A/N: John Boyega is a gift to this world.

The rather unfortunate thing about this situation is that, unless I've gone nuts, I don't go back on my word. And the frustrating thing is that I'm tearing out my eyeballs just trying to figure out if it even counts as my word. On top of that, while I'm trying to figure it out, Loki is dragging me further away from the subway, my job, and my actual sanity.

I might owe him my life, and I might not, but either way it doesn't give him a right to push me around like I'm his own personal assistant. I did not skip work to do usual work things and not get paid for it. With any luck this will all be over by tomorrow, and I can offer up a perfectly reasonable explanation for why I didn't get in yesterday. If not, heads can roll and I won't mind.

What exactly this "life debt" entails has yet to be explained to me, but I have mentally compiled a list of things I will not be doing for his benefit. The first and foremost: I will not kill anybody. Secondly, I will not allow him to put me in any dangerous, potentially fatal situations. I will not be taken away from my ordinary life for over a week, and I will not allow him to force-feed me peppers. Come to think of it, maybe I should put the pepper one first. I would break out in hives and my face would swell up, it would be miserable for everyone.

Unable to take all this uncertainty any longer, I turn to Loki and inquire, "Where are we going?"

All the punk says is, "You will know in due time."

Is there some sort of villain code that says that they must remain cryptic at all times? I fold my arms over my chest, unimpressed."Listen, buddy, I'm not letting you take me anywhere without knowing where I'm going first."

Loki rolls his eyes. "If I tell you, you must agree not to ask any more questions until we arrive."

What a lovely person! He just tells you that you're annoying straight to your face. "I'll ask as many questions as I want. Such as, is it in walking distance of here?" Loki remains silent. "You don't actually know, do you?" I sigh. Again, there is no response. "Alright, I'll make you a deal. You tell me where we're headed, and I'll tell you how far it is."

"Germany," Loki finally sighs.

My first thought: Is there a Germany, New York? My mouth drops open when I realize he means Germany Germany. "You're out of your mind! I am not dropping everything and taking a little vacation to another CONTINENT with some deranged mischief-man!"

Loki places a hand on my arm. "It's perfectly alright, Abby."

I furrow my eyebrows, attempting to wrap my mind around his words. "It is?" I question.

"Yes," he confirms. "You won't try to cause any trouble, will you?"

I shake my head. It wouldn't be nice to cause trouble at this point, not after he's saved my life. "No, not at all," I promise. "I'll go to Germany. I've never been there before."

Loki releases my arm. "Excellent. Let's be on our way then." He continues to walk on, leaving me once again realizing that he messed with my mind.

"Slow down there, Mr. Mischief!" I begin. "You can't just do that and walk away like it's nothing!"

"Do what?" he questions over his shoulder.

I run to catch up with him. "Don't act like you don't know."

Loki smirks. "Oh, but I don't."

"Oh, yeah...?" I hesitate to push my argument any further. Is there a point in arguing with him when I may be the one who winds up looking stupid? " You obviously don't know that Germany is an ocean away, either."

Loki holds a hand in defense. "That I did know. However, a fact that has eluded my grasp is the location of the nearest aircraft port."

This dude talks like he's Shakespeare... if Shakespeare were a total jerkface. "Well, it's a hike away," I inform him. "It would probably be better if you hailed a cab." What are doing? Don't tell him anything! No clues, no hints, no help.

"It is hardly my position to 'hail a cab'," he scoffs. Great, I think. We're walking the whole way and the Strategic-Homeland-whatever can figure out where Loki is before we even board the plane. "You are the native of earth here, not I," Loki continues. "You may hail the cab."

"Oh, wow, what an honor. Thanks," I huff. Nevertheless, I hail the cab. We get in with no consideration to the "ladies first" rule, but I don't complain. I just need him to be satisfied to the point of not cashing in on this life debt. "So..." I begin. "I'm not sure how much you know about... a normal... earthian life, but usually you can't get on a plane with just a few bucks and a pretty face. You're going to need a few things."

