Here's the second chapter! Have to run

ILL WRITE A NICER AUTHOR'S NOTE TOMORROW. ILY.  JUST VOTE AND COMMENT IF YA WANT.

~MUsic~

Bring Me to Life (Evanescence)

Chapter Two

~Thea's POV~

As it turns out, Jack wins laser tag. As I point out to him several times, however, the only reason he had gotten me out was because my phone had rung loudly just as I was trying to slip past him in the dark.

It had been Max, wondering where the heck we were. Apparently, we need to go home to get ready to go to the Melting Pot soon. I hadn't exactly wanted to dress up, but Max had insisted, and so had Kyle.

"It's a special night, you need to dress up, Missy," he says, playfully pulling my hair. I flap my hands at him like a pelican, and he laughs. I love Kyle's laughs. They're rich, full of the happiness that seems to explode out of him.

Max drops off Jack and Peter at Peter's house on the way back to our apartment building. Peter lives in a lovely brick condo, and his porch has pumpkins littered around. I wonder if we're going to carve pumpkins. I've never been very good- I always get the seeds stuck in my hands. The boys wave to us and head inside, Jack pushing Peter as if the only thing he really wants to do is dress up.

As I sit in the back of the car, I only half-listen to Kyle, Max, and Emmaline talk about the new Japanese restaurant that just opened up. I'm thinking about Jack, and how the last time I've seen him in a suit was for Leah's funeral. He had looked uncomfortable that day, uncomfortable and miserable, like everyone else. Like Peter, he had desperately wanted to come to me and comfort me, but had instinctively known to leave me alone. I grieve the best alone. I'm good at it now, if there is such a thing as being good at grieving.

I haven't the slightest idea what I want to wear, but I know that I need to change, so I immediately head into my bedroom, Klaka at my heels. At the moment, my room is only half-unpacked, so I kick several boxes to the side as I make my way to my small closet next to the bathroom and across from my bed.

My nightstand is littered with homework, old drawings, random writing utensils, and photographs. I've started collecting photos from my phone and from the few old photo albums that had survived the Imeldi attack a year ago. I'm hoping to make a collage on my wall one day, when I have enough photos, and when I'm brave enough to cope with the faded faces of my life.

I groan as I look at my closet. I don't know what to wear. Thirteen years old is usually a crucial time for the development of fashion taste, but my year had been sort of chaotic. There had been no development whatsoever. I haven't even gotten my first period yet.

As I filter through various tops and jeans, I consider texting Emmaline, but push the idea quickly out of my head. Not only is she probably involved in some sort of heated kissing session with Kyle at the moment, but Emmaline has never been one for fashion. Sure, she looks pretty all the time, but it's completely au natural which makes it even more annoying as it is inconvenient.

I finally decide on a green and silver dress that skims my knees. I've only worn it once in my life, for a school presentation last January. But if I had thought dressing up would make the debate of ancient Carthage any better, I had been dead wrong.

*

"You look beautiful," says Max as I emerge from my room an hour later. I do sort of feel nice. The dress is a teensy bit too small for me, and at least accentuates my body a little. Seeing as I usually look like a twig, this is an improvement. I had thrown my hair up in a messy bun and put on only a little bit of makeup. I'm still not very profound at the art of the liquid eyeliner, but I at least I hadn't totally gone panda-eyes.

"Thanks," I say, digging through the shoe closet, searching for my one pair of heels. Maybe I can look a little taller too. According to Kyle's measuring tape, I'm precisely five feet. And that's almost a foot shorter than Jack.

Kyle whistles when he sees me. He's dressed in jeans and a navy, button down dress shirt, his hair slicked back slightly. "Jack's gonna have a heart attack."

I flush, from where I'm hopping up and down, trying to fasten the heels on my shoes. "No he won't."

Of course, in my embarrassment, I trip and fall, only one shoe on. Kyle winks at me, looking very satisfied with himself as he loops his arm around Emmaline's waist. She's wearing a black hi-lo skirt and a lacey blue high-neck shirt. Her normally wild blonde hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, and her eye makeup is probably Elle worthy. In translation, she's so pretty, it almost makes my head hurt because there is no way in a million years I will be that attractive.

"I got you," says Max. He picks up my second shoe, kneels down on one knee, and holds the shoe out to me, "If the shoe fits, Cinderella."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and stick out my leg, balancing my hand on the kitchen counter. He slides the shoe on my foot with finesse and even buckles it for me. As he stands, he offers me his hand, and says, "Time to go meet your prince charming."

"Max!" I exclaim, trying to keep the hurriedness out of my voice, "Jack is not my prince charming!"

