A/N: Based off of this prompt on norsekink:

norsekink . livejournal 9985 . html ? thread=20102145#t20102145

Basically: Loki rescues Sif (who doesn't want to get married) from an arranged marriage to Thor.

And because the author requested it, Loki/Darcy. (Which might take a more prominent place than the prompter may have liked, but, eh, I like this 'ship, and they make awesome co-conspirators :D)

Apologies for the quality of the writing/etc., as this is the first thing I've written in a while and my first foray into this wonderful fandom. This will eventually be Thor/Jane and Loki/Darcy, and, yes, it will be happy. I know Loki isn't as evil/insane/unstable/megalomaniacal as he was at the end of the Avengers, but there are several reasons for this that will become clear throughout the course of the fic. This is set a year or so after the Avengers. I hope this is... something like what the prompter over at norsekink had in mind, and if it isn't, and you're reading this, I'm really very sorry! Feel free to hit me with things to get me to revise bits or get it on the right track :)

Future chapters probably won't be this long. Probably. I'll try and update fairly regularly (read: weekly or more often), but real life is a bit hectic right now.

All mistakes/failings are my own, as this is unbeta'd. (Incidentally, I'd love if anyone would be willing to beta this for me :D)

Any questions/suggestions/corrections, feel free to message me or review :)

Or review anyway, because reviews are love :D

(LONG A/N IS LONG. Have a disclaimer, then fic xD)

Disclaimer: Not mine, I just play with them.

Chapter 1: which serves as an exposition

If there was anything Loki had learned throughout the course of his long, long life, it was that Thor, for all he was exceptionally good at hitting things very hard with a hammer, was quite possibly the most stupid, moronic and all-around dimwitted being that had ever existed in all of the nine realms.

And, of course, because as Thor was Thor and Loki was Loki, when things went hellishly, cataclysmically wrong (which happened surprisingly - or not - often), the oaf would come to him with those three immortal words: 'help me, brother'.

Even the animosity that had grown and blossomed between them of late could apparently not save the Trickster from playing the part of problem-solver (as Loki had discovered, much to his dismay, the first time Thor barged into his rooms - almost ripping the door from its hinges in the process - and demanded counsel.)

Loki had felt assured, after verbally eviscerating Thor and turning him away with nothing to show for his pains, that there would not be another such visit. He, however, was proven wrong when Thor showed up the next day with flowers.

Apparently, he had consulted the Lady Jane on how best to apologise and the woman had - for some reason that Loki could not even begin to fathom - offered Thor that utterly ridiculous piece of advice. It made him wonder what Lady Jane had heard of him, to think that he would be amenable to receiving flowers, like a woman; Loki knew Thor's opinion of his masculinity (which was that Loki had none), but it did make him question, however briefly, exactly what the oaf had told the woman.

Then again, perhaps Lady Jane possessed a rare sense of humour and this was her idea of a joke; if so, he could commend her on the execution, if not the lack of sense she'd displayed in insulting the God of Mischief.

Though, seeing Thor's crushed expression as the wretched bouquet of daisies went up in a blaze of bright green fire had been the highlight of Loki's return thus far. (The word 'rehabilitation' had been mentioned several times in passing, and Loki still couldn't help the genuinely amused smile he sported every time he heard it.)

That had been several weeks ago, regarding a different problem (that seemed to have, miraculously, and to the benefit of Loki's already frayed sanity, solved itself); however, since that moment, Loki has seen Thor on no less than twelve occasions in varying degrees of distress. Loki had taken no small amount of pleasure in turning him down at every turn with harsh words and condescending laughter; they may no longer be enemies, but it would do Thor good to remember that such a thing did not make them friends.

On this occasion, however, Loki found himself stunned into silence.

He stood by the hearth, blinking down at his brother owlishly, convinced that this was some sort of prank.

Thor was sat in one of his chairs, head cradled in his hands, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer into his palms.

