This was written for the Marvel Shipping Games over on Dreamwidth, which... kind of went down in flames once the Mods inexplicably jumped ship. Oh well, no matter. I wrote it as a possible entry into Round One, but it didn't get used in the end. It comes with some gorgeous artwork by the wonderful decemberbellz, which you can find where this story is posted on AO3.

It was also supposed to be a Victorian AU, but I don't think I captured that very well to be honest.

I hope you enjoy it regardless!

It's a perfect day for a funeral. The sky's not too gray, and the ground's not too moist. Tonight, the sky will be clear and all the stars will be shining, exactly the way Jane Foster liked it.

A crowd of fifty has assembled for the service. Before them, a man of God delivers his sermon in a strong, well-practiced voice. He calls upon the Lord to allow his child safe passage into His holy kingdom, and to grant them solace in their time of grief. Jane Foster had been so young, so beautiful, with such a promising future ahead of her. For her to die like this, by the cold and cruel hand of sickness, was as sudden as it was astonishing.

Loki has the seat closest to the body. The front row is reserved for family and close friends, and since Jane had had none of the former, it falls to just three people to be her chief mourners. To Loki's left is Lady Darcy Lewis, who never cries unless she's alone in her room with the lights off, or if Jane is alone with her. She listens intently to the sermon, her light tongue weighted down for once. Loki hasn't heard a word out of her all day, not since he went to pick her up for the service. He understands her pain. Jane had always been the best friend Darcy ever had, and vice versa.

(The last time Jane conversed with Loki, she told him that leaving Darcy behind was her greatest regret of all.)

On Loki's other side is Thor, his brother, and the man Jane Foster would have been getting married to today. Right behind Thor is Lady Sif, the woman Thor loves with all his heart.

(Jane would not regret leaving Thor one bit.)

Sif rests a hand on his shoulder, comforting him, and Thor holds her there. Everyone else takes it for a friend consoling a friend. Loki knows better. The truth is that Thor had loved the both of them, if in different ways. Jane had been his betrothed from birth, and so he learned to love her out of obligation, where he otherwise might've seen nothing but the sister he never had. His true passions were reserved for Sif, and while Jane spent her life longing for her future husband to carry a fire for her that matched the one she carried for him, Thor's fire was always for Sif, and no one else.

Here now, through the superficial tears he sheds, there can only be joy in his heart. Loki knows it to be true. Thor will one day be father to little dark haired hellions who will wrestle and roughhouse all day long. There will be no pretty little brown haired children with their noses in books and their eyes to the sky. So perhaps it's as it should be.

Loki looks away from Thor before he loses control of himself. It's not the first time that he's wanted nothing more than to put his hands around Thor's neck and choke the life out of him, screaming 'How could you? How could you do this? How could you live this lie and make us suffer?'

But it no longer matters, does it?

Jane Foster is dead.

Dead and gone.

She has left behind a free man and a free woman, too.

Loki hopes they remember to thank her when they're having their wedding dance on her grave.

He focuses on her now, there in the open casket. She's strange to look upon in this deathly state. Her skin looks flawless, her face peaceful. She's beautiful like a porcelain doll. Her eyes don't crinkle at the sides when she's angry and her lips don't protrude when she's deep in thought. Death gives her a perfection that makes him dizzy. He can't look at her for but a moment at a time without feeling faint. Others like Darcy give him odd looks. He doesn't blame them. He's not quite himself today after all.

Still, she is beautiful, beautiful in a way she never would have believed she could be. Such beauty is all but inhuman. This is the kind of work only a mage could do, and only one as powerful and dedicated as Loki is.

All around him, people are whispering. Sometimes, his name is said, but never once does he turn around. Lady Darcy tells him to ignore them. They're just bored and need something to gossip about. It's the way of high society and one just has to accept it and try to stay out of their sight. Loki is surprised that Lady Darcy would speak to him so civilly. Defend him even. All this time, he was certain that she didn't care for him at all.

"I really don't," she had whispered to him, hiding her face behind a fan, "but I know that Jane did, so for her sake, I'm willing to make peace for now."

'Tomorrow is another story,' her dry tone implies, and Loki is warmed by it. It's good to see that the Darcy Jane had loved is still there, and that when her time to grieve has passed, she will find herself again and carry on.

Loki wishes he could tell her how much he appreciates it, but there's no need to be even more out of character just because today is a sad day for them. He settles for taking her hand when it's his turn to go and speak, kissing it lightly through a shiver of awkwardness that starts in his chest and moves in all directions. Never before has he touched a woman this way, or wanted to.

"You were the best friend Jane ever had," he tells her. "And if she were here right now, she'd tell you to go on living happily, to find a new best friend to tease, and to just go ahead and marry Lord Fandral already."

Lady Darcy opens her mouth, and for a time she gawks, and then she laughs. It's a real laugh, one he knows very well, but there is still wetness at the brim of her eyes that she's going to have trouble keeping at bay. Loki feels no remorse for it. It had needed to be said.