"When the two of you are forty and getting married," says Kyle, holding the door open for us, almost like a perfect gentleman except for the fact that he trips me on my way out, "You'll be singing a different tune."

Peter and Jack are actually meeting us at the Melting Pot, and since Peter doesn't have a car, I assume Clint will be driving the boys. The same people who were there for bowling are going to dinner; Bruce, Pepper and Tony are apparently on a three day trip to Vancouver for whatever reason.

The inside of the Melting Pot has low lighting, and a rich aroma of cheese and meat immediately hits my nose. Natasha (of course) is already seated in the back room, which is made up of a long table against a wall, separated from the rest of the restaurant by a translucent sliding glass door. She, of course, looks stunning, wearing a dark gray lace dress, her now-long hair pulled up in an elegant chignon.

"Hey there," she says, smiling at me. She is wearing very red lipstick. I had never thought I would see Black Widow wearing bright red lipstick, "You look great. Heard from the boys?"

"They're on their way," I say.

"Here," she says, handing me a small bag, "I thought you might like this."

"Can I open it now?" I ask, trying not to be obvious in the fact that yes, I really want to open it now.

She laughs, "Go for it."

I sit down at the edge of the table and take out the tissue paper. At the bottom of the bag is a small, tattered-looking journal, tied with what looks to be a string of twine.

As I unloop the twine and begin to flip through the serrated, rough pages, Natasha says, "It's from Finland. There are 365 pages. You can either write a little something each day, or just draw what you're thinking about. I started one last year, although I've been crap keeping up with it."

"Thanks, Natasha," I say, and I mean it. I hug her tightly, and she returns the embrace. Nat has been getting a lot better at hugging lately.

"No problem," she says, then wiggles her eyebrows, nodding behind me, "I think there is someone here you're probably very interested in seeing."

I turn around and see Peter and Jack walking through the door. Peter looks nice, but it's Jack who draws my eye. He is wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt, complete with a red tie. His hair, which has grown slightly long over the last few months, falls lazily over his green eyes, which are shining as he looks around the room, laughing as he greets Kyle.

And then his eyes settle on me, and I definitely see them widen. My heart does a few jumping jacks. Hooray for not being a complete dunce at dressing myself!

"Hey," he says, walking up to me. "You look, um, you look-"

"Are you always this articulate?" I ask, trying for some sass.

It works. His (and my) awkwardness immediately slips away as he retorts, "When am I not articulate?"

"When do you ever say 'um'?"

"When I'm debating which of my ridiculously savvy vocabulary words to use for this special occasion."

"Which would be...?" I ask, rolling my hand in the air, urging him to complete the sentence.

He holds up a tiny gift bag, which has blue and green polka dots all over it, and a card sticking out of the white tissue paper, "Your fourteenth birthday of course."

"Ah," I say, taking the bag and peeking through the tissue paper. "That thing. I forgot it was today."

"You're ridiculous," says Jack, "And go ahead and open it, I know you want to. I'll have you know, I had the most bloody difficult time figuring out what to get you."

"You didn't have to get my anything," I point out.

Jack sighs theatrically, "Shut up and open the present."

"I'm gonna guess jewelry. Bold choice."

"It's probably against the law to kill someone on their birthday for not shutting up and

opening their present, but I assure you, I will do it."

"I'm fairly certain that it's against the law to kill someone in general, Jack."

"Really?" asks Jack, "Whoops, I didn't know that. Guess I'll have to do something about that skeleton in my closet."

"Did you just make a joke about a dead body and a proverbial saying?"

"OPEN THE RUDDY PRESENT."

While Steve and Sam get here, and the adults (and Peter, who is technically an adult, but

I don't consider him one) chat about random (probably SHIELD-related) topics, Jack and I sit down at the table.

Like with Natasha's gift, I pull out the tissue paper. There's a small package wrapped neatly in the paper, and I unwrap it.

It's a little figurine of a dolphin, whittled from what looks to be something like jade. Each stroke is intricately made, and the eyes are two beads that are the deepest blue I have ever seen. There are holes in the sides of the little dolphin, and Jack hands me a string of thick twine, sort of like the twine on the journal Natasha had given me. "You can make it a necklace if you want."

"Wow," I whisper, running my finger over the smooth rock as Jack pokes the twine through the figure.

Jack smiles, "Thor got that stone from Asgard, I don't even know the right bloody way to pronounce it. Something like griyish."

I gag, "You made this?"