Loki waited for the punchline.

It didn't come.

"Thor, you mean to say that you told Odin of your intentions to," Loki had to pause here, because, for some reason, he still found the level of idiocy involved somewhat beyond his comprehension, "marry a mortal."

Thor nodded, eyes downcast, and was he crying? "He was talking of marriage to one of the maidens at court, Loki. What was I to do?"

Loki was caught between embarrassment and fury.

"You do not announce in front of all and sundry that you plan to take up with a mortal woman!" Thor looked up at Loki then, mouth agape in shock and protest, but Loki cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand; he had neither the time nor the inclination to listen to any more of this drivel. "No, Thor. I refuse to sort this mess out for you. I refuse to be your last resort, yet again! I refuse to stand here and listen to you bemoan a situation that you yourself instigated."

He turned, thinking it the end of the conversation, but found himself being manhandled and spun around like a puppet (or a maiden, his mind added disdainfully) to face his attacker.

Apparently, Thor was not finished. (Or dissuaded by the look of absolute fury and outrage on Loki's face.)

"Brother," he said, eyes still moist. "I have wronged you. I- I have tried to right these wrongs-"

"Unhand me, you-"

"But do not force Sif and Lady Jane to pay the price for my foolishness."

Loki frowned, and let the indignity of being interrupted and molested in such a manner slide (for the moment). His normally agile mind turned the non-sequitur over sluggishly, examining the implications and possible meanings individually, as each became apparent. The reference to Lady Jane was self explanatory, but Sif... Surely, the All Father would not...? She was a warrior, not a housewife. What could Odin possibly hope to gain by making Sif Thor's wi- ...? Oh. Oh. It was so painfully obvious that Loki almost kicked himself for not noticing it before; perhaps stupidity was contagious?

Taking a fortifying breath, Loki settled for: "I was not aware that Odin was in favour of such a union."

"Neither was I, until today," Thor said, his grip loosening, allowing Loki to step back and out of his reach.

What a wretched situation, he thought, retreating to stand by the corner of his bed.

Loki hated Thor, with a venomous passion that at times overwhelmed him and, at times, was little but the hollowness at the pit of his stomach; it hurt, and ached, because it was poison. It was insidious, and to believe he could be purged of such a toxin so easily, nay, if at all, was so very like Thor that- That hurt Loki, too. But Sif-

Sif was different. In every sense of the word.

He may never have liked the woman - since childhood, had found her idolisation of Thor distasteful - but he respected her; a female warrior, who could defeat most of her male comrades on the field of battle - that alone made her novel, and interesting.

Sif was not made for a life of softness and comfort, but the hardened world of toil and battle; she could not be content unless her blade tasted blood and her body ached from the thrill of victory.

"She will make a good queen, Thor," Loki lied.

It took Thor a moment to process this. He was getting faster. "Then... you cannot help?"

Loki saw victory in the slope of his shoulders, the tense line of his jaw. He couldn't help but laugh. "No," he said after he had recovered, expression hardening. "I will not help."

"I... I understand," Thor nodded, making his way out into the hall. "Thank you for... for everything, Loki."

He remained silent as Thor left, closing the door gently behind the blond's retreating back.

One would think that, by now, Thor would have been able to tell when Loki was lying. 'Will not' indeed.

Bored and feeling claustrophobic, Loki took to wandering the palace grounds cloaked in a shroud of invisibility. It afforded him some measure of privacy from prying eyes; for all that he was slowly growing accustomed to Asgard once more, he could feel the stares that followed him, heavy with disapproval - with hate. He had dealt with it before, in another life, only now it was magnified; those that had always spoke ill of him were vindicated, and the rumours that had always been there, following him around like ghastly spectres, loomed once again. Only, now, people were receptive to them, believed the worst of Loki. After all, he had let the Frost Giants into Asgard; had waged war on an innocent realm; had tried to kill the beloved and noble Thor! Those were the truths; how much of a stretch was it to believe that Loki had given birth to Sleipnir, mothering and siring all manner of monsters? That he was more than just argr, but frequently took men into bed under the guise of being a woman? That he had killed Baldr? Cut Sif's hair?

