Silhouettes | Loki fanfiction

I

In which there is horrible calculus and potential murderers

USA. Present day.

The calculus question was cruel. 

No, it was more than cruel; it was taunting and vindictive. Laughing as it remained just out of reach. 

Freja clicked her pen at it aggressively, but in the half hour she'd been staring at it, had yet to make an actual mark. Instead, 8 mins and 23 seconds ago, she'd decided that perhaps looking at it upside down would help.

Her dad had always told her sometimes you just needed to view things a little differently to be able to understand them. 

Unfortunately, it hadn't worked. Instead she was left with a sore neck from twisting her head and a still obnoxiously clear paper. She groaned and leant on the back legs of her chair, banging her head against the wall in desperation. 

It didn't help solve the problem but it made her feel better.

Usually her AP calculus problems didn't ruffle her too much but today her brain was refusing to cooperate and she decided that she had and would never despise a question more in her life as this one. She gave a longing look at her easel. Her latest painting was waiting for her to give it the finishing touches and she imagined it was giving her a lustful look, begging her to come over.

 She shook her head. Artwork, no matter who by, did not give seductive looks and even if it did, she would not give into it. If she started painting now, there was no chance of her ever finishing her homework and then she'd be faced with a thouroughly unimpressed Mr Danielson.

"Freja," she could imagine him saying in his excitable squirrel manner, "You're Dr Bruce Banner's daughter for goodness sake. What do you mean you can't do this?"

Mr Danielson was a huge fan of Dr Banner's work, especially the anti-electron collisions, and his name was usually mentioned at least once a week. Freja couldn't decide whether it was annoying or endearing.

There was a heavy pounding on one of the neighbours' doors and Freja broke out of her thoughts with a start. She let her chair drop to all four legs and ran a hand over her face, squishing her cheeks satisfactorily between her fingers, letting the numbers trickle through her head. The knocking was growing more furious now and she closed her eyes, trying to drown it out. She should know how to do this. All it required was a little bit of th- ah. 

Her eyes opened suddenly and she grinned. Of course. It was obvious now.  She picked up her pen just as another loud bout of knocking began.

She scowled. Stupid neighbours, why couldn't they just open the door? She crossed her arms, deciding how much longer she could stand this when a sudden, rather awful thought occurred to her. What if they were banging on her door?

Instantly she flushed with embarrassment at the idea of keeping someone waiting, and then flushed again at the thought of annoying all the neighbours. But as she crept closer towards the door, her embarrassment faded into the rather familiar twist of anxiety. 

Who on earth would come knocking on her door? 

Not Dot, she had her own key, and besides she always came at 5pm. Not one of her friends, she didn't have friends - well, not people who'd voluntarily choose to see her on the weekend. Maybe it was a raging lunatic - they didn't live that far away from a hospital, Or maybe  one of the school bullies. Or a jealous classmate. A scientist? The press? Oh, please God, let it not be the press. What would they do, ask? They'd be strangers talking and she'd have to talk back and what if they didn't like her or wrote cruel words in the paper and then someone saw and thought she was gossiping and...

Panic started swirling in her chest. Freja clenched her hands tight enough for her nails to leave small halfmoons on her skin. The pain grounded her, stopped the crazy churn of thoughts. She took a deep breath and tried to rationalise everything. Most likely it was just someone who was lost, or had the wrong address, or maybe Dot had finally called for a plumber to fix the leak in the kitchen sink. 

Freja had reached the door now and looked at it in apprehension before finally giving an inward, slightly cynical shrug. She unlatched the chain and opened the door just enough to see the people standing on the stoop.

A youngish-looking lady with short red curls and a bored look on her face stood besides a slouched man with tired clothing, brown scruffy hair and - and chocolate eyes as familiar as her own. 

Freja's hand slipped off the door. 

"Dad?!"

*

A/N: Yay! Another chapter up. That's like a big deal for me :P I'm an embarrassingly slow updater normally - but since my cousin's doing a joint story I feel the pressure mounting. Hope you guys enjoyed it :) 

Oh yeah. Before I forget. This will be a relatively slow burn... I'm kinda a sucker for the longer drawn out love stories but there will be lots of fluff :)  

and action 

and overprotective Dad-Bruce.