"Well yeah," says Jack, redness flowing up his face, "I mean, it's not perfect. But I know you like dolphins. And they're supposed to be, I suppose, Celtic symbols for everlasting loyalty, I think. So I thought, I mean, I know I'm probably being weird, but-"

He shuts up, because I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek. His face turns a shade redder, but I'm probably a tomato right now, so I shouldn't be talking.

"It's perfect," I smile, "Will you put it on?"

"Isn't that so cliche?" asks Jack, even though he doesn't look like he remotely cares.

"Shut up and put on the necklace."

"If you insist, your majesty," replies Jack.

His fingers are light as he fastens the clasp of the necklace. The dolphin hits right below my collarbone, and right in the middle of the long golden band.

Pure irony. How Jack had given my a necklace that represented devotion, but Loki had given me a necklace that represents imprisonment.

*

After Jack and I have our little moment, and after Peter interrupts said moment to give me a hug and yet another present (it's the collection of Hunger Games books, which makes me really excited because I haven't read them before), we settle down to eat.

The Melting Pot has three courses: cheese/bread/veggies, meat/sauce/pasta, and chocolate/chocolate/chocolate. It's also self-serve, with the servers bringing out mostly uncooked foods and us having to stick the bread or meat or what have you into the hot pots in front of us. Jack sits next to me, and therefore, we share the little cooking pot (and also share it with Natasha and Clint). Naturally, this leads to plenty of battles with the chopstick things that we use to cook our food. Adding to the calamity is the fact that we have to time the cooking of our meat in order not to get food poisoning, and Jack has a great time informing me of the progress our meat is coming along.

Even though the rest of the food is delicious, the dessert is by far the best part. It's actually not completely chocolate, because there are fruits and bits of vanilla cake and marshmallows that can be dipped in the pots, but the dippings are all completely chocolate-oriented. I get my own little cupcake, with a lit candle, which comes at the price of everyone singing "Happy Birthday" to me in different degrees of loudness.

As I suspected would happen, I spill chocolate on my hands more than two times, and as I doubly suspected would happen, Jack and Peter make fun of me. By the time I'm through eating my cupcake and several bits of chocolate, I am completely stuffed.

"I'm not going to eat for three days," I pronounce.

"Yes you will," says Kyle, "I'm making omelets tomorrow morning. Not that you're very interesting to make an omelet for. You literally just like cheese."

"And ham," replies Max, "Don't forget the ham."

"I'm pretty sure you just tell me ham just to make yourself sound better and then feed the bits to Klaka," says Kyle.

"You're not wrong," I say.

I open the remainder of my presents next, after Jack pronounces himself chief present-hander. From Steve, I get a World War II medallion that glistens in the light even though it's so old. Sam, who knows me the least out of everyone here, gives me an exercise t-shirt that reads (I am not kidding) I'M TRAINING SO I CAN BEAT CAPTAIN AMERICA. Steve seems to get a kick out of that.

Clint gives me a set of small pocket mirrors that come from Budapest (wherever the heck that is). When I unwrap Emmaline's present, I'm delighted to find a pair of earrings shaped like a globe and a Bohemian style white shirt. Max and Kyle had pitched in to get me a cute red sweater for Klaka, and a matching red sweater for me.

"I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me," I say, feeling the soft sweater between my fingers, giving Kyle and Max a one-armed hug as I do so.

"Obviously that you need to wear more red," says Jack.

"All righty," says Max, before I can retort to Jack, "Here's the final thing for you. We all went in on it together."

I have that slightly mollified feeling that I always get after I open presents. "Okay," I say.

Max reaches under the table and holds out a small white box to me.

I smirk at Jack, "Obviously jewelry."

"Bloody hell, Thea" says Jack, and slouches in his seat in faux exasperation.

I'm right for the second time. It's a silver bracelet, a charm bracelet. There are charms on it, all different, some colored, some not.

"Each of us got you a charm," says Max. He points to the horseshoe one, "That's mine."

I go down the charms, and people tell me which one they picked out. Peter's is a crescent moon, the same shaped moon that we had seen sailing through New York City on the night of Leah's funeral. Kyle's is a spatula (I resist the urge to smack him, but he looks so proud of himself that I don't). Nat's is a conglomeration of what look to be strings, until she explains to me that it's a representation of Gordian's Knot.

"Look it up sometime," says Nat, leaning back against Clint, "I think you'd have fun with it."

Clint's is a bird in flight, and Jack's is a rather enthusiastic looking smiley face. Steve's is a lightning bolt, not, he says, because I remind him of Thor, but because I remind him of the suddenness and ferocity of lightning.

"Maybe I'll start calling you Sparky," he grins, taking a swig of water from the glass in front of him.