Those were not the worst, nor the most petty, but they offended him the most. That there was a shred of truth contained in each mattered not. So what if he could transform into a woman, not that he had ever lain with a man; had not cut Sif's hair, but found replacement locks; had, perhaps, a slight hand in the fool Baldr's death, however ignorant he'd been of it at the time? It was the way these things were spoken of, like grave misdeeds, or part of Loki's grand scheme of mischief that he was inflicting upon innocent Asgardians.

There had, perhaps, always been an element of it (for who would not be suspicious of a male mage with pale skin and jet black hair?); but Loki had always been something of a warning to others, a sort of 'how not to behave' - the antithesis of a good Asgardian. It had been both a source of pride and of pain as he tried to reconcile the dark, smug satisfaction (the superiority) of being truly unique with the childlike, pathetic need to fit in. To be his brother. To be- to be accepted, perhaps even liked.

To not be alone.

Looking up at the stars, half hidden in the bright blue of the sky, Loki released a slow and steady sigh. He was stronger for it - the suffering - but hindsight was a privilege afforded only by the passage of time. The aftermath was only such because the dust had settled, and what was left was... Rubble. Building blocks that, after a time, could be reassembled; could perhaps begin to resemble what there was before life and experience and hate tore it all to pieces.

He walked past one of the fountains, skimming the surface of the water with the tips of his fingers.

Two young chambermaids were talking in animated tones on a nearby bench, but Loki paid them little mind. He continued on, wiping his hand on his trouser leg.

"Oh, I know!" The blonde one squealed, so loudly that Loki gave an involuntary flinch. He turned, a hex on the tip of his tongue and his fingers sparking with magic. "The Lady Sif will make a terrible wife!"

Ah, so it had become palace gossip already; at least some things remained constant, and the loose lips of the palace staff was one of them.

Almost against his will, Loki found himself letting the magic at his fingertips dissipate. He regarded the two women silently.

"Of course she will," this one was a redhead, and, if anything, was even more enthusiastic and high-pitched than her insufferable friend. "She goes out and- and fights! Like a man! And I know everyone thinks that is some sort of noble or good thing," her friend snorted, and Loki wished that he had hexed her out of principle, "but it is not a woman or a wife's place to be out doing those- those things."

Loki remembered a conversation from years ago, in these very same gardens, when he and Sif were both young and full of the fear and naivety of youth. He remembered asking her if she'd ever marry, because even if he'd never thought of her that way, she was beautiful and good in equal measure. He remembered seeing her genuinely afraid for the first time in his life.

His stomach turned.

"It isn't right," the blonde muttered. This statement caused both to nod somberly, as if the woman had just declared a sacred truth. "She has done some great things, and I like a woman who knows how to care for herself, but-"

"But it still isn't right," her friend finished for her. She took the other maid's hand between her own and squeezed. "The All Father is a wise man, so... So if he thinks Sif will make a good wife, and that she is, ah, good enough for Prince Thor... We have to trust him. The All Father is our King."

"He must be certain, after all: I have heard that they are already planning the wedding."

'So soon?' Loki thought, surprised. He frowned, slipping into the shadows with practiced ease. The Library—Yes. He had some tomes to consult. Evidently, time was not on his side.

The library was a large, rectangular room situated towards the rear of the palace, with a high, vaulted ceiling. It was perpetually bathed in a soft, amber glow from the light fixtures and the small hearth that sat at the heart of it. The wall on which the entryway was located was bare, save the usual gold adornments that were something of a motif in the palace - sconces and elegant geometric patterns carved into the polished surface - while a window spanned the far wall. Floor to ceiling shelves flanked the assorted wing-backed, padded armchairs and the tables littered with candles, quills and parchment.

