"You saw me bludgeoned by circumstance.
Lost, injured, hurt by chance.
I screamed to the heavens... loudly screamed...
Trying to change our nightmares into dreams...
The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance our long way home.
I was always yours to have.
You were always mine.
We have loved each other in and out
in and out
in and out
of time."
-Maya Angelou ("In and Out of Time")
There are those days…
From the window of the tower, he sees the whole city.
Or, as least what is visible through the hazy curtain of sleet and snow. The drizzle dulls the sharp, geometric edges of the skyscrapers. Obscured are the lines between air and building, and the forest of concrete and steel is almost one with the slate grey sky.
Loki's reflection is a translucent ghost staring back at him from a mirror world. His breath, on a deep sigh, fogs the glass. Like the mist outside, the droplets of water blur and blend the twin realities until there is no difference between them, nigh inseparable. Two becomes one.
Which is false? he wonders. And which is real? He is not always sure of the difference.
Where I almost return…
He falls in with a silent splash.
The icy tide closes first around his head, then envelops the rest of him in its cruel embrace. His lungs burn for lack of air while the water filling his chest does nothing to quench the flames. Numbing cold penetrates his skin, freezing him down to his very core. Light fades as he sinks deeper and deeper into the bottomless fathoms below.
He remembers being here before, that day he first fell. That day when he plummeted into the star flecked, suffocating oblivion. Asgard's golden glory shrinking into a mere speck in the black, and after a while not even that. It is an eternity - or is it merely a day? - before Loki's endless descent is checked.
To that other me…
It is at that fateful moment They find him.
Never before has he thought of blue as the color of rage, of madness, of hate. Yet as the azure light pierces his chest he cannot help but feel the all-consuming power singing in his veins. He sings with it, revels in this new found magic.
With the armies of the Chitauri at his beck and call, all the Nine Realms are his for the taking. They think he can be controlled, that he is a tool in Theirpossession. But, oh, that could not be further from the truth. They need him,They are nothing without him. He becomes drunk on their pitiable dependency. That is true power, he realizes.
The need to rip, to tear, to…
Pain becomes his opiate, blood his ambrosia.
Liquid scarlet coats every inch of his body in savage warpaint. The torn fabric of his cape is dyed from a verdant green to a dusky red. The metal of his armor rusts, becomes scratched and tarnished with battle. His pale skin is riddled with scratches and scars. He wears his wounds proudly even as his life's essence leaks out in steady rivulets. The smile curling his lips his feral, dangerous and wild as his unkempt mane of hair. He bares his teeth as if he means to take his prey by its very throat, choking and shaking into the final silence.
Loki brings wanton death and destruction upon everything he touches. Enemy or ally, he cares not. It only matters that each of them suffers as does, that the are used in the same he was once so callously used. He routes out their lives, their dreams, their very hope. No satisfaction will come to the god until all is naught but ash and dust at his feet. He will make them kneel!
He will… he will…
I need to…
A gentle touch breaks him from his vision.
Loki blinks several times as tries to fight back the waking nightmare, its taste still dark and iron on his tongue. He shakes almost imperceptibly as the apartment comes back into focus. Keeping his gaze downcast he looks at the subtle patterns of the carpet, he tries to find order and sanity in the unassuming fibers. No memories there, nothing to arouse the insanity that is always lurking beneath the surface. Something stings at the corner of his eyes, but he refuses to give in to the raging maelstrom in his chest, absolutely refuses.
Warm arms wrap around his shoulders, bringing him into their sheltering embrace. He feels lips grazing the shell of his ear. A face nuzzles at his skin as the breeze of an exhale ruffles the hair curled at his nape. The scent of metal and sweat - unexpectedly comforting - immediately surrounds him and drives away the remembrance of blood and shadows. His visitor's very presence is enough to make the visions disappear. His other self fears this one's light, and rightly so.
He does not hear their voice or see their face to know who it is. Tony… he sighs inwardly. Instinctively, Loki leans back into the man's hold as a tentative smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. Green eyes slide shut in contentment. His hand comes up to clutch at his lover's arm. Peace returns at last to his mind and heart, if only for the present.
Images of battle and anguish are chased away by happier thoughts. Thoughts of long days filled to brim with smirks and laughter and no small amount of fun. Of long nights filled with heat and caresses and glorious union. Tony Stark is his anchor that holds him to this world. Tony Stark is what he needs.
I need you.
A/N: A little fic inspired by zee lovely Batwynn's art. You should totally check out the comic this is based on and the rest of her tumblr blog while you're at it. Much frostiron and Stucky goodness there. ;3 Have a lovely day!
-Xen