"I am sure that you can at least provide proper funds," Loki says.

"Yes," I confirm. "I can go to Germany and back with every penny I own. Not to mention that I don't have enough money to buy you a passport, and don't get me started on the fact that you need all sorts of identification."

Loki just stares out the window. "I have my methods." His grip on his staff tightens.

"Oh, no, tell me you're not going to impale anyone else."

He briefly glances over his shoulder at me, but then continues to look out the window. "I'm not all blood and gore, Abigail. And this staff is capable of much more than bringing about pain."

"You are not allowed to call me Abigail," I mumble. The rest of the road is silent. I'm actually grateful of the fact. The more Loki talks, the more I have to worry about what he's going to do next. When we reach the airport, I speak to the driver. "How much do I owe you?"

"Forty-five," the driver answers in a gruff voice (a stereotype that turned out to be true).

"Never mind," growls Loki. He grabs my arm and runs with me like I'm a football with legs. When we're lost in the crowd, he stops and lets go of me, sending me tumbling to the ground. I stand up and look him in the eye before slapping him across the face.

I point an accusing finger at him. "Don't ever do that again."

Loki had been slightly taken aback by my hand across his face, however he is fully recovered now, and mad."Excuse me? I believe I give the orders."

"Oh, yeah? Well, Mr. Mischief, based on your description of the afterlife, I would say that we have very different beliefs," I snap, "Listen, I don't even know why I'm following you, I didn't bring my passport, and I haven't packed anything to be ready for an overseas trip. Not to mention the fact that I don't want to be here. Why don't you just drop me off at my workplace, I'll take you out for lunch sometime to settle the debt, and voila! We part ways as unlikely friends."

"Unlikely," Loki answers. "Everything has already been settled." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small wallet-looking thing. "Including your passport."

I take my passport from him. "How did you get this?" I question, bewildered.

He smiles triumphantly. "When I was following you about, I managed to pick it up." There's something of a laugh in his voice.

It's not funny. It is, in fact, the opposite of funny. Murderer, stalker, and thief... What's next? Arsonist, obviously. I need to get away from this creep ASAP. "Come on," I grumble. "Let's just get the tickets and be over with it." I walk up to the ticket desk.

Surprisingly, Loki does the talking. "Two one-way tickets to the Stuttgart Airport."

This sparks some interest. "One-way?" I question. "When do you plan on getting me back here?"

A smug little smile crosses Loki's face only briefly. "In time."

"That means nothing to me," I remind him.

The woman at the ticket-booth interrupts us. "I'll need to see your passports," she informs us.

Loki holds his staff up so the very tip of it is at her chest. "That won't be necessary," he assures her.

The woman's eyes have turned a startling shade of electric blue. "Of course," she says it as though she has discovered the meaning of life. "It won't be necessary."

I stop a moment, processing what I've just witnessed. "How are you doing that?"

Loki looks over at me, expressionless save an insane light in his eyes. "Doing what?"

"The freaky Force-mind-control thing!" I practically yell. "Is that how you do it? With the staff? How is it that I haven't been able to feel it when you use it on me?"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're rambling on about," Loki sighs. "This woman is a loyal subject of mine. Isn't that right?"

The woman nods vigorously. "I am a loyal subject," she confirms.

I look back and forth between the two, then shake my head. "I'm done trying to figure out what is wrong with you."

The woman looks cross-eyed at me. "Something is wrong with me..."

I stare back at her, eyebrows furrowed. "I can use the Force too?" I ask Loki, not tearing my eyes away from the woman's blank gaze.

"If I want you to. You may as well have a bit of fun. Go on, try it," Loki instructs.

I smile just a tad, a plan formulating in my mind. "These are not the droids you're looking for," I say, waving my hand around as though I am truly Ben Kenobi.

"These aren't the droids I'm looking for," the woman repeats blindly.

Suddenly, I reach out and grab the woman by the lapels of her suit. "Don't listen to Loki! He's crazy!"

