Loki; a fanfiction

         Loki sat in his cage, bored out of his mind. He knew he'd messed up this time. He had really thought he had everything under control this time and that he'd win. He sat on the floor and ran his hands through his long black hair.
         "Hello?" He looked up and turned his head. Creeping across the warehouse floor was a teenaged girl. She had long black hair and was wearing a simple black tee shirt under a black leather jacket and jeans. She was staring at him. "Can you ... hear me?" He smiled and stood up. At six foot and two inches he towered over most mortals. He was thin and not muscle bound, unlike his brother. She wasn't much shorter than he, which wasn't something he often found.
         "I can hear you, dear. May I ask what you're doing here?" She came right against the glass and reached out to touch it. "Careful! It'll burn you." He didn't much care for the safety of mortals but this one drew him. She drew her hand back.
         "Who ... are you?" She whispered, staring. He was hidden in simple mortal garb.
         "I am Loki Laufeyson, god of mischief, once of Asgard." He grimaced as his lips twisted around 'Asgard'. "And you are?" He mocked a bow.
         "Oh! ... Um ... Evelyn Stark." He jerked at her name and drew back.
         "Stark?" He asked, disbelieving.
         "Yes." She looked away, grabbing her elbow. "Tony Stark is my father."
         It was his turn to stare. "You're the child of Iron Man?"
         "Sadly." She muttered and he crinkled his brow. Like him she didn't want to be in a powerful family. "He told Mother about his great capture today, before he went off to get drunk. I left before he came home. I wanted to get away and I wanted to see who he'd captured."

         "I've heard of you before. Father tells stories of his chases of you. Your in a lot of Avenger stories." She had pulled up a tire and taken a seat. He had no such option and settled into a crouch.
         "Not surprisingly. Why are you still here? You parents will worry." She shook her head and looked away.
         "She doesn't care and he'll be too drunk to notice I'm gone. And it's better if he has the apartment to himself when he's drunk." She pulled up a sleeve, revealing a multitude of bruises. He was well practiced in his hiding his emotions but he lost control seeing what Iron Man could do to his own daughter. He scowled darkly and fought with himself. There was nothing he could do, locked up.
         "And you've never told anyone?!" He asked, incredulously.
         "Who would they believe? The hero or his well-hidden brat? He has money. He can pay people not to see." She sounded bitter.
         "What about the Avengers? They never saw him as the rest of the world does."
         "I don't want them to think of him as a monster. He only does it when he's drunk." She looked away again and he longed to grab her face, to stop her nervousness.
         "So you live a lie? You hide his marks to keep him in good favor?" She hadn't looked up and he worried she was going to leave.
         "I don't know. It just feels wrong to have them hate him. And he only hits me. He always apologizes and he loves me, he says so." She looked up again and he noticed she had beautiful hazel eyes.
         "What a man says and what he does is a whole different thing." Loki muttered, remembering the day he found out what he truly was.
         "What are you saying?" She whispered, her eyes wide.
         "That he may claim to love you, that he may apologize but doesn't he come back? Doesn't he, every time, hit you again. If he loved you, he'd tell everyone what he was." She looked down at her boots and didn't answer. He longed to touch her. He reached out, fingertips nearly touching the dangerous glass.
         "I can get you away." He said suddenly. She jerked up and he let his hand drop.
         "What?" She had been crying, he could see from her running make-up and husky voice.
         "I can get you away from him. I can take you to a place where he will never find." She looked into his green eyes, looking for a sign of the mischief he was well known for.
         "How?" She trusted him, having known his nary and hour.
         "First you have to let me out of this cage."