"I beg of you, please don't," I say, "I already have enough nicknames."

And I'm not exactly referring to "Ace" and "Missy".

Tony, Bruce, and Thor had picked out charms for me even though they aren't here. Tony's is a wrench, and I smile wryly because I remember that day in his lab when he had been lamentably forced to explain to me what a wrench exactly is. Bruce's is a yin/yang symbol, and I don't have to be a genius like him to know the symbolism of it. Thor's is a star, and I know that he is reminding me of the day, so long ago, when he had taken me to the astronomy room on the helicarrier, trying to earn my trust. I had been so stupid then, not to realize that Thor is someone I can steadfastly count on.

I look around at everyone, and at the charms around my wrist that sparkle  and twinkle in the light, and I feel a warm happiness rush inside me. I also get the urge to cry, but I don't.

I'll get plenty of time for that earlier.

*

As everyone is getting ready to leave, that's when I spot the feather stuck to the door. It's a white feather, downy, and large enough to draw everyone's attention. But based on the fact that nobody but me seems to notice it, I take this as a sign.

"I'm heading to the bathroom," I say to Peter, and before he can reply, I'm out the door. Instead of going to the ladies' room, I head out the back entrance of the restaurant. I normally would never, ever do this, walk out of a restaurant alone, at night, but I don't often get signals from supernatural owls either.

Wairua is on top of a small tree, right next to the door I just walked out of, and as usual, he's gazing at me with half imperialism, half intensity.

When I see a piece of paper stuck in Wairua's beak, I put my hands on my hips, "I thought Videl was too high and mighty to send messages."

Wairua hoots in a very offended manner, drops the paper so that it falls to the ground, and then takes off. I'm pretty sure he purposely brushes my head with his giant wings.

"Well thanks," I say to the air, and then scurry back into the restaurant, where in fact, I do go the restroom, skirting around the party room as I do so.

Locking myself in a stall, I unravel the paper. There's a single sentence, written in Videl's elegant cursive script.

Myrinea is dead.

I feel my heart plummeting to the ground and crumble the paper in my fist. It's not necessarily because I miss Myrinea, because I never really knew her. It's mostly because I'm pretty sure that a prophetess doesn't just randomly drop dead from typhus or something.

It's because I know she had been killed, and she had been killed by my father.

*

I'm silent the car ride home, but thankfully, Max and Kyle takes this as a sign that I'm tired. As soon as I bid Kyle and Emmaline goodnight, and as soon as Max unlocks our apartment door, and as soon as I finish greeting Klaka (Lucy stays with Kyle now), and as soon as I say a hurried goodnight to Max, and as soon as I put my gifts on the kitchen counter, I fly into my bedroom and slam the door behind me.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror fastened to the back of my bathroom door and look at myself. As hard as I try to see other, the only things I seem to have inherited from my mother are my freckles, nose, my height, and my heart-shaped face. My bone structure is Loki's. My eyebrows, and the way they furrow, are Loki's. My pale skin is Loki's. My high forehead is Loki's. My thin lips are Loki's. And my eyes, my green eyes, are especially Loki's.

Apparently, my hair is like his too. True, it's thick and long. And apparently, it's black like his too. As I take down my bun and let my hair fall over my shoulders, I remember how I had always wanted dark hair when I was little. But now, I would give anything to know that I had my mother's blonde hair.

And then, as I stare at myself dejectedly in the mirror, my hair turns jet black. I close my

eyes tightly, not wanting to look at myself like this.

When I open my eyes, there he is, standing right behind me.

Loki looks completely the same, although his thick black hair is slightly longer, grazing his broad shoulders, and more disheveled, and his green eyes are tired.

As I look in the mirror, I curse my choice of wardrobe. My green and silver dress against his armor makes me look even more like him.

I know he notices this, but doesn't comment on it as I slowly turn around, knowing I have to face him sooner or later. Instead, he says in a soft voice, "You look beautiful, Thea."

I look at the ground, because he is turning my heart into a thousand pieces. He takes my chin and lifts it so that I'm looking up at him.

"Fourteen," he murmurs, looking down at me, none of the previous malice of our last unfortunate meeting in his voice, "So young, but so old."

I look away from him, and glare at the wall.

"You know," I say, my voice trembling, "Most girls ask their fathers to give them a pony or a mall spree for their fourteenth birthdays. Not a dead body."

He tilts his head, but I see the hesitation,"What?"

"I don't think I need to repeat myself," I snap.

His eyes narrow, "How did you know about Myrinea?"