A pair of hands drag me back. "I tried to be nice, Abigail," Loki sighs. "Truly, I did. You simply cannot cooperate, can you?"

I smooth out the wrinkles in my skirt. "It was worth a shot. Do not call me Abigail, for the last time."

The unexpected happens. I'm approached by a security guard. "Pardon me, ma'am," he begins, "Would you follow me to the back please?"

Taken somewhat by surprise, I respond. "Um, yes, I suppose so. May I inquire why?"

The guard remains stoic. "I'm afraid that attacking our staff is unacceptable, and we would like to escort you from the building as discreetly as possible."

"You simply had to be uncooperative, didn't you, Abby," Loki groans.

Though the whole situation is rather humiliating, I will call it divine intervention. If I am "escorted from the building," I cannot board a plane. If I cannot board a plane, I cannot go to Germany, and the debt will be left to be settled over a dozen Frappuccinos or so.

"Sir," I address the guard. "It would be an honor to be escorted from the building by you. Come along, Mr. Mischief," I call to Loki over my shoulder. "I don't want to be any later for work."

"You would be a fool to think that it's over," Loki semi-laughs, though irritation is evident in his voice. "I would not have come to earth if I could not handle a pathetic guard."

The guard in question freezes in his tracks. "Sir, I have no choice but to take that as a potential threat. Please put down the cane and place your hands over your head."

Loki now looks like a deer caught in the headlights, but complies. The guard confiscates his precious scepter.

I cannot help but laugh. "Look who's holding us up now."

"Ma'am, I'll have to ask you to do the same," the guard informs me.

"Oh..." I reply, raising my hands over my head. "Okay." The guard instructs us to follow him, and we reluctantly agree. "You had better have a plan, buddy," I whisper to Loki. "I don't have a criminal record and I never plan to."

"Dear Abby," he sighs. "What do you take me for?"

"A lunatic..." I grumble.

Once we are at the back of the building, we are escorted to a room with another guard and an empty cell. Moments later, the cell contains two "potential threats." The guard places Loki's staff on the desk, just out of reach.

"ID," the guard demands of me.

I look back to Loki. "You said I wouldn't have a criminal record."

Loki makes eye-contact with the second guard in the room. "You won't."

In a swift, sudden movement the guard jumps from his seat and knocks his companion out with a bare-handed blow to the head. This causes me to get a second look at the man. He seems to be in his mid-twenties with dark skin and close-cropped, curly hair. Very cute, I can't help but notice. If this is an employee of Loki's, I am rather impressed.

"Jared Johnson," Loki greets, as the man releases us from the cell. "A man to count on in a pinch."

"Thank you, sir," Jared returns, stoically.

"Loki, care to introduce me to your friend?" I request, suddenly more open to the idea of traveling to Germany.

Loki complies. "Abby, this is Johnson, my most trusted subject. Johnson, I've told you about Abigail Brandon."

Johnson extends his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Brandon."

I shake his hand, smiling sincerely. "Likewise, but you should probably call me Abby."

Johnson's laugh is a heartwarming sound. I automatically like this guy. "As you wish, Abby."

Loki, feeling left out of the conversation, decides it would be great to interrupt this first meeting between me and my future husband. "This is a waste of time," he grumbles. "Johnson, proceed according to plan."

Johnson suddenly goes from a smiling, friendly guy to an FBI-agent-type. "Yes, sir," he responds. "We have the plane waiting just outside on the runway."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Wait a minute, wait a minute," I interrupt. "You mean that we've had a private plane the entire time?"

Loki rolls his eyes. "Yes, I did. If you would have cooperated, you would have discovered the fact considerably sooner."

It still doesn't make sense to me. "Then how did you know to be here?" I question Johnson.

Loki answers for him. "Your security was of the utmost importance," he sarcasms. "I made certain that my men were stationed everywhere."

"Except the ticket desk," I point out.

Loki rolls his eyes, which I've determined is a gesture that says, 'You've made a valid point that accentuates my lingering stupidity, but because I am an egomaniac, I refuse to acknowledge it like a mature adult.' "We're losing valuable time," he insists for the second time.

