Disclaimer: I don't own Thor, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.
Hallucinations
A/N: Set between The Avengers and Thor: The Dark World, for the prompt "Sometimes she moves her mouth as though trying out the next words."
He hates this place, hates that it's more than he had imagined, surely better than he deserves. It must be yet another way for Odin to mock him, play at being a father and a king all in one go. Imprison the traitor, strip him of his hard-earned talent in sorcery, yet keep him safe, coddle him in a pristine crystal cage so as to show some manner of affection.
But he will not fall prey to such lies again, for he delivers them, does not receive.
The darkness lies only behind closed eyes, the blasted expanse of the white room always bright, always laughing at him. He curses this misfortune, the predicament he is in. Having to be trapped in light is far more torturous than the darkness he so thrives upon.
The lights go out then, and his eyes open, a thin ray of light moving across the wall in the shape of a door.
Loki stiffens, anticipates perhaps the arrival of Odin or, even worse, that fool Thor. This undesired visit will surely be full of harsh lectures or even begging. Both make his stomach turn.
As the door, now conjured by simple magic, opens, he sees her, in utter disbelief at the fact that she'd deign to come again. Perhaps she does not know it, but she causes far more pain than pleasure with each subsequent attempt to talk him into penitence.
She moves as the wind, swiftly wrapping herself around him like a sheet hung out in the sun to dry. For a moment, he finds it comforting, only to remind himself that things are not as she wants them to be, that they are not the way he knows they should be, with the Allfather trapped in the Odinsleep and Thor stuck on Midgard. It should have been just the two of them, he thinks, working their way through the days as they once had. Her love, her loyalty, belonging to none but him alone.
But, he decides, being the force that steadily pulls her from the king is satisfying enough.
For now.
She shifts, lays his head in her lap as her fingers play through his hair. He can feel her hesitation, the urge to speak building in her bones. Her lips move, but she remains silent, perhaps imagining how the words will sound, taste, rolling off her tongue.
Will she be able to convince him to give in to this contest of wills, or will her words only serve to harden his heart further?
Though the queen debates with herself, Loki knows the answer.
This is his game. One he made up his mind to finish years before all of this came to be. And, one way or another, he will emerