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Loki had said he had an errand to run. But early this morning, when Thor saw him across the square, Loki was not running, or even walking at his usual quick pace. Instead, his black-clad brother walked slowly, stopping every few steps, as if in pain. His reflection in a rain puddle was huge and distorted.
To live in Asgard was to know that Loki had enemies, usually kept at bay by his quick stride, his even quicker wit. Loki did not like to fight. Some enemy must have gotten to him in the night, must have temporarily wounded him, for Loki to walk this way. Loki would usually heal on his own; still, Thor turned from his own path and rushed to Eir’s clinic.
Eir was a Healer. Midgard called such people Doctors and Nurses, and Thor was not clear which category applied to Eir; still, she had been healing Asgard’s wounded and sick for all Thor’s life. He found her clinic empty this morning, and Eir was behind a table heaped with fluffy linens, folding one into a rectangle. Sheets, fresh from the wash.
“Eir, you have to come with me. Loki’s been hurt.”
“Loki? Where? How hurt?”
“In the square. He said he had an errand to run. I didn’t see his wound, just his movement.”
“Loki’s errand was with me. If we go, we may miss him. If we wait here, he will come.”
Thor waited poorly. Eir pressed him for details: Did Loki hold himself in any particular way? Was he bleeding?
“No one else has come here,” Eir said, “and Loki would not leave an enemy unharmed. Are you sure he was wounded? Could something else be the problem? Have you seen anything out of the ordinary?”
Thor thought. “Two days ago, I found Loki eating a sandwich. Midgardian. He did not offer to share.”
“Hmm,” said Eir. “Perhaps it was poisoned. I can take care of Loki, but perhaps you should track down the source of this mysterious sandwich.”
“But I want to stay and make sure Loki will be all right.”
“Thor, you know I heal in private. It may take some time. You are familiar with Midgard, and the obvious threat seems to come from there.”
“You are right,” Thor admitted, then walked out. Thought some more, and dashed to the Rainbow Bridge. “Heimdall! Send me to Midgard, to friend Stark!”
**
Once Thor had left and the Rainbow Bridge had hummed, Eir said, “You can come out now.”
Loki appeared mid-room, out of the thin air, fingering the pile of linens. “So many sheets?”
“This operation is typically messy,” Eir said. Looked at him. “Doubly messy.”
“Yes, well, I’ve enjoyed this immensely, but now my guests wish to go home.”
“On the table,” Eir ordered. “The other table.”
As she washed an area low on his belly with a pungent cool liquid, Loki said, “I only wish I could enjoy this more often. Enjoy it openly, I mean.”
“Enjoy it? Many women find pregnancy uncomfortable, even dangerous. They tolerate it in order to welcome the results.”
“And men don’t indulge in it at all,” Loki mused. “Most men. Odin doesn’t seem to approve.”
“Odin does not approve,” Eir agreed. “I need to slice you open now.”
“Go ahead.” Loki hissed as Eir’s sword cut into him. Coolness inside him, several pinches, and he was relieved of a heavy weight. Eir pulled away some of the baby’s caul, cleaned his nostrils, breathed into them, let the baby cry. She put the new warm weight along Loki’s side, under his arm. “That’s one.”
The first child was wriggling against him when Eir brought him the second one. “Take care of them while I clean you out down here,” Eir said.
“Take care of them, how?” The two boys were blood-covered still, and getting restless.
“Feed them. I’ll help you get them latched.”
More linens, to prop the babies in place atop his chest. Loki let them suck; frail hesitant beings, unlike the regular pulsing of the pumps. He tried not to concentrate on the sounds and feelings of Eir pulling things out of him, washing him out with antiseptics, gluing him closed.
“Are they asleep?” she asked then.
Loki nodded. He had his own question. “Eir? Why am I like this? Why am I not like other men?”
Eir had carefully detached the first sleeping baby, was washing it carefully. “I’ve long thought about this. On the outside, you are Asgardian, like the rest of us; but I think that inside, you are still Jotunn. Still a Frost Giant. My Prince.” She took the other baby from him, and Loki rested.
