Abashed the Devil Stood

Fiona Winters wasn't a woman to be easily intimidated.

She'd lived in Brooklyn half her life. She had seen shootings, gang fights, drugs, muggings. She'd even been in Manhattan when the sky had opened up and the Chitauri had descended on Earth. But somehow, she still felt vastly unprepared for what she was about to do.

She took a deep breath to steady her fluttering heartbeat and quell her nerves. She couldn't afford to show weakness in front of this man... if you could actually call him a man. The stakes were much too high.

As she padded along the dank, chilly corridor, obediently trailing the steps of her tall warrior guide, the tunnel widened to reveal a high-ceilinged cavern and a series of stone chambers, sunken into the walls.

Fiona peeked into the large bay windows of the first few rooms, which let the harsh light inside the cells spill onto the cold stone hall of the room. There were mostly men here, and other... things that she had never seen before. They all watched her with shifty eyes and leering grins, and she had no doubt in her mind that any of these prisoners would kill her or worse without a moment's hesitation.

Finally, the soldier stopped in front a cell near the far end of the hall and Fiona looked up to lock eyes with the glittering emerald gaze of the man sitting inside. She sucked in a sharp breath, and the prisoner's Cheshire grin widened.

Imprisonment had not been kind. He hardly resembled the smirking, armor-clad warrior that had led an army through New York. The golden armor was gone, replaced by a simple, scratchy-looking shift of olive linen. His skin looked pallid and clammy and his cheeks had sunken in somewhat, highlighting his already defined cheekbones. His long, dark hair looked devoid of any luster and hung in lifeless hanks of black at his neck and shoulders. There were ghostly rings under his eyes that only pronounced his glistening, green gaze.

She firmly reminded herself that the glass was secure, that he couldn't attack her. But as his eyes followed her path along the cell windows, she began to question the validity of that claim. The guard had reassured her that the chains securing his wrists were unbreakable and that the runes lining those cuffs would prevent him from using any offensive magic. But she knew better than anyone that, where magic was concerned, even the best laid plans were hardly ever foolproof.

The guard stopped in front of an even larger man with golden eyes to match his armor.

"Heimdall," her escort greeted him with a salute, and the men exchanged words in low, urgent whispers that Fiona was obviously not meant to hear.

After a moment, the one named Heimdall turned his probing golden gaze upon her and beckoned her forward. As she stepped toward him, he palmed a small dais etched with glowing runes. Fiona could tell from his stiff posture that he didn't care for the magical nature of the device, but her curiosity waned quickly as the glowing outline of the door appeared against the cell wall with a tinny hissing noise.

She took a steadying breath as the door separated from the wall and lowered to the ground. Blinding light poured from the room and Fiona stepped forward, but Heimdall's deep voice stopped her.

"I needn't tell you to be swift, child."

She nodded, her mouth suddenly too dry to form a response. Without giving herself time to think about how impossibly stupid this whole venture might be, she stepped into the room.

Blinking hard to clear her eyes of the blinding light, she heard the door hiss as it resealed behind her. She took a minute to let her eyes adjust, refusing to look like a vulnerable, watery-eyed damsel when she confronted this man. When she felt slightly more presentable she took a cautious step forward, but a cold voice stopped her in her tracks.

"I wondered when you would muster the courage to face me."

She frowned. "You were watching me." She thought she saw him grin at her from under his dark eyebrows.

"Since your arrival in Asgard. There are some magics that simply cannot be suppressed."

She gave no reply but moved directly in front of his perch, keeping a safe distance between them as her eyes fully adjusted to the bright room. He watched her as she moved across the room, his predatory scrutiny evident as his eyes shamelessly raked over her. He finally leaned back with a look of mocking distaste and smiled cruelly down at her, more a baring of teeth than an actual grin.

"Why are you here?" he demanded finally. "State your business and begone. I have no time to waste on a mortal chit."

She ignored the jab and said, in a voice that sounded much stronger than she felt, "I'm here to conduct negotiations."

His cold laughter filled the room. "If the All-father is sending mortals to negotiate the terms of my imprisonment, they must be truly desperate. I think I would almost prefer the torture."

She glared at him. "As it just so happens, yes. The situation is pretty urgent, so I'd appreciate it if you took it seriously. I already spoke to your father, and-"

"He is not my father!" he snarled, rattling the chains binding him to the chair. "And I am not his son."

Fiona watched him calmly, her clenched fists the only outward sign that his outburst had startled her. "He seems to think differently. And your title in the Hall of Archives still reads Loki Odinson."

"The Asgardian elders would not share the knowledge of the Archives with a mere mortal," he sneered. "Do not think to deceive me, girl. I am the Prince of Lies."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Prince of Lies, Prince of Mischief, Shape-Changer. Yes, I read all your titles in the Archives while I was there." She raised her eyebrows and added pointedly, "Which they allowed."

Loki looked furious. "The elders would never sully the ancient halls of knowledge with your presence-"

"But they did," she cut him off. "The All-Father made a decision and the elders agreed. It's done."

He regarded her with tight-lipped displeasure. "The hour must be dire if they let the likes of you into the halls of Asgard." She returned his frown with one of her own. "What is this boon then?" he asked imperiously. "What is so important that only a banished Prince may attend?"

She straightened up and pulled her shoulders back.