Apart from his private rooms, the library had always been Loki's favourite place; his hideaway when Thor, Sif and the Idiots Three were being particularly infantile, or when a prank had gone wrong and he'd needed to make a hasty retreat. It was a place of refuge, for those times Loki had simply needed to get away.

The library meant books, hefty tomes and grimoires of all description; it meant knowledge.

The library meant sanctuary.

As few beside himself and the other mages of the court frequented this oft neglected room, when Loki strode through the open doorway, completely unselfconscious in this, his kingdom of parchment and ink, the one thing he most certainly had not anticipated was company.

Especially not company that was wearing full battle regalia. And was still carrying a spear.

If Loki's step faltered and his eyes widened like a deer that was about to become supper, well, there was only one person here to witness such a slip.

"Lady Sif," he nodded politely, regaining his composure swiftly. He walked past her to the bookshelves and made a show of investigating the titles written on the spines. He was still not fully recovered from his earlier ordeal with Thor, and while he did not expect Sif to have a similar teary breakdown... Well, she was in the library. Stranger things had already happened.

"Loki," she said by way of greeting, and he could hear the hostility dripping from his name like water from a leaking faucet.

Ah, good, so she hadn't forgiven him. Perfect.

Loki pulled a thin volume from the shelf and sat down at a chair that was just far enough away from Sif to make a statement without actively discouraging all attempts at conversation.

He skimmed the words on the pages before him quickly, cataloguing the salient information and mentally making notes of the other books he would have to read (in some cases, re-read); it seemed simple enough, in principle, but he had precious little time on his hands, and -

The sound of a book being slammed shut with rather more force than was necessary pulled him out of his reverie. Sif was staring at the leather bindings with an intensity bordering on ferocity and, for the sake of the books (he was the consummate bibliophile, and he would be damned if so much as a single page were torn in his presence), decided to intervene. Her abortive attempts to open her mouth and address him herself were amusing, because it must have galled her to have to try and ask Loki for help, but, again, the books.

He watched her discreetly out of the corner of his eye, fighting the urge to smirk.

Opening her mouth - again - as if to speak, Sif chanced a look at him and ducked her head. She seemed to be chewing over the words without saying them (which made her look an awful lot like a fish), but then she evidently thought better of it, and resumed trying to set fire to the book in front of her with nothing but the sheer force of her glare.

Closing his own tome, gently so as not to damage the whisper-thin pages, Loki sighed. He knew that he would regret this with the certainty that came from having been verbally (and physically) assaulted by the woman in front of him on innumerable occasions. "Is there any way I may be of service, Lady Sif?"

She actually flinched. Loki didn't bother hiding his smirk this time. "I assume that Thor told you of our impending," she scowled, "nuptials."

"Ah, yes, he did mention it," he placed the book down on the arm of the chair. "So you have taken it upon yourself to research the Marriage Laws?" She didn't reply, so Loki pressed on. "Have you found anything of merit?"

"I- No."

"Hm. Tricky thing, arranged marriage," he steeped his hands in front of his face, as if deep in thought. "I cannot imagine it makes for interesting reading."

That earned him a snort. Sif looked up again, but her face looked drawn - tense; whether from the distaste of having to converse with him or her current predicament, Loki was unsure. He was willing to bet it was a bit of both. "I have never been a scholar," she confessed; it was rather true, after all. "And these laws, they - I mean to say-"

"They make no sense."

"Yes."

Loki took a pity on her. "May I make a suggestion?" She nodded hesitantly. He gestured towards a small section of blue-bound leather books on the far side of the room, near the window. "Those should make things clearer to you, if this is a path you wish to pursue further."

"Thank you," she smiled wanly.

Loki returned the smile, and reached for his book again, ready to resume his own (an infinitely more likely to succeed) research.

"Loki?" He looked up, frowning. "Have you... Spoken to the All Father about this?"

