Mortal Questions

Chapter 7

In the morning, Loki packs. He carefully folds his clothes, tucking them into his satchel, larger on the inside than it appears on the out. He has clothes from Asgard, fine leathers and silks, that he lays on top; certain they will be more practical as travelling clothes than the suits he has grown to love in this world. He owns very little. Once every trace of him is gone from Thor's room, he texts Violetta to find out when to meet her. When he has his time, he tells Thor, breaking the morning's silence.

"Will I see you after? Promise me you will give me one more shared meal before you go."

"Yes, Thor. I will return."

Thor sighs, "Does she know how soon you leave?"

"Yes."

"And yet she still asks to see you?"

"So long as she understands how short time is, why should she not?"

"Because it is unwise to begin a friendship only to have to sever it."

"Who says we are beginning a friendship?"

"You've been with her the last two evenings. Alone. And last night you said-"

"A moment of sentimental weakness. She is a curiosity. Nothing more."

"You lie."

"And if I do? What difference does it make to you?" Loki finishes getting ready and walks out the door without allowing Thor the time to answer.

He walks to the coffee shop, even though the distance would make a cab more practical. His few hours of freedom remaining are precious and he would rather spend them moving under his own power than being shuttled in a tin can. There is something so precious about the open air, even as it stinks of city and exhaust. He lets himself think, trying to plan where he will go tomorrow. What corners of the universe in which he will take refuge. What he will stumble on while there. Or who will stumble on him. He shudders involuntarily at the thought of being found by Thanos. He knows Thor will be dispatched to find him, to drag him to Asgard for justice. None of his options are good. A few buy him a little more time. And all end badly. His heart is heavy with these thoughts when he opens the coffee shop door. He does not see Violetta, so he orders his coffee and takes a seat at one of the corner tables. He checks the phone. No messages. He waits, sipping the warm liquid slowly until it is nearly cold and she still has not arrived. He checks again. No message. He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair before he orders a second coffee and wonders how long he should wait. He is halfway through when he sees her through the large windows. She fumbles with the door, nearly dropping a folder and pages awkwardly held to her chest, her briefcase in the other hand. He hurries up and meets her as another patron holds the door.

"I'm so sorry I'm late."

"What detained you?"

"I'll explain in a minute."

"May I pay for your drink?"

She is visibly relieved, "Oh god, yes. Thank you."

He gestures to the corner table, "Please. Sit." She does and he realizes he doesn't know what she wants.

"Surprise me," she calls over her shoulder.

He smiles and shakes his head as he heads to the counter. She looks stressed. He orders a mocha and delivers it to the table.

"You know well enough to bring a harried girl chocolate. You might just be a god." She winks.

He sits across from her and watches as she sorts her papers into the briefcase, then gives up and stuffs everything under the lid, latching it to keep it closed. Her long navy blue skirt is wrinkled. There is a tan smudge of makeup on the shoulder of her white button=up shirt. It isn't hers. Her lace choker has slipped sideways, the hasp visible.