Sometime later, Eir came back and gave him two injections, one in each breast. “There. No more milk.”
**
Thor arrived on the Stark Tower landing pad, and was greeted by FRIDAY, who sent him inside.
“Friend Stark! My brother has been poisoned by a sandwich from your realm! Help me find the culprit.”
Tony was emerging from the back of the penthouse, speckled with sawdust. There were still some banging sounds behind him.
“What’s happening?” Tony asked, wiping his hands on a towel. “Let’s talk in the kitchen.”
“It’s Loki,” Thor said, after he sat at the kitchen table, beer in hand. “He looked injured, and he was on his way to Eir’s clinic. The only thing that has happened in the last few days is that he was eating a sandwich from Midgard. I thought he might have been poisoned, and Eir sent me here to investigate.” Thor finally stopped for a taste of his beer. “He has visited you recently, has he not?”
“He comes by now and then to see me and Pepper. I think he was visiting her earlier this week.”
“Lady Pepper! How is she? Has the baby arrived yet?”
“Babies. Not yet. Pep’s still on bed rest, and Morgan is getting antsy waiting for her baby brothers.”
“Give your lady and your daughter my regards. But where would Loki have obtained his sandwich? Was it from your kitchen?”
“I doubt it,” Tony said. “I don’t cook, and we’ve been living on take-out.”
“But what is this?” A red bottle on the kitchen table.
“That? Sriracha sauce. It’s pretty much replaced tabasco in American cuisine.”
“Is it poisonous?”
“It’s spicy,” Tony admitted. “But not poisonous. Have a sniff.” And waved the bottle under Thor’s nose.
Thor retreated quickly. “That is vile! Perhaps, would it be poisonous to a cold creature, say, … a frost giant?”
Tony laughed. “No, Loki loves the stuff. Wait. Maybe a deli in the city remembers Loki and can tell you where he got his poisonous sandwich.”
“Are there many delis?”
“Lots of ‘em. Friday can give you a list in order of distance from the Tower, if you like.”
“Since I have no other clues…” Thor said slowly.
“And you know you can try the sandwiches at each deli, right? A walking lunch? Maybe something looks familiar.”
“Thank you, Friend Tony.” Thor clasped him by the elbow in a mariner’s—Asgardian—handshake. “I will take that list.”
“You got rid of him,” FRIDAY noted.
“Hope so,” said Tony.
**
Months ago:
Morgan wanted a baby sibling, so Tony and Pepper decided to try again. They were too successful. Pepper had returned from her Ob/Gyn visit, and was shaking and in tears now that Morgan was safely in bed.
Tony brought her a glass of – not champagne, but sparkling seltzer. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s too much, Tony. There’s two of them, and they are both big. The doctor thinks I won’t be able to carry them long enough.”
“Not to term?”
“Not even to viability. And she thinks in any case I might not survive the birth.”
Tony reached to surround her in a hug. “That bad.”
“Giant babies.” Pepper shook her head.
“Speaking of giants…Loki’s in the next room.”
“He’s here? Why?”
“You know our mischief boy. He’s in the outs with Thor and the all-Daddy for some reason.” Quietly he added, “Do you want to get rid of these? Try again?”
Shaking her head again. “I’m not ready to decide that tonight. Let’s talk to our visitor.” With a wan smile.
“Lady Pepper! You are with child. Children. Are congratulations in order?”
“Bad news,” she said with a sad smile. “I can’t keep them. They would die, and might kill me in the process.”
“I’m sorry,” and Loki was, but: “Can you not give them to someone else to carry? I thought Midgardian technology was advanced enough for that.”
“Just for embryos,” Tony said. “These are grown too much.”
“Too much for Midgard,” Loki said.
“For Midgard,” Pepper said; “not for Asgard?”
“Not for our healer, Eir,” Loki said.
“But we would need to find a surrogate,” Tony said. “I’m not willing to kill another woman for hypothetical children.”
