks down at her hand. Turns it over so he can run his thumb over the scar on her wrist. "Hel will not rest, her bargain unfulfilled. You know this?"

"I figured as much."

"Did you know, when you made the bargain, that it would not be able to be fulfilled?"

"I had no damn idea." Darcy presses her hand to the scar over her heart. Shudders at the memory of Hel's fingers worming into her.

"You truly would have sacrificed your soul? For me?"

"Why do you always sound so surprised by that? By anyone wanting to sacrifice for you?"

"Few would sacrifice for a Frost Giant. Or for the God of Lies."

"And yet you were willing to sacrifice yourself for me."

Loki looks up at her. "That is different. That was for you."

"And who am I? Just Darcy Lewis. No one special. I'm not an Avenger, I'm not a superhero. I don't make any difference."

Loki lifts his free hand to her cheek. "You make a difference to me." He shakes his head slowly, trails his fingers down the curve of her cheek. "This is one of the first times I have actually touched you. Flesh to flesh, no projection involved."

It's true, though Darcy didn't realise it until this moment. Warmth gathers where Loki touches her, spirals down inside of her. Almost immediately that heaviness inside her moves, memories welling.

Her father had touched her like this, too.

For a moment, she is back there, her father's hand on her face, so real that she can feel every callous, see where he'd snapped a nail ragged working in the yard.

Darcy steps back from Loki so rapidly that she almost falls over her own feet. Loki blinks, his face beginning to freeze into that mask again.

"No, no, it's not you," Darcy says quickly. She swallows against the thin nausea that rises in her throat. "I took all of those memories back. Everything my father did. It's just that…touches and stuff…it brings it back. A flashback."

"Ah." Loki folds his hands at his waist, stands stiffly. "Perhaps you should-"

"Perhaps you should let me touch you." Darcy smiles, though the expression feels as though it's slipping. "My first year of college, I went to a therapist. I was determined that I'd find some way to work through this. She was only a few years out of training, and I think she was flailing as much as I was, so it didn't really go that far. But she did suggest that maybe it would be easier…if I was in control."

Loki quirks an eyebrow.

"Not like that!" Darcy grabs a pillow from the bed and tosses it at him. He sidesteps easily. "Well, maybe that," she adds, feeling her cheeks heat. In Frigga's conjured rooms, everything had felt easier, as though it was simply a dream. Here, everything feels almost too real. "But maybe just this?"

Darcy moves close to Loki again, his eyes tracking her as she walks. There's a rawness in his expression, a vulnerability that she doubts anyone has ever seen. Perhaps Frigga, but no one else. No one but Darcy. This Loki was hers alone.

Darcy lifts her hand, imitating the touch that Loki had just used. Loki's cheek is cool beneath her fingers, his skin soft and smooth. She can smell the mint from the bath, and deeper, the smoky musk of his skin. She slides her fingers along the plane of his cheek, down to his lips. Traces them softly, his breath shuddering lightly against her skin. He doesn't move, apart from that, just watches her and lets do as she wishes.

She stands on her toes, presses her lips lightly against Loki's. She's aware of the heaviness of memories waiting to drag her down, and she keeps her eyes open, focusing on Loki's face as she kissed him. Reminds herself over and over again that her father is dead, that he cannot touch her now.

Something cold slides down her spine at the thought, and she moves forward, needing to be able to feel Loki's living body against hers. She's surprised to feel his heart hammering; on the surface, he looks so collected, so calm.

She slides her hands to his shoulders, pulls back just enough to be able to look into his eyes.

"We don't have to…if you don't want to…" Loki says, fumbling for words. "If it is hard…?"

Darcy raises an eyebrow. "If it is hard?"

Loki breaks into an abashed grin. "I did not mean that."

"And they call you Silvertongue." Darcy grins back at him. Impulsively, she slides a hand through his hair, pushing the curling strands back from his face. He leans into the touch as though starved. "We don't know what's going to happen. If this is all we get, then I want it to be something good."

"Something good," Loki echoes.

This time, when she kisses him, he kisses her back, presses his hands to her waist. His movements are tentative, always waiting for her murmured assent before he continues.

They move over to the bed together, lie down side by side. Darcy is immediately half smothered by an avalanche of cushions, most of which she tosses to the floor.

"Seriously, why do you need so many cushions?" she asks.

Loki smiles, ducking as she tosses another one. "You should see my actual rooms."

"Actually, I kind of have."

He blinks. "There is a spell on those rooms, a long-lasting spell that refuses access to anyone I do not trust. Which is, basically, everyone. Not even my mother is allowed access."

Darcy leas back on the remaining cushions, grins. "Well, it let me in." She looks up at him from underneath her lashes. "I even slept in your bed."

Loki's mouth comes down on hers, and this time it's okay, because here, she's surrounded by the scent of him. He pulls back almost immediately, looking apologetic.

"I'm sorry," he says. "It was just the thought of you…my bed…"

"It's okay. I tell the truth, okay? If something is bad, you'll know, either by my reaction or me telling you."

Loki runs his thumb over her lower lip. "The truth. An interesting concept."

"And one you use far more than you care to admit. It's handy, being able to hide the truth in what people think are lies. Like how much you love Thor, and your mother."

Loki looks away. When he looks back at her, there's no trace of coldness to him at all, just a warmth that radiates from every part of him. "Even my mother could rarely see through it. Easier to believe of her sons what she always had."

"And she loves you anyway."

Loki's hands fist in the covers.