"No. I do not believe he would be very receptive to any pleas from my corner, given recent events."

Sif considered this, her mouth a thin, unhappy line. "I do not blame him. Your silver tongue is more trouble than it is worth," she paused. "Though it would have been useful in this situation."

"When Odin sets his mind to something, there's very little that can dissuade him. Including my 'silver tongue', I'm afraid."

"You could-" Sif took a deep breath and then let loose a torrent of what Loki could only describe as 'babble', "you know this library better than anyone, Loki. You are- cunning." It sounded more like an insult than praise, and, he supposed it was. "If anyone can find a way out of this situation, it is you. These books, I- I am not a scholar. I have said this before and, while I do not for a second believe the lie that you have 'changed'... Perhaps you could find it in that cold heart of yours to help your brother and I?"

"By aiding you in your research of obscure marital law?"

"If that is what will free me from this, then yes."

Loki turned his gaze skyward, brows knitted together. He didn't speak for a moment, savouring the fact that Sif was asking him for help. With Thor, well, it was always rather flattering (if infuriating, predictable and tedious), but they had been brothers - and Thor had a habit of getting himself into situations that he simply wasn't intelligent enough to outmaneuver. But Sif? This was a wonderfully new experience.

"Thor came to me earlier today and asked me for my help," he smirked. "And I am afraid that you shall receive the same answer as him: no."

"And why not?"

"Why should I?" he retorted.

Growling, she rose from the chair.

Ah.

He'd rather forgotten that she still had her spear on her.

Oh dear.

Loki put a hand to his face gingerly and grimaced when his fingers came away coated in blood. Delightful.

Being proven right (he did, indeed, regret opening his troublesome mouth) was invariably satisfying, though Loki had to admit that having his nose broken by an angry battle-maiden was something of an... unforeseen complication. Though, on the bright side, he had managed to avoid being impaled on her spear. Which was a pleasant, if rather small, consolation.

Perched at the end of his large bed, legs drawn up to his chest, Loki allowed himself to get lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. The swelling would take a day to go down, if he was lucky (which he seldom was); he would have risked healing it himself, had he any proficiency at minor healing magics beyond the mending of broken bones and wounds. If he could convince a healer to tend to the injury- No. Then the altercation would be the subject of palace gossip, and he the butt of yet more jokes. 'Beaten by a woman!' they would laugh (no matter that the woman was Sif and had probably beaten them at some point). The thought of adding more logs to that particular fire left an acrid taste in his mouth.

Prodding the bridge of his nose lightly, he winced and scowled.

So, Loki had a day, two at most, in which he would have to remain out of sight with spells, or sequestered in his rooms, or -

Or, he could take a long overdue trip to Midguard.

"Oh," the Trickster chuckled to himself as he drew back into the shadows, vanishing from both Asgard and Heimdall's gaze. If Odin had any idea of what the younger prince were planning... "Oh, this will be such fun."

Darcy loved Jane, because Jane was sweet and kind and, okay, she's like one of the most boring people Darcy's ever met, ever, but that's just another part of what Darcy loved about her: while Darcy was off being Darcy and doing stupid, insane Darcy things like accidentally setting fire to her mattress with her hair straighteners, Jane would have a room and a place for Darcy to stay and a shoulder to cry on. Because that was Jane. She was what Darcy needed: a constant.

And in return, Darcy would make Jane watch silly movies and laugh about life, boys and celebrity gossip. She would take away Jane's laptop and make her sleep, make sure she ate more than just pop-tarts and instant ramen and be what Jane needed, which was a friend.

When shit went down with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers, Darcy made sure to stick by her best friend's side, even if she couldn't promise her that everything would be okay. Jane was grateful anyway.