“The children exist, they are not hypothetical,” Loki said. “And there is another way. I could carry them.”
“What?” said Tony.
“What?” said Pepper.
“You mean the horse story is true?” Tony said.
“Tony!” said Pepper.
“Wait,” said Tony to Loki. “Why would you do this? Thor is more our buddy than you are.”
“You tolerate me,” Loki said. “Few in Asgard do.”
“Tolerate?” said Pepper. “We like you. But why do you want to risk yourself?”
“In Asgard, I am sometimes accused of unmanly acts. This act—carrying a child—is very unmanly.” And in a quieter voice: “But I enjoy it. Very much.”
“You get off on—” Tony started, and Pepper elbowed him. Hard. Tony shut up.
They all looked at each other, Tony lastly and long at Pepper. He said, “Dear, you’ve had a long and trying day. You should rest. Loki and I will talk, see if we can work out the details.”
Drinks. Alcohol was still okay. They sat in the lounge, by the floor Hulk had once pounded Loki into.
“Well?” Tony said.
“What do you want to know? The technology?”
“We’ll get to that. Let’s talk motivation. You really want to carry our babies? Pepper’s and mine?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I am not allowed it, in Asgard. Because I miss it, the sensations, the swelling, the growth. I hunger for it, and am always starved. Does that answer you?”
“So you do get off on it.”
“I have had children before.”
“A snake? A wolf?”
“Those were Angrboda’s. But I had a husband and children on Midgard, centuries ago. Odin demanded I leave them.”
“What about the horse?”
“Sleipnir. He was my first. I was but a child.”
“We don’t impregnate children here.”
“Oh, but I wanted to do it. I was competing with Thor for Odin’s favor, constantly, in those days. When I could ruin the builder’s plan by turning into a horse—that was something I could do for Odin, and Thor could not. I thought Father would be proud of me. Instead he kept me hidden, turned back into a mare, until Sleipnir was born; and then he demanded my horse-son from me. A mare could not object, so I was not allowed to.”
“That’s horrible.”
“We are gods, Stark. Who are you to judge?” Loki sipped peaty scotch. “But before then, before I had to turn back into a horse, you have no idea how good it felt to have something growing inside me, something so big, so powerful. I was a realm all in myself. Each child since has brought back that feeling.”
“So you’d do this just for how it feels.”
“That’s the essence of it.”
“And you aren’t Rumplestiltskin? No need to keep our children, Pepper’s and mine, for yourself?”
“That does not fit into my present plans.” Loki took another sip.
“So, let’s talk practicalities. How would this work? Pepper goes to Asgard? Eir comes here?”
“Eir comes here. Secrecy is paramount.”
“Yeah, how do you keep this secret for months on end? What about your girlish figure?”
“Illusions. Not a problem.”
“Regular check-ups.”
“With Eir.”
“And with us. We need to see that you’re okay.”
“I can arrange that.”
“Where’s the birth?”
“Asgard. Eir can’t visit here again. I’ll come here, with the babies, immediately thereafter.”
**
Not long after, once Loki had smuggled Eir in, and Pepper, Loki and Eir had done their work in private, Eir told Pepper in Tony’s presence: “To your doctor, your OB/GYN, tell her you miscarried while away on business. She will tell no one else. To the rest of the realms, even to your daughter, you are still pregnant until the babies come. You can be active for as long as you think wise, but act tired; and eventually you will need to feign bed rest. Loki will tell you when. Is that acceptable?”
“If it’s the cover story,” said Tony, “we’ll do it.”
“And you,” Eir told Tony, “Act proud, but worried.”
“And eventually impatient,” Loki added. He himself was smiling like the cat who got the cream.
**
There was someone else who had to be notified. The next morning, Loki found Frigga in her garden.
“Mother! I’m…”
She frowned at him. “I can see that.”
“It’s not a horse this time.”
“Let me look closer,’ Frigga said, waving a hand. “Ah. There are two of them. Young, but not small.”
