neutral_omens | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Date: June 24, 2000
Setting: First Floor Men's Bathroom
Status: Public (Newt and Loki)
Summary: Because we haven’t seen Newt ‘repair’ something in too long.

He was having a good day today. This was only the second time he’d thrown up and it was well past lunchtime. Lately throwing up les than five times qualified as a very good day for Loki, so he left the stall in almost high spirits, splashed some water into his face and smiled up at the flickering lamp on the ceiling.

There were all sorts of fun things one could do with a broken lamp and the right mark. Too bad he didn’t have one handy.

He opened the door and walked out almost colliding with ...

“Newt, my friend! What a lucky coincidence! I was just thinking of you.”

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Loki quickly ducked out of the way of splashing oil and 'accidentally' pushed against the ladder. It swayed a little, but to his disappointment didn't fall. Oh well, at least it was standing right in the oil puddle now.

"Are you sure you don't want the tongs?" he called up to Newt hoping to distract him.

"Well, it can't hurt." Newt shrugged. He reached down to grab them, holding on to the screwdriver with the other hand.

At this point three things happened. Newt overbalanced, clutching the screwdriver. His hand, coated in oil, slipped off the handle, which bounced back up to the cieling.

Which made an ominous creaking noise, but Newt didn't notice, as he was rather busy falling on top of an annoyed Norse god.

"Aaahh!" Loki had not counted on Newt and the ladder landing on top of him when they fell and even less on landing on top of a rather hard and painful tool box.

"Ouch," he complained. "As if I didn't already have enough bruises."

He made an attempt to wriggle out from under Newt, but his foot seemed to be somehow entangled with the ladder and ... Where had that cracking sound come from?

A fine white dust was raining down on him, but it couldn't be snowing. Not inside a building. Even if there were a hole in the ceiling how would snow get into the ground floor of a three story building in England at this time of the year?

Wait a minute: Hole in the ceiling? White dust?

Loki looked up. Cracks were forming on the ceiling right before his eyes!

"Ups." It wasn't exactly the first time this sort of thing had happened to him, but for some reason it came as a surprise every time.

"I can reccommend a good salve to put on them," Newt said absently, sitting up and wiping the oil out of his eyes. He blinked stupidly at his hand for a few seconds, wondering why it has gone all white. Then he looked up.

"Oh, bugger." He said vehemently.

And then the ceiling fell in.

Loki covered his face with his arm to protect his eyes from the plaster and hoped that this wasn't the whole ceiling coming down. Being crushed to death might solve all his problems, but he expected it would be rather painful and ... well, he'd have liked to live a little longer. There were things he still wanted to do.

There was the expected clutter of debris raining down, the sharp burning of plaster dust in his throat and a sound somewhere between a scream and a hiss. Loki risked a peek.

There was a small black cat clinging desperately to Newt, eyes wide with fright.

"Oh dear!" Loki exclaimed. "You poor, poor kitty!"

He snatched the animal off Newt and cuddled her close to his chest to comfort her.

"And such a cute and soft kitty you are."

"..." said Newt, plaster trickling out of his hair in a thin white stream. This, oddly enough, reminded him a little of the not-pocalypse, and he blushed. Well, that time he'd gotten plaster in his hair in infinitely prettier company.

Also, a cat hadn't landed on his head.

"Ow!" He said crossly, dabbing at his forehead and coming away with blood. "Cut and soft?! That thing scratched me!

"Well, what did you expect?" Loki defended his new friend. "She just fell through the ceiling. Wouldn't you cling to the first thing you could grab in her place? She's a cat. Cat's cling with their claws. It's a very effective method. Isn't it, sweetie?"

The kitten rubbed her head against Loki's cheek and purred clearly happy to be held safe.

Loki tilted his head towards her, closed his eyes and purred as well. Oh, how he loved cats!

"Well," Newt grumbled, "It could-" he stopped. "Wait." Fell through the ceiling?

He looked up. "Oh. We're in trouble."