Loki turns away, stepping up to the podium the priest has vacated. He gives one last look to Lady Darcy first. After today, he's never going to see her again.

The whispers of the audience are louder up here; those who are there only for social standing, and not because they ever knew or cared about Jane at all, talk amongst themselves. What they mistake for hushed is all too loud for Loki. A mage's ears are more sensitive than a human's.

"Why isn't the fiancé doing the eulogy?"

"I heard he asked his brother to do it because—"

"Yes, it's very odd, isn't it?"

"Well, personally, I think the brother may have had feelings for Ms. Foster."

"Yes, I think he did. How very sad—"

"—I heard he's spent the last week in the cellar with her body."

"Oh yes, even taking his meals down there—"

"What a strange man. Should they really allow him do to this?"

They speak so callously on a matter that is of no concern to them. It's a wonder these same people used to greet Jane at all family parties and gatherings like they were old friends. She always said they were phony like a three legged horse. Now Loki sees that they are more than just phony. They are phony and empty. Their lives carry no joy or fulfillment, and so they busy themselves with the lives of others to fill that void. Loki almost pities them.

Loki glances at the body in the casket. The flat line of her mouth seems changed from this position, so that she looks to be smiling. Loki smiles back.

"Good afternoon." Loki lets his voice carry, silencing the gossipers. "I know that today is a dark day for us all. A day in which we must say goodbye to one near and dear to our hearts."

He only means that for Darcy. No one else deserves to miss her, especially not Thor.

"That someone so young and so full of passion, who had such excitement for life and for learning, could be taken from us in so soon and so painfully is unthinkable, unimaginable, unbearable…"

Loki pauses to swallow and let that sink in. He looks down the podium at the front row, at Thor.

"I can only speak for myself. I was called upon to make this speech just yesterday. My brother-" he chokes on the word, "- asked me to take his place as the one to see Jane off. He told me, 'you were always closest to her. You knew her more than I ever did, so I think it only right that you be the one to stand and speak of her.' It's nice to know that for once, Thor realizes his lack of ability to form a sentence that doesn't in some way involve threat of violence."

Some of the mourners laugh, because they don't really know what else to do. Thor has no visible reaction, either because it's the truth or because he just doesn't care anymore about Loki's jabs. He's lived with them long enough.

"Jane Foster was my dearest friend and closest companion. She was a truly phenomenal woman possessed a bottomless well of love and understanding, even when there was no one around who deserved her love." Loki smiles to himself depreciatively. "That is not to say that she was weak of will or of mind. It's quite the opposite. Never before have I encountered strength and determination that matched Jane Foster's. Only in mine and Thor's dearly departed mother could Jane have found in equal in that regard. That is why I expect my mother to be there waiting for Jane on the other side, to help her on her way home.

Thor lets out a sob, a real one. Loki knew bringing up his mother would do that to him.

"I remember the first time we met. I was a boy of ten, and she, merely seven. She had discarded her skirts and stolen clothing from my closet, not realizing that they were mine until it was too late. I found her covered in dirt, having tripped in the mud while running in my finest pair of riding breeches. The little thing hadn't even known how to tie it correctly. When she tried to stand, they fell to her ankles. I knew from that day on, this girl was going to be a fixture in my life. I would never let her go, if only until she'd been my personal servant long enough to pay me back for the ruined breeches."

No one laughs this time, which is a shame. Jane may have gone red at the ears whenever that story was told, but it's Loki's favorite. These nobles and courtiers are far too stuffy if they can't even appreciate good humor. At least one elderly Duchess, who looks ready to turn to dust at a single gust of wind, holds a handkerchief to her mouth and shakes her head in horror.

"I would like us now to take a moment to reflect on our fondest memories of Jane," Loki closes his eyes. "Think of all the ways in which she made a difference in your life, all the good times you shared with her. Think about her intelligence and bravery; how she could glow with a need to know everything, and still carry all the grace and poise of a true Lady.

"Think about all the places she could have seen and all that she might have accomplished… of course, being that she was destined to be wife to a Lord, much of those accomplishments would have been a bit more domestically focused than was true to her potential, but nevertheless, let us remember all that she hoped and dreamed for, and let us strive for hopes and dreams that can match Jane Foster's, and pray that we can reach them where she could not."

Thor does react this time, placing a hand over his face as he gives Loki a withering look. He's likely to receive hell for this later. It's not the first time Loki has cursed Thor for chaining Jane to him, only the first time he's done so in public, and so obviously. Those who spoke about him now have their prying eyes on Thor. That's nothing compared to Sif. She's ready to send Loki to an early grave as well if the way she glares and wrings her hands is indication.

'Oh don't lie to me like you lie to yourself,' Loki thinks and wishes to say. 'You couldn't be happier to have him all to yourself.'

"I feel as though Jane is with us today." Loki glances at the casket, her beautiful face. "Standing among us, watching us, wondering why I have yet to stop speaking and go."

Her face shifts for just a fraction of a second, so that only Loki is aware that it's happened.