"I need a teacher."

He just looked at her.

"A magic instructor, to be specific," she continued. "I need to know how to control it."

Loki sneered. "And this is a task for a Prince, is it? This is the important endeavor the All-Father wishes of me?" He was suddenly furious again. "Well you can tell your king that I refuse to pass on the ancient gifts of our people to Midgardian swine!"

"He's not my king," Fiona said, brushing off the insult easily. "And yes, like I said before, we all consider it extremely important. The alternative will be... unpleasant."

"You think to threaten me?" His voice was amused, but she didn't miss the dark threat beneath his words.

"Not really," she replied, and her bitter smile left him perplexed. "Just consider it recompense."

"I owe you nothing," he snapped.

"You owe my planet," she quipped with surprising vehemence. "And your own."

He scoffed. "And this will atone for my so-called 'crimes' against your pathetic race?"

"You mean the 'pathetic race' that knocked your army into the dirt, Prince?" She put a little extra snark into his title and had a brief moment of satisfaction when his eyebrows pulled together and he glared at her. "You won't be given a pardon, but limited amnesty is more than enough leeway considering the magnitude of your offense."

"Offense?" he jeered. "I was doing your planet a favor. Your people were practically begging for subjugation, and I gave it to them."

"You attacked a peaceful planet and murdered hundreds of innocent people," she hissed. "What kind of favor is that?"

"Your species is known for its own blood-letting and war-mongering," he said imperiously. "I merely streamlined the process. Why should the loss of chattel matter to a god?"

Fiona knew then, even through her anger, that he was baiting her. She recognized his smug smirk as he looked down the line of his nose at her. She took a long, deep breath and counted times tables in her head until she could hear herself think over the blood pounding in her ears.

"Whatever the case," she said finally, "this is an emergency. Believe me, I'm not excited at the prospect either, but I'm under a lot of pressure here as well."

"I really couldn't care less," he said, shifting back into affected boredom. "And anyway, it's not as though you have any magical ability to instruct. It would be a waste of time."

"I have magic," she insisted, brows knitting together in frustration.

"You cannot fool me. All those with magical abilities leave an imprint in their wake. You have none."

She smiled then, slow and languid and cunning. It was the grin of someone with a secret, a gesture that he knew all too well. "Maybe you're just not as good as you think you are."

He snarled. "The All-Father is weak, letting humans into the Realm of Asgard! I will not be so foolish nor so merciful! If he thinks he can demand my servitude, he is sorely mistaken!"

There was a flicker of something in her expression, and Loki paused his ranting to consider the sudden revelation. "But this isn't an order, is it?" he asked more calmly, a slow smirk already tugging at the corners of his lips.

Fiona looked away grudgingly. "No."

A gleaming grin appeared on Loki's lips, and he settled regally back onto his seat.

"The All-Father said you needed to come to the decision on your own." She couldn't quite mask the bitterness in her tone, and it made his smile even wider.

"Well, then I feel no obligation to assist you in this matter."

She glared at him. The bastard, she thought. The smug, slimy, smooth-talking ass. He was smirking down at her with that coy, mocking expression, and even though she knew his chair was probably uncomfortable, the way he stretched lazily against it made him look for all the world like a petulant boy-king atop an imaginary throne. She knew she could go no further.

"Fine, then," she said, her tone resigned. "We're done here."

He thought for a second that her expression held such sorrow, so deep that it might have taken a lesser man's breath away. But the moment passed, and her mask of steely resolve slammed firmly into place as she called for Heimdall to open the cell.

She didn't look back as she left, the darkness beyond his cell swallowing her lithe frame as she descended. But Loki could both see and feel Heimdall's accusing gaze on him even as the door sealed again. He let his eyes follow her path out of the prisons as the temporary chains released from his wrists and disappeared. He let himself settle back in his seat as his mind already began to wrap around this interesting new development.

She would be back, he knew. It was only a matter of time.

~

As Fiona followed Heimdall down the long trek back through the underground caverns, she tried to figure out exactly where things had gone wrong.

She had tried her damnedest to keep her sharp tongue in line, but he was just so fucking infuriating that she couldn't help trading the occasional barb. Oddly enough, those were the times where he seemed most comfortable with their conversation. At least she knew he was being honest when he insulted her, she thought dryly.

Now she was just trying to stave off the misery of her failure. Every time she thought about what she would have to do, her stomach turned to ice and threatened to empty itself on the cold stone floors. So she turned her mind toward other things.

She was still trying to distract herself when her small entourage reached the end of the tunnels and broke into the bright afternoon sunlight.

She couldn't help but let out an appreciative sigh as the landscape unfolded before her. From their vantage point at the base of the city, they had a clear view of the high turrets and towers of Asgard as the sunlight filtered down into the city.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

Heimdall let out a rumble of what she thought was appreciation before turning back to her. "I must return. I leave you in capable hands." He gestured to the guards flanking their group, and they all saluted in response.

Fiona frowned. "Won't you miss the feast?"

She could have sworn she saw a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but the sunlight glaring from his polished helmet made it hard to tell.

"There will be other feasts, lady. But I thank you for your concern." The guards at her side seemed impatient to carry on and they ushered her forward.

"Farewell, child," she heard Heimdall's rumbling baritone sound from behind her, but when she turned to wave, he was already gone.