Chapter Text
Thor’s newest client is unlike any he’s ever had.
It’s a rare client who is this organised on the first meeting, but this Loki Laufeyson certainly is. The divorce papers are all here, neatly filed, as is an original copy of the marriage certificate, a one-page document detailing the history of the marriage, and a two-page document setting out information on of Loki’s four (four!) children. Thor finds himself wishing all the firm’s clients were like this.
If they all only looked like Loki, it certainly wouldn’t hurt, either, though it would probably be difficult telling them apart.
He’s polite, too, which Thor has found is a rare thing for a client in the midst of a divorce. He apologises for the short notice, and wastes no time in getting Thor up to speed on the current status of the matter.
In the midst of a terse recount of how he was served with the papers, his new client’s mobile phone rings. He looks down at the display, then at Thor. “I need to take this call,” he says. “I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”
“Sure,” Thor says, and Loki leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
The door latch is faulty, and it swings open seconds after Loki has left. Thor, feeling his client wanted the privacy, gets up to shut the door, but is arrested by Loki’s laughter.
He looks out down the landing.
“You have to tell your brother he can’t just do what he wants,” Loki is saying, silhouetted against the window. “Or he’s going to be standing in that corner until the end of the world.”
Loki is quiet, and Thor can barely make out the sound of an excited voice chattering away at the other end of the line. “No, you can’t have all his pudding.”
Even more excited chattering ensues.
“That’s my girl,” Loki says. “I’ll see you soon, all right?” His voice goes all warm when he does that, and it’s not a tone Thor would have ever imagined his client’s voice could take, not with his reserved demeanour. He pauses, and Thor can see his smile from where he’s standing. “Me too.”
Loki ends the call, and Thor steps back into the room, suddenly conscious of how he’s been eavesdropping.
When Loki returns, he is smiling wryly. “That was my daughter,” he explains. “Step away for a few minutes and it seems the household has descended into chaos.” He looks resigned, but fond. “It appears that that I must have words with my son when I return. I feel like such a villain.”
“Someone usually has to be,” Thor replies.
“Unfortunately,” Loki says. Then he’s all business again. “I know there’s the matter of the assets, but I thought I’d speak to you about that another time, before getting the documentation together,” Loki says.
Thor shows him out, but not before asking if he needs a cab.
Loki declines. “I live nearby,” he says. “One of the reasons I chose to come here.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
+
Loki doesn’t call him all the time, or keep sending him chaser emails the way some of his other clients do. In subsequent interactions, Loki has proved himself no less polite than he appeared at their first meeting, and he generally seems content to let Thor do his job. His replies to Thor’s updates on his case are prompt, brief, and always constructive.
Thor finds himself wishing that more of the firm’s clients were like this, but he also finds himself wishing he saw more of Mr. Laufeyson.
He gets his wish sooner than he expects.
+
Thor has volunteered for some time now at a hospital that does burn rehabilitation. It’s part of a his firm’s effort to raise their profile with pro bono work. With his caseload, it’s not easy to make it to all his sessions, but he’s glad he hasn’t had to cancel again today. Today’s patient is a little girl with healing scar tissue all the way down one side of her body. She can’t be older than fifteen.
“Hello,” he says, gently. “I’m Thor.”
Quick green eyes meet his own. “You have a funny name,” she says.
“I’m sure I’m not the only one,” he says, with equanimity, as he gets out the sheets of paper.
She casts a sharp glance in his direction. When he doesn’t react, she says, “So do I.”
“Do you?” he asks, opening up the paints. Painting at easels is a new activity the hospital is trying to get patients to improve their range of movement – it’s fairly controlled, and patients can stand or sit as they prefer.
“My name’s Hel,” she says.
“Pleased to meet you, Hel,” he replies.
“Before you ask, it’s not short for Helen,” she says, somewhat bitterly.
“I don’t suppose it is.”
“People are always trying to make me into someone I’m not.”
“Are they?” he says. “That’s a pity. You seem fine the way you are.”
That earns him another sharp look. But there is a little conversation after, as they set to painting.
Hel, it turns out, is painting a forest in breathtaking detail. Thor watches in fascination as a vibrant forest emerges from the blank canvas – more shades of green than he’s ever seen in a single painting, bright splashes of scarlet and magenta in the foliage, curling vines, towering trees. She works with single-minded intensity, utterly silent save for asking him for help with paint tubes that refuse to yield to her efforts.