"I believe that it would be her fondest wish, that all of you do exactly as I said, and hold your precious memories of her near and dear to your hearts," Loki shudders, and while those in attendance will believe he is overcome by grief, he really just can't believe he has to say something so trite and unlike him. It's a wonder no one has figured it out yet.

"Let us all go now," he finishes his speech with great flourish. "Let us go inside for dinner, let us go to the plot where our beloved Jane shall be buried, and tomorrow morning, let us seize the new day as Jane would have. Let that be the legacy she leaves behind."

He looks to the body, laughs to himself at how easy this is, and he can almost see the smirk on those lips that he longs to feel pressed on his own again.

'I told you it would work.'

'Yes, you certainly did.'

Loki takes a deep breath. The air is so cool and cleansing today.

"Let us say our final goodbyes to our beloved Jane Foster, but let us never forget her brilliance and sophistication that will live on in the hearts and minds of those who knew her best. Let us raise our glasses to Lady Jane Foster of the house of Selvig, and wish her safe passage into the world beyond."

No one has any glasses, but they clap and cheer as tears stream down their faces. It is the greatest show of grief Loki has ever seen, and it's a shame so much of it is feigned or just in the heat of the moment. Strange to think such a saccharine speech could evoke real emotion, but there it is.

He looks away from the body, trusts that death is all to be found there, and not that tiny hint of life lingering below the surface...

The party has ended and night has fallen. Getting away sooner was impossible for the host. Once more, Loki had found himself in a job meant for Thor, who didn't seem to feel worthy of having any part in mourning for Jane at all. Loki can understand it, almost appreciate it. That can only be the remains of his love for the man talking, and Loki ignores it and speaks not a word to Thor all night. He is no longer Loki's concern, and so he feels no shame in this.

The moon is nearly full and high in the sky. He should have been out here hours ago.

He finds the newest grave and sticks the shovel into the dirt. The earth is turned and soft, but still digging is hard for him. Sometimes, Thor used to help his mother dig up her flower bed in the spring, and he always said that it grew easier after the first few times. He must have been lying, or else Loki is growing weaker each time the shovel strikes the dirt.

He stops when his fingers start to tingle. Horror etches on his face as his large hands shrink down to small, feminine ones. Magic courses through him, erasing the angular lines of his face and softening hardened muscles. The shovel appears to be getting bigger, but it's really just Loki getting smaller.

"Oh no, not now," he says, and he holds his throat as his voice loses its rough timbre and rises in pitch.

Energy surges at the core and he shoves rapidly lengthening hair out of his face, throwing up one clump of dirt as a time as fast as his changing body will allow.

It's not much longer before the lid of the casket appears. By now, Loki has vanished, and Jane- in her tattered funeral gown with dirt and twigs in her hair instead of flowers- feels her heart will explode from the exertion. Loki was right all along: she needs to exercise more.

She pauses to catch her breath before she answers the scratching at the lid of the box. Well, let him scratch. He can just stay in there for putting her through this. She brushes the dirt away from the lid and pulls it open. Her double sits up in the casket, a far lovelier version of the real thing with piercing green eyes that make her heart do somersaults. Of course he is just fine in there. A simple human would never survive being buried alive for so many hours, but to a mage who lives his life in the throes of magic, it's a walk in the park.

"That certainly took you long enough," he says like the smart bastard he is.

"You can't hold me at fault," she says. "You throw far too good a party."

He smirks, and waits no longer to transform himself. Her face hardens into his and his legs grow so long that he must bend them to keep from breaking the casket. With one arm he boosts Jane out of the hole first. She waits for him to climb out and turn away from the hole to throw herself into his arms. She crushes her lips to his, throwing all her lessons on etiquette and good manners out the window. This is scandalous and improper, the lot of it. She's technically still an engaged woman so long as she's wearing her ring.

As she slides her tongue over Loki's lips, she works the diamond off her ring finger and throws it back into the grave. It can stay buried in her place.

"Would it not be wise to save this for later," Loki says in Jane's ear as she attacks his throat. "When we are no longer on my family's property where anyone can see me with a dead woman in my arms? Seems rather dangerous."

"I think the real question is: if it's so dangerous, why have you not taken me away from here already like you promised, my handsome and powerful mage?"

He grins evilly against her mouth.

"Oh darling, don't you know? I thrive on danger."

She swats him on the back, but finds herself laughing anyway. Loki infuriates Jane to the point where she wants to kill him sometimes, but never could she be truly angry at him. He's made it so.

He takes her more fully into his arms, pulling her flush against his body until she's straddling him. This is a position she would have balked at mere months ago, before Loki came along and loved her like he does now; before she loved him back, so much that she was willing to give up everything for a life with him. A part of her heart aches for what she's leaving behind, but the rest soars with joy and love and passion.

Even now, she has no regrets.

She was wrong before at the funeral: they are the free ones.

"Where would you like to go?" Loki asks her.

He nips at her ear, so Jane's answer comes out a gasp.

"Everywhere."

With the next gust of wind and rustling of leaves, Loki and Jane disappear from this place, their chains broken and abandoned. All that is left is an undisturbed grave, and a memory.