S.H.I.E.L.D. offered her a job as Jane's permanent assistant not long after, and she suspected that it had less to do with her own innate awesomeness being recognised and more to do with Jane's considerable sway with those scary Men in Black types. Even if the mild-mannered astrophysicist hadn't been engaged to the God of Thunder, she was the woman who could quite possibly recreate the fricken' Bifrost. Forget getting married to a myth: in Darcy's opinion, Jane Foster was well on her way to becoming one. And she deserved it - if only for having to put up with said God of Thunder, who was damn pretty, but Jesus did he take a lot of work. (And not the fun, sexy kind, either.)

Take, for instance, now: Thor had proposed to Jane, which was so sickeningly perfect and romantic that Darcy may have actually cried herself to sleep (twice), and everything seemed to have been going really, really great for them. Jane was so happy she was glowing. Thor composed (bad) epic love poetry. Darcy had been forced to rent a hotel room to get away from her and Jane's shared apartment, because no matter how much she loved her friend, she was too poor to pay for the years of therapy she'd need after seeing her and Thor go at it like drunk college students.

So: Thor had proposed, Jane was happy, and Darcy was living across town while they rutted it out. All was good.

And then Thor had gone back up to Asgard to do whatever it was they actually did in a place that was apparently sparkly and made of rainbows and gold (apparently they hit each other with nasty sounding weapons, ate a lot of food and drank a lot of booze - so, in Darcy's mind, it was like an Eternal Frat Party of Awesome). He and Jane had shared a teary farewell and a lot of saliva (ew) and then...

Nothing.

They hadn't heard from Thor in weeks.

The last time they hadn't heard from Thor in this long was when his crazy-ass little brother had decided to blow up an entire realm, forcing Thor to destroy the Bifrost and his only way back to Jane. Which Darcy thought was super romantic in a tragic sort of way, but whatever. Jane was going into a mental meltdown trying to figure out a way to get to Asgard, and S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers were collectively trying to figure out exactly how much of this was going to be Loki's Fault. ('Reformed' her ass; when someone tries to be the Big Bad and conquer an entire planet, especially her planet, Darcy was gonna need more reassurance than 'oh yea, he's good now, by the way'. Well. Apparently Daddy Odin had done something fancy with magic or whatever, but she didn't understand the details, and Darcy wasn't sure how much she could trust him, either, considering he'd mortal'd one son and let the other fall off the edge of the universe. Seriously, who does that?)

As Jane's best friend slash assistant slash link to the world outside of science and Thor, Darcy had taken it upon herself to try and cheer her boss up and, y'know, stop her accidentally ripping spacetime apart to get her fiance back. But... nothing was working. All Jane wanted to do was work, and if she wasn't working she would be in her room sleeping, maybe eating if Darcy was lucky, or staring into space like some creepily pretty zombie.

To be honest, it kinda bumming Darcy out.

"Jane," she whined. "Look, just come out of there and- and watch a movie with me, or something!" Darcy slumped against her friend's bedroom door and helped herself to another generous spoonful of chocolate ice cream. She'd planned this whole Girls' Night thing down to the popcorn, but it would be completely pointless if it was just Darcy, all on her own, sitting there crying over Johnny Depp's stupid, beautiful face. "C'mon! I got ice cream! It's chocolate," Darcy heard a sniffle from inside, and her heart broke a little. "Oh, Jane..." Why did she always lock her door? It wasn't like Darcy hadn't seen her in tears before.

Sighing, she made her way back down the hall to their living room and slumped down on the comfy cream sofa. The original Pirates of the Caribbean movie was paused on the title screen, but Darcy just didn't have the heart to sit there and watch it on her own, surrounded by blankets and snacks while Jane was in her room, alone, missing the man she loved.

What a majorly sucky way to spend a Saturday night.

If Jane didn't get her Godly blond fiance back soon, or at least, like, smile, Darcy was gonna go to Asgard herself and bitchslap Thor. Or Loki. Or Odin. Or whoever the fuck it was that was making her best friend cry.