Shortly after she asks for pink, he realises she is painstakingly painting a snake coiling around the thick trunk of the tallest tree in the forest, reaching from the tree’s tangled roots to the tops of its highest branches. She paints its forked tongue tasting the air, then steps back to examine her work critically.
“Is that a wolf?” Thor asks, pointing at something lurking behind what looks like fern fronds. Black and gray brushstrokes appear to suggest fur; other sharp, precise white marks tapering to a point look like teeth, and on the whole, the creature seems poised to strike.
“Not bad,” says Hel. “You can interpret a thirteen-year-old’s painting.”
He turns to look at her and finds the unscarred side of her mouth curving up in a smile.
“So I can,” he agrees.
“What do you think that is?” she asks, pointing her paintbrush at a patch of grey dappled with dark and light intermittently.
Thor studies it closely at it. “I think it’s a horse,” he says at length. “There’s the mane… and tail. And here are his legs.”
“You’re not going to ask me what a horse is doing in a jungle?”
Thor shakes his head.
“You’re not going to tell me that horse has too many legs?”
Thor smiles at her. “You can paint what you want, Hel. I’m not going to stop you.”
Hel smiles back at him, suddenly and unexpectedly. It lights up her whole face, and he’s struck by how very pretty she is when she smiles.
They are still smiling at each other when Loki Laufeyson walks in.
Thor turns at his footsteps. He has never seen anyone’s expression change as fast.
Because he's been watching Hel, he sees her suddenly attentive.
Loki notices it too. “Hel,” he says, shortly, “I’ll see you down the corridor. I need to speak to Mr. Odinson for a minute.”
Hel nods, even as she turns an assessing gaze on Thor.
At the door, Hel turns to him. “Thank you, Thor,” she says. “I had a wonderful afternoon.”
The second she’s gone, Thor doesn’t hesitate to explain how he came to be here, how today is the first time he’s met Hel, and how he had no idea she was Loki’s daughter.
Loki seems to relax imperceptibly. “What a coincidence, meeting you like this,” he says lightly. The smile on his mouth doesn't reach his eyes.
Thor apologises. Loki gives him a look very like one Hel had directed at him scant minutes ago. “There’s no need for that, Mr. Odinson. It was a surprise, seeing you here, and that’s all it is. This isn’t anything you wouldn’t eventually have found out about me.”
Thor nods, and as Loki makes to follow Hel down the hallway, adds, "I wish her a swift recovery.”
Loki nods curtly and leaves.
+
It isn’t very long after the hospital incident that he hears from Loki again.
It’s not the best of mornings. There’s been a massive cock-up on the filing of a time-sensitive claim, and Thor’s been intermittently on the line with court administrative staff in the course of a highly contentious and deeply unproductive morning. On top of that, a distressed junior barrister has been calling him ceaselessly for assistance on a mind-numbingly straightforward application.
When the telephone rings, Thor thinks that it’s the junior barrister again.
In his defense, it has been, the past five times the telephone rang.
"Fuck me sideways," he hisses into the receiver, "Do you think this is funny?"
The low, amused chuckle at the other end of the line makes his blood run cold.
"Is that an order or a request, Mr. Odinson?"
He'd recognize that smooth mellifluous voice anywhere.
Oh, shit.
"Mr. Laufeyson," he chokes, "I am so sorry-"
"Call me Loki," says the devil at the end of the line, "I don't stand on formality after a line like that.”
Thor buries his head in the hand that isn’t holding the receiver.
“I seem to have called at a bad time. I’ll speak to you again later?”
“No,” Thor says. “Just – carry on. You’ll make more sense than the person I thought you were.”
Loki laughs again, and Thor smiles for the first time that day.
“I was calling to tell you that I won’t be able to make it for the meeting on Friday. Unfortunate circumstances – one of my sons had an incident at school, and I’m being called in to speak to the teachers. A matter of discipline, it seems. But I didn’t call to burden you with my personal problems.”
Thor pauses. That is a problem. Their response on the most recent set of papers filed is due next week. He could ask for more time, but he’s already going to ask a lot of the Court, and he’d rather not tax it more than he has to.
“If Friday won’t work for you, would the weekend suit?” he asks. “I don’t mean to intrude on your weekend, but the response is due next week.”
There is a pause. “Would Sunday afternoon work for you?”
“Sunday it is.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Loki says.
“Trust me, Mr. Laufeyson,” says Thor earnestly, “It’s the least I could do.”
There is a short pause. “Well then,” Loki says. “Sunday it is.”