I already have a lie ready. "She projected a hologram, warning me about you, and that if I'm seeing this, then she's dead, blah, blah, blah. So, thanks a lot, Loki, for making my special day a whole lot better!"

He looks pained, but there is also steel in his eyes, "She knew too much."

I know right then that this means if Loki knows about Videl, my only confidante will be buried by dawn.

"Yeah," I say, "Apparently she did."

"Kitten," he says quietly, and I wince at the nickname, "I brought you something."

"What?" I ask, "A Bible sized apology? A potion that brings Myrinea back to life? A crowbar to get this stupid necklace off me? Take your pick, Loki!"

Ignoring my sarcasm, he takes something out from behind his back. It's a sort of stuffed animal, in the shape of a white horse. Just like Stjarna.

He runs his fingers through my hair gently as I take the toy in my (trembling) hands, "Maybe it will remind you of where you really belong."

The horse flies across the room and slams into the wall. 

"I don't want it!" I yell, not worried about the loudness of my voice, because I'm fairly certain Loki already enchanted the room or something, "I don't want it, and I don't want you either! Get away from me right now!"

He closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them, I see the hurt. "You can't-"

But I'm on a roll.

"You look tired, by the way, Loki. Is it a lot of work to run a kingdom after you've killed your dad?"

"Thea, I-"

"Maybe I should try that technique, see what experience I can gain from it."

"Thea!" He says sharply.

I'm practically screeching now, and tears are beginning to run down my face in droves, "Why do you even BOTHER? Why do you even try to make me like you?! You killed Myrinea, probably because she did something to help me, or to overpower you!"

I talk right over him, "I don't care if you're my father, because you never will be! I'll NEVER go with you to Asgard, and I'll NEVER be your stupid princes, and I'll NEVER be your daughter!"

"You can't possibly-"

"I wish you had NEVER met my mother! Because if I have to be your daughter, then I wish I were never BORN!"

He slaps my face.

Clutching my cheek, I fall to the floor, sobbing.

"If you ever say that again," He says in a dangerous voice, his breath ragged, "If you ever..."

He doesn't finish the sentence, but instead wraps his arms around me tightly. I feel the familiarity and the comfort of him holding me close to him and rubbing my back as I cry, but I can't do this. I won't let myself.

With every ounce of willpower I have, I push away from him, and as I scream at him this time, I scream out my heart to painfully, I can feel it breaking apart, "NO! Just get out of here, and never come back! I hate you, Loki, I damn HATE YOU!"

Loki looks as though I've slapped him.

Oh wait, he slapped me.

"GO!" I shriek.

He looks down at me, and I see that his eyes have turned furious, his jaw working.

And whether the two tears that run from his eyes are from fury or from pain, I can't tell, but I really don't care.

His voice shakes only slightly as he says, "Very well, Thea. You do not want me, do you? After all that has happened, you are pushing me away?"

"YOU. KILLED. MYRINEA!"

"You hated me before that!" He shouts, and I startle back, "You hated me as soon as you knew I was your father, that you had a sorcerer, a trickster, a murderer for a father! I have only tried to protect you, to teach you, to love you, but-"

"Don't give me that SHIT about you loving me!" I yell, "I don't care, because lots of people love me, and I don't need you too!"

My lie about Videl cannot even top the one I just let slip.

"You watch your mouth before I clean it out with soap," growls Loki.

"You watch your back before I run a sword through it!" I scream.

I can't believe the things I am hurling at him.

"Oh, that does it," snarls Loki, "That does it! I'm so done tangling up with your petty, tearfilled emotions! One day you're crying, begging for me to comfort you, the next, you're screaming to heavens above at me!"

"WHAT ABOUT YOU?! YOU'RE the bipolar one!"

"You know what, Thea?" Loki laughs an unamused laugh, "I'm through caring. I'm through caring about you. Just don't let slip my secret. So fend for yourself, little Thea, and-"

"I  can take care of myself!"

"THEN WHEN YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A CORPSE, I WON'T BE THE LEAST BIT SORRY!" He roars.

I clap my hand over my mouth to stop my sobs. He might as well have just run a dagger through me, that's how much pain I'm feeling right now.

"GO!" I scream, "JUST GO!"

He throws me one last glare, one last look of pure hatred, and then he's gone.

My lip trembles and I throw myself onto the bed, my shoulders heaving as my tears rack my head, my chest, and my heart.

"You- y-you r-ruin e-everything," I sob, clutching the sheets like I should have clutched Loki.

*sadness*

That was one of the most intense scenes I've written, personally. And I've written a fair amount of them. 

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