Darcy sighed again, wrapping one of the soft wool blankets around her shoulders. She picked up the remote from where she'd thrown it haphazardly on the coffee table earlier and set the movie to play. Watching good looking men and explosions on the TV sounded pretty good right about now.

Two tubs of ice cream, half a bowl of popcorn and three movies later and Darcy had fallen into a peaceful, pirate-filled, drooling pile of slumber on the sofa.

That is, until a door slammed and Darcy proceeded to fall face-first onto the floor, uneaten popcorn, blankets and all.

"Mrphmphmm," she grunted intelligently.

Jane's voice invaded her still-sleepy mind. "I'm sorry Darce," she didn't sound particularly sorry, and if Darcy were more awake and less worried about the state of her face (ow, her brain supplied, helpfully), she'd be tempted to ask why Jane was up at this hour making loud noises and generally being a very mean person. "I've had an idea, and I need to get down to the lab. I think- I think I might have it! I think I can get to Asgard and bring Thor back!"

Oh, Thor. Now Darcy felt like the most horrible friend and human being ever for forgetting about her best friend's pain, if only for a moment.

"Are... Are you okay there, Darcy?"

"M'fine," she said, and managed to free a hand from their blankety prison to give Jane a half-hearted thumbs up. "See? Go do your science thingy. Don't worry about little old me."

"Okay," wow, was Jane actually laughing? She must be serious about that breakthrough. Though going to Asgard was probably a bad idea. But, hey. If Jane was happy, then Darcy was less depressed, and that was awesome. "Go to bed, Darce. And try not to hurt yourself," the astrophysicist let herself out of the front door, leaving Darcy... well. On the floor. Like a boss.

Feeling marginally less ridiculous now that she was on her own, Darcy extricated herself slowly and painfully (literally; gravity was a bitch) from her bedding. Likelihood of Jane not remembering this and failing to make some incredibly cute, inoffensive joke? Zero. But she liked it when Jane tried to get snarky with her. It was cute.

There was a mirror in the hall, and Darcy padded over to it to inspect the damage. It felt like she had a split lip, at best, and her nose felt tender, but not broken; hopefully she wouldn't look like she'd been in a fight with a baseball bat and lost, because that was the absolute last thing she needed right now. Gods giving you grief? Check. Crappy job that requires you to live in the middle of the desert? Double check. Woefully single with no chance of meeting a guy who wasn't a) a superhero, b) a secret agent or, c) some shmuck from a bar who tried to feel her up before they'd even been on one date? Check times infinity.

Ugh. Darcy was really starting to hate men, Gods or not. She was turning into her mother.

What she saw in the mirror didn't exactly fill Darcy with confidence that she'd ever, y'know, have sex again in this lifetime. Her hair was a mess, her lower lip already swollen and bleeding a little and her nose looking puffy (it would probably bruise, oh god). Plus she was probably putting on weight; her thighs felt flabby, her stomach too-big and her ass looked like it could cause a total eclipse of the sun. Then again, she always felt like that after she'd eaten her own body-weight in ice cream.

She turned so that she was facing the mirror side on, and lifted up the thin black material of her tank top until it was sitting under her breasts. Eh, she should have worn a bra; her boobs would've looked better and then maybe she wouldn't be drowning in emo feels and contemplating never eating again, ever.

Frowning, she poked her exposed stomach. With her face all mashed up and feeling fat and cranky and silly, she felt like... Like... Like she needed more ice cream.

"I'll never have sex again," Darcy lamented. "And Thor will come back, and he and Jane will be getting busy all the time and then marry and I'll have to move out and I will be forever alone."

Her reflection pouted back at her, and Darcy refused to feel ridiculous about talking to an inanimate object. She was alone (forever! her brain - and lady-parts - cried) in her apartment, and it wasn't like there was anyone here to hear her.

"You are... not Jane Foster," said a very distinctly male voice from the vicinity of her living room.

Oh, of course.

"Fuck my life," Darcy groaned.

And then promptly passed out in the hall.