Johnson nods, though I think that I can see a little bit of amusement in his eyes. This may just be a delusional misunderstanding because he's cute and I want to be funny around him. "If you'll follow me..."

Johnson leads us outside to a very pleasant-looking private jet. Loki immediately boards the plane. I stop at the steps with Johnson, just taking in the outside of it. "Well, this is a lot nicer than swimming to Germany," I allow.

"A lot nicer?" Johnson repeats incredulously. "This is a Falcon 2000. It's one of the fastest, most luxurious private jets in existence today. They can cost upwards of six million dollars."

"Sorry, what is it called, again?" I inquire.

"Falcon 2000," Johnson reminds me. "Is something the matter?"

"Nah," I assure him. "It's just that there's something ironic about that name. I can't put my finger on it. Do you like planes?"

"I really do," he admits.

Loki looks out the door of the plane. "If you really do like airplanes, as you claim, Johnson," he calls, "won't you hurry up and fly it?"

I begin to climb the steps, Johnson at my heels. "You're the pilot?"

"Yeah," he informs me, sounding rather proud of it. "I only get to fly her every once in a while, but I guess it makes the experience more enjoyable."

Once we're in the cabin, Johnson immediately heads to the cockpit, leaving me all alone with Mr. Mischief. "So..." I begin. "Johnson seems nice..."

"He is," Loki agrees.

"He's-- what? In his mid-twenties?"

"I'm not really sure, and frankly I've no idea why it would matter to you," Loki sighs. "If you don't mind, today has been rather exhausting and I would enjoy some peace."

I roll my eyes. "Very well, but don't get used to it," With that threat, I walk to the cockpit for some more pleasant company. Surprisingly, Johnson is the only one there. "Isn't there a copilot?" I question, getting Johnson's attention.

"Actually, no," Johnson answers. "I guess we spent so much on the plane, we couldn't afford it." An actual joke! This guy must have a sense of humor when Loki's not around. I encourage it by laughing harder than the joke warranted. Thinking about it, that's kind of weird and awkward, but it's done now. "You can sit in the copilot seat, if you want," Johnson invites.

I plop down on the seat and take in the controls before me. Could I potentially crash the plane into the ocean? That would be dramatic and noble and whatnot. Of course, why would I want to take Johnson down with me? Besides, no one would actually remember me that way. Nevertheless, I'm curious on how to fly the thing. "Why haven't we taken off yet?" I question.

"A lot of reasons," Johnson begins. "The first is that I have to check the engine, the fuel, and the jets. After that I have to get information from Air Traffic Control telling me when we're clear for take off. It's a good thing we have some of our guys at the tower, or we'd be here a while."

That statement worries me. "Just how many of... our guys are there?"

Johnson's expression changes once again to the stoic agent. "More than you would think..."

Don't dwell on the negative. Pick up where you left off. "So, how do you actually steer one of these things?" I interrogate, grabbing hold of the wheel.

The light returns to his eyes. "It's really simple. To pull up, you pull. Push to go down, and to turn left and right, you turn left and right. I'll let you try it when we're in the air."

"Really?" I question, just a tad bit excited. "It's not going to crash if I get a hold of it?"

"Not at all," Johnson assures me. "It's fun. My dad used to let me do it when I was six, and you're-- what? Twenty?"

"Twenty-one," I specify.

"Exactly. You're going to be fine."

When we finally take off, Johnson is true to his word and lets me steer. What's more, he's right. It is ridiculously fun.

So, I'm off to Germany, and maybe it won't be so bad. I'll be there for a week, and then I'll be back. I'll live a normal life with tons of information for the good guys and, if I'm lucky, a friend on either side. (Yes, just a friend. I did not instantly fall in love with Johnson. I mean, come on. I'm not a classic Disney princess. He's just really cute.) As far as normal goes, that's probably as close as I'm going to get from this point onward. So, without further ado... onward.