chapter 1

"First of all, I don't need a home health care worker."

Loki looked me up and down three times.

"I know what my father and my brother were thinking...that you're my type, that I might...learn to be okay with my exile. But it will never happen. You will never be anything to me but an inconvenience. You'll never be my brother's, you know. First of all, you're not small, not like he likes", he laughs, "He likes them quite, quite tiny my dear. And he's�in love with that drop-dead gorgeous brilliant scientist, and you do what...clean bed pans?" He laughs again. "You're a mortal, you're a maggot, if you have a drop of self-esteem, you'll leave now. If you stay, stay out of my way."

With that, the god of mischief storms out of the room, into his bedroom and slams the door. He's been exiled to earth, to New York specifically because neither Stark nor SHIELD intend to let him out of their sight. No one would have him on Asgard, not even his own family. He knew the planet too well and they knew he'd be out of any cage they built him in no time. So Thor and Odin arranged for his exile here, got him an enormous expensive apartment on the Upper West Side, a housekeeper, a cook, and a home health care psychologist, that would be me, to help him adjust, and then...they seemed to stop thinking about him entirely. I'm new to the city, but I saw what he did to New York on TV, and I just would have executed him myself. Were it not for the fact that he was so...beautiful. Handsome. But he would always be different from his family. Pale, skinny, raven-haired, and smart, he was like the neglected emo younger brother who would always stand in the shadow of his gorgeous, buff football captain brother who also happened to be a good and brave hero who had saved entire planets; trillions of people admired and loved him. Loki had been different from his family for long as he could remember-- he looked, acted, and thought differently. And he was always in his golden brother's shadow.

I didn't say a word to him after his little speech until we both sat down to dinner. I was a "live-in", by order of those who paid me. They didn't want this guy without a therapist for even a nanosecond.� Not that I could physically do much about it if he decided to murder us all in our sleep. "I'd like to have our first conversation after dinner if it works for you", I say.

"'If it works for you', Your Highness", he corrects. "I'm a god, a king..."

"In America, we have neither gods nor kings, but a doctor is pretty close, and I'm yours, your name is Loki and that's what I'll call you", I inform him.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! A tough guy. A tough girl. You don't have what to takes to play the tough guy with me sweetie", he hisses. "Besides, I'm going into the city after we eat....loooooads of trouble I can get in...." He smirks wide.

"In order for you to leave the�building, you have to be accompanied by five Stark armed guards, and one of his robots set to "kill" if you make a single move that arouses its suspicion. Your opportunities for trouble will be limited. As will be your opportunities for fun. Behave yourself and I'll see what I can do about loosening your leash", I said. There, let him know I'm his friend in a manner of speaking.

He takes another bite. "You know this really is delicious. I always wondered how Volstagg got so big on Asgard with the horrible food, it's no wonder he wanted off planet all the time. But this is...what do you call it?"

"Pizza", the large Russian cook informs him with a grunt between bites.

"Thank you for reminding us of your presence, Helga, I do so love to eat with the help", Loki taunts her, "Pizza, well it's incredible, and probably better than anything I could get out on the street, so I have decided in all my godly wisdom to stay in."

I roll by eyes behind a napkin. "Excellent, I'll be waiting for you in the living room." I get up and leave. I want to try to avoid him saying he won't talk to me because then he'll have thrown down the gauntlet and made a commitment. Getting him to break it and talk to me would not be fun.

"Could with dishes help", the cook adds loudly as I walk away. Another time. I have a trickster to trick, and it requires careful planning.

"I'm not going to cooperate", he yells, sing-songy.

"Well if you don't have an interesting story to tell..." I start and let it drop.

I sit down on the leather sofa before a fire burning fragrant apple wood. He is the most spoiled prisoner in the history of prisoners.

"So you want to talk to little old me huh?" he asks, coming in the room and sitting down next to me. Trying to suppress a grim. I win.

"Only if you have something really interesting to say."

"I'm the son of Odin, do you accuse me of being uninteresting?"

"I notice that's the first thing you mention. What kind of relationship do you have with your father?" I ask.

"Wow, Freud, how unoriginal. Fine. The man who pretended to be my father for the first thousand years of my life has no interest in visiting me on the planet of maggots upon which he has exiled me. Do you really need to know more?"