“Yes. It’s already wonderful.”
“Loki.” Frigga sat on a bench, motioned her son beside her. “Frey is the God of Fertility and mindless coupling. I am the Goddess of Happy Marriage. Will I see a daughter-in-law from this? A son-in-law?”
“No… but, this is an exercise in diplomacy! I am doing a favor for an ally on Midgard. A happily married ally.”
“But not married to a Jotunn,” she suggested.
“Midgardians, both of them.”
“Ah.” She paused. “Impetuous one. I can shield you from Odin, but please be circumspect.”
“I’m always careful,” Loki protested, rising to go.
“And don’t be mean to your brother.”
“I’m never mean to my brother!”
Alone, Frigga sighed.
**
The present:
Long after Thor had quit his search for the day, fed to his eyeballs on sandwiches and calling for Heimdall to take him, Loki arrived quietly on the Iron Man platform. He had a pack slung over one shoulder, a swaddled baby in each arm, and a look on his flushed face of contentment and victory.
“Pepper!” Tony called out. “The stork’s here!”
“Stork?” asked Loki.
“Traditionally, they deliver babies. Or babies are born in cabbage fields. Cabbage patches. Whatever.”
She arrived with reaching arms to take a child. “Heavy.”
“Quite,” agreed Loki, and handed the other one to Tony Stark, who for once was willing to take what he had been offered. “What are their names?”
“Thing One and Thing Two,” Tony said, and Pepper kicked him. “Ow! Which one was born first?”
“The one you hold,” Loki said.
“In that case, this one is Arno, after my mother’s father.”
“And this one is Caleb,” Pepper said, “after my mother’s father.”
“Good thing we finished the nursery this morning. What’s in the bag?” Tony asked, as Loki put it down on a table, and something sloshed.
“Milk,” said Loki. “It’s concentrated; you will have to dilute it.”
“Cow milk? Sheep’s milk? Goat milk?”
“My milk.”
“Oh. Stork milk. Gotcha.”
Loki rolled his eyes, looked at Pepper.
“Yes,” she said, “he’s always like this. But I think it’s time to put Caleb to bed.”
Arno yawned, and Tony said, “Arno, too. Wait, Loki. I’ll be right back.”
Loki was in the kitchen sitting at the table when Tony returned.
“Those babies are seriously big,” he said, sitting down. “So, between you and me, how bad was it?”
“For me? Not bad at all. Quite enjoyable, in fact. Satisfying. But Lady Pepper would not have survived it.”
“And your frost-giant-liness didn’t make ‘em that size?”
“That was all your doing, the two of you. Possibly it was a side-effect of Extremis. I would be more careful in the future.”
“Yeah, that was unexpected.” Tony looked at Loki. “You seem tired.”
“It’s been a long day, and I have to get back before I’m discovered.”
“Scotch?”
“I’d better not.”
“You hungry?”
“I am famished.”
“Well, you know where the sandwich fixings are.”
Tony watched Loki construct his dinner. A whole loaf of French bread, butter, creamed herring, eggs, caviar; then lettuce, tomato slices, roast beef and cranberry relish. “We call that a Dagwood sandwich,” Tony said.
“Why?” said Loki.
“It’s after a cartoon—fictional—character who liked to eat. You done?”
“Hardly,” said Loki; and he continued with cold French fries, a still-frozen waffle, maple syrup, leftover nachos. And gummy bears.
“Now you’re getting into Scalzi territory,” Tony said.
“Who?”
“Some author on the Internet. But he makes burritos, not sandwiches.”
“Small donkeys?”
“Not exactly. I’ll have to show you some other time.”
Loki was almost done, picking up the bottle of sriracha.
“Ah,” Tony said. “Thor was asking about that. He thought it might have poisoned you.”
“This sauce?” Loki looked delighted, for some reason.
“Yeah? He smelled it, and said it was vile.”
“In that case,” said Loki, “I will have to make a second sandwich for my brother. With extra sriracha.”