A/N: This was a fill for a prompt on norsekink. The prompt being to write about Jane being unable to hate Loki even after everything he's done, for all the same reasons we can't hate him. In short, Jane is a reluctant Loki fangirl.

This was written prior to the release of The Dark World, and is therefore an AU of it.

What is it about bad boys?

Jane doesn't know. She's never known. Once, she was a teenager wondering when all her friends collectively lost their minds and decided Severus Snape was just misunderstood and 'sad'. Before that, she was a seven year old girl grossed out by everyone's crush on Judge Frollo. She would've been perfectly happy continuing her life thusly, finding nice, respectable men to date, be they successful doctors or figures of legend. Add one more to the list of reasons why she should utterly despise Loki Odinson/Laufeyson/whatever and wish him a painful death.

The keyword is should. The problem is that she doesn't.

Which brings her back to the original question: what is it about bad boys?

Well, the more accurate picture of a bad boy is something to the effect of a brooding, leather jacket wearing, motorcycle riding, Jimmy Dean type. Loki... well, he certainly broods a lot.

The problem is that he's traded leather jackets and motorcycles for genocide and world domination. Jane can think of one very good example of someone who should remind her of him. If she could only make the comparison without wanting to throw up.

It isn't right. She shouldn't like him. She shouldn't even pity him. She should've stayed as angry as the day they met. She should've punched him a few more times, blown off some steam. One more for Erik. Another one for the people he killed before New York. Another for the destruction of her hometown that they're still trying to recover from.

Then, every time he recoiled from the blow like it was nothing more to him than being tickled by a feather, he could grin at her with those condescending eyes and tell her he likes her. Because her pain and the pain of millions mean nothing to him. She has to remember that, and so she punches him over and over again in her mind until it and her hand are sore.

They spend days traveling this realm. Svartalfheim, Thor calls it. She mostly stays by him, letting him tell her stories of his past battles, his deep timbre soothes her and lulls her to sleep at night. She loves to hear him talk; she loves everything about him. She doesn't know yet if she loves him, it's too soon to tell. She knows she loves who he is and what he does, in the way she hates who Loki is and what he's done. That's what makes it so hard, because as she doesn't yet love Thor, she doesn't hate Loki. The only person she hates is herself for even having this conflict.

But it's getting worse everyday. Loki sits up late at night because he can't sleep, and instead of ignoring him, she wants to ask why he did it. He finds them food for dinner and insists on preparing it himself (Thor isn't careful enough with a cleaver, he says), and instead of being suspicious of what he might do to that meat before it's put on their plates, she wishes she could go over and help him. He fights at Thor's side, always one step away from betraying him and running if the opportunity presents itself, and instead of hoping a stray elf will find just the right chink in his armor to strike, she is impressed by his grace and dexterity. Olympic gymnasts couldn't move as swiftly as he does.

She wants all of it to go away. She wants to fall in love with Thor with nothing to stand in their way. She wants to hate him and mean it, and let him know that she means it. She can't even talk to him because if she does, he will see through her. He's called the God of lies for a reason. He can smell them on you.

Maybe that's why he hasn't exposed her yet. She meant it the day she punched him. She hated him then, or she almost did. If she tries it again, or if she talks to him now, it won't be like the first time. That was a reflex, an instinct. This would be rehearsed, forced. He'll know.

It comes to her when the battle is over and Malekith is destroyed. She's been bottling it up for too long, but at least now she knows what to say.

She waits for the moment that he is dragged back to his cell in shackles. He looks her way and she meets him without fear.

"I hate the things you've done."

There is a silence that feels longer than it is.

Then he smiles, and her heart plummets.

"Good save," he says.

He knows.