"What about your childhood?' I ask.

"What about it? I should have noticed I suppose. I looked like a refugee compared to them-- a dark greasy ambitious little thing that looked like it was starving. They're all blonde you know. Like you. Except they have blue eyes. Blonde, big boned, bovine beauties. All of them. Anyway, I'm really a frost giant..."

"You don't look like a frost giant", I say, confused.

"Do you know what a frost giant looks like?", he taunts.

"Actually, no", I answer. Ugh, I hate to lose a point this soon.

He rolls his eyes as if he's speaking to the biggest moron who ever drew breath. "Well, as it happens, you're right, I don't look like a frost giant. Odin used his magic to make me appear as an Asgardian. And we're nearly identical to Earthlings, but for our lifespan, which is around 5,000 years longer than yours."

"Wow."

" Yes, the effect of the Asgardian sun on our cells, a sun that burns only a couple hundred degrees warmer than yours, but apparently makes all the difference, Now, maggot, if you're done bringing up such bad memories..."he barks

The cook bustles in the room with a tray of h'ordeves and hands him one.

"Bacon and cheese?", he asks, taking a tiny quiche.

"And onions", she confirms and he pops it into his mouth.

"Food relaxes frog man", she explains.

"FROG MAN?!" he bellows.

"Green", she explains, pointing to his costume. Food relaxes him, interesting.

"You, stupid, enormous...Slovakian..."

"Russian !" she corrects.

"Who cares! Cattle! I am a god, you dull creature!" he screams, and I take the tray from her, and wave her out of the room. She gives us both dirty looks.

I hand him another mini quiche. "What about your brother?"

"My brother!! The son Father actually WANTED. Good, handsome, brave, thousands of selfies with dumb Earth girls like you..."

"You know when I saw you on TV during what happened in New York..." I start.

"What? You want to slap me too?" he asks.

"Maybe. But I was going to say I thought you were the handsome one. Your face hides a lot of pain, but it's perfectly obvious that it's there, like it's perfectly obvious everything you do is to get attention, the kind you didn't get as a child, because bad attention is better than no attention at all."

"Don't talk like you know me", he says, "I could kill you right now and there's not much anyone could or would do about it. You're disposable."

"And you're not? According to you, your family dumped you here with nothing. Except of course everything you ever wanted round the clock. I have 100% security clearance, BTW, to tell one of those robots in the other room to kill you", I punch back.

"What a lovely therapist you make. NO. I'm a son of the Crown", he insists.

"It's funny how you brag about being Asgardian royalty and Odin's son one second, and are just as noisy the next second about not actually being related to them. I don't think you can claim both at the same time."

"Of course I can! I was raised..." His voice gets louder and I hand him another quiche. "To believe I was a prince. It was�my birthright to be a king. Then one day the old man dumps on me that I'm not only not his son, I'm the offspring of his mortal enemy, of the filth Asgardians have despised for a thousand years, the son of his greatest enemy. And suddenly it all made sense, why he favored Thor so much, why I never felt like I was one of them. They hate me."

"They love you. Look at this place...and they hired me, they hired lots of people to make your stay here..."I begin.

"My stay here, what are you a f*cking Motel 6? I've been exiled!"

"As pleasant as possible." The tray is empty. "One moment..."

"One moment? Where are you going?" he yells.

I run into the kitchen. "Helga, more quiches, more of whatever you have..." I grab whatever is on the counter and run back to him.

"You're welcome", she calls after me sarcastically.

I'm not losing this job. The salary...is great. Not Ohio great, where I was born. Manhattan great. And there's something about him.

Six hours later the sun is coming up, he's told me every detail of his childhood, why he simultaneously hates and loves his family, though he does not yet understand why he hates and loves himself, and he's polished off two party size boxes of mini quiches, and an entire chocolate cheesecake.

But he's calm and speaking at a reasonable volume, and forgot all about going out to make trouble.

He gets up, closes the blinds, and heads to his bedroom. "Oh by the way", he calls back, "Everything I just told you was a lie. Because I know I'm talking to a liar."

"I would never lie to you", I say.

"Your biggest lie ever."

"Why are we talking about me lying when you just confessed to lying?"