"Trouble?" Loki asked not really worried. Being in trouble was the normal condition for him and he'd spent an unusual amount of time not being in trouble lately. "Why? What's up there?"

"Um, floor two. That's... two demons, two angels, and a really cranky ghostbuster with a trenchcoat."

Newt winced.

Oh great, a floor full of not-gods. He should have guessed. He wasn't quite sure whether he'd prefer a demon or an angel right now.

"Plus myself and my brother, but this definitely isn't our kitty." He cuddled the adorable little black furball who mewed and rubbed her head against his cheek. "Any idea which one of them owns a cat?"

"I do," came an angry voice from the hole in the ceiling followed by a familiar pair of sunglasses. "And you'll give her back right now."

Loki blinked up at the hole and the demon peering through it through the plaster dust. Crowley. Again. Weren't there enough other not-gods in his building? Why did he keep running into the most unpleasant of them all.

He subconsciously tightened his grip on the kitten.

"Oh no, not you," he declared. "I will not hand an innocent animal over to you."

He was determined to go through with it as well. The poor kitty's life was at stake and he would not back down no matter how scary Crowley was. Loki was a Norse god after all, Norse gods were brave and strong. He'd fight for the kitty.

"You will if it's my fucking cat," snapped Crowley. His patience had been tested when the floor of his bathroom collapsed. Now that this idiot had stolen Chicago, he was starting to get angry.

"Do not make me come down there to collect her or I promise you will regret it."

"I won't let you harm a hair on her body wolf-murderer!" Loki glared up at the demon. It couldn't get too bad. He was going to die soon anyway and being killed by a murderous demon was probably faster and less painful than dieing alone of cancer.

And who knew what the poor kitty would have to suffer, if he returned her to Crowley. It was probably a lot worse than having cancer.

"I haven't hurt her in the month I've had her. Why the hell would I start now?" he asked not unreasonably, but in a sharp tone of voice. "And I haven't murdered any fucking wolves, though you're making me rethink that policy."

He scanned the area below briefly. A human and a weak god. No problem.

"You've now got five seconds to hand her up. Five... four... three..."

"Well, come on then!" Loki challenged.

This was not good. How was he supposed to fight with the kitty in his arms?

He glanced around, but didn't see any good place to put her. The safest place for her would probably be in Newt's arms, but then Crowley would attack Newt and Loki didn't trust Newt to defend himself, let alone a cat.

With no more warning, Crowley dropped gracefully through the hole in the ceiling and landed in a crouch looking up at Loki. Glancing discretely at the kitten to make sure she was unharmed, he straightened up and held out one hand.

"Last chance. Hand her over. She's mine."

"Over my dead body!"

Loki shifted the purring kitten into his left arm so he had the right one free to fight.

Jumping forward, one hand on Loki's throat and the other on his free right hand, Crowley pinned the god to a wall.

"That can be arranged," he snarled. The demon considered just snatching Chicago from Loki's grasp but there was too much of a possibility for her to get hurt if they were both tugging on her fragile little body. "Thisss is how it's going to go. You will hand the cat over now and I will not kill you. If you don't value your own life then you'd bessst be thinking about those wolves of yours and what I'll do to them when you're no longer around."

Loki pulled the kitten close to protect her and rammed his knee between Crowley's legs.

It had failed with Uriel and Crowley was a not-god as well, but then the move had served him well for centuries and in his current position his options were very limited. It was worth a try, he thought.

The world stopped and Crowley crumpled. A distant part of his mind was thinking about the last time he'd been injured there and how easily one forgets how much it really hurts. It couldn't have been Aziraphale. For all that he fought dirty, he either didn't know or was too compassionate to aim for such a sensitive area, despite the fact that the angel was well aware that Crowley had never gone for the androgynous look. Maybe he hadn't wanted it damaged for reasons he refused to tell himself...

The greater part of him was howling in pain, whether vocally or internally, he couldn't tell. His focus was exceedingly narrow and nothing else mattered at the moment: kitten, angel, revenge, whatever, he most severely didn't care.

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