Darcy swings herself around so she's seated in his lap. "It's going to be okay. I don't know how, but we'll make it okay somehow."

She's managed to arrange herself so that her chest is exactly at Loki's eye height, and of course the damn nightgown is practically transparent. Loki actually makes an effort to look up at her face, which she has to commend him on.

Then she thinks screw it and pulls the nightgown over her head, tosses it after the cushions. "I'll tell you if anything is bad. I promise."

Loki slides his hands around her, rests his cheek on the upper curve of her breasts. His breath is cool, then warm, against her skin, bringing delightful shivers winding through her.

"How did I ever deserve you?" he whispers against her skin.

"Just lucky, I guess," Darcy says with a grin. "Now, I think you have too many clothes on?"

That wicked, wicked grin of his blooms, and he leans back. "I believe you were the one who was going to be in control, Ms Lewis?" he asks, folding his hands behind his head.

"Oh, is that how it's going to be, then?"

It takes Darcy moments only to remove Loki's shirt, and , despite his words, he's the one who pulls his trousers down and flings them away. When he is naked and lying back on the bed again, Darcy sits on his thighs and lets her gaze roam over him. Yes, he is slightly thinner, but she can already see the health beginning to return to him. And nothing can truly diminish his beauty.

"I'm not sure if you're supposed to tell a guy that he's beautiful," Darcy says, skating a hand up the side of his hip, past his waist and up his ribs. "But hey, you're a god, anyway, and you're damn beautiful. I thought it the first time I saw you in a shared dream. No wonder they worshipped you."

Loki's hands imitate the path she took, coming to rest on her ribs, his thumbs curved beneath her breasts. "As I would worship you. Darcy." He says her name slowly, as though he is tasting it on his tongue.

She can't hold back then. She leans forward, kisses him deeply. And this time, her magic moves to stand between her and the weight of memories. There are flashes: a touch here, a remembered slant of sunlight on bleeding skin there, but Loki is more real, more vivid.

Always before, skin to skin with someone, she has had to be drunk, or stoned, or just completely disassociated from what's happening. But now she's fully here, fully with Loki. And even though the nagging thought keeps winding around the back of her mind - the knowledge that this may be the only time she truly gets to lie with Loki - she's able to push that away, focus just on him.

She finds herself as starved for touch as he seems to be. Their hands move over each other, touching everywhere they can reach. Darcy is amazed all over again at how soft Loki's skin is, the contrast between that softness and the taut muscle beneath making her want to touch him more and more. She wants to find the places to touch that make his breath catch in his throat, make him hum against her skin. She rocks her hips against him and finds him already hard, his hips moving rhythmically beneath her. She moves her hips again, sliding her centre against the length of him, and he catches at her hips.

"You do that again, and I will not last," he says.

"I thought you were supposed to be a god," she teases, biting at his lip.

"Not even a god could restrain himself with one such as you."

Loki reaches up to capture her mouth, his tongue delving deep, dancing against her own. His hands cup her breasts, fingers suddenly cold against her nipples, and that sends a bolt of pleasure straight through her, and immediately she's thinking that she's the one who's not going to last.

"Cheater," Darcy whispers against Loki's lips.

He smiles, does it again, trailing his fingers down her stomach this time. He brushes them against her clit briefly, making her jump, then plunges them inside her, imitating the rhythm of his tongue.

Darcy is pretty sure that her eyes roll back in her head, because those cold, cold fingers are reaching inside her, curling back until they find just the right spot, and then his thumb circles her clit once, twice, and she's coming, her muscles spasming against his hand.

"Still cheating," Darcy says when she finally catches her breath again.

He grins. Withdraws his fingers and licks them clean with relish. "I haven't even begun cheating. Trickster, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Darcy reaches between them, curls her fingers around him, lines him up with her and sinks down. Smiles when she sees his eyes unfocus, pupils dilate. "And I have a few tricks of my own."

Loki sits up, crosses his legs beneath her and wraps his arms around her waist. "I cannot wait to discover them all." He kisses the corner of her mouth, the place where her pulse beats, her collarbone. Nips there lightly with his teeth.

In response, she tightens her muscles around him, and is rewarded with a jump, his teeth pressing harder against her skin, hard enough that she knows she'll be left with a mark. And she doesn't care, would wear any mark that he gave her proudly.

Darcy buries her face in his neck, breathes in the scent of him. "I love you."

Loki exhales slowly against her skin, his hands tight around her waist. "I love you, too, Darcy." He pulls back, presses his forehead to hers. "My Darcy."

"My Loki."

He starts moving then in earnest, his eyes on hers the whole time. And it's like nothing else Darcy has ever experienced, being this close to someone, being this open.

When she comes again, he follows soon after, spilling inside her in a series of hard thrusts.

They remain locked together for an endless moment, their breathing slowly returning to normal, their skin cooling. Loki lowers them to the cushions, pulls the blankets over them. They lie facing each other, one of Loki's thighs between Darcy's legs.

Darcy is blinking slowly, her fatigue slowly getting the best of her. "Wake me before morning?"

Loki murmurs something, and when she forces her eyes open for a moment, she sees that his are closed. She considers going back to her rooms now, but when she tries to as much as move an inch away from Loki, his arms tighten around her, pulling her back.

She relaxes back into his arms, snuggles into the cushions. They don't seem quite so annoying right now, but cosy instead, a nice cosy nest. Maybe she can see the point of all of them after all, she thinks as she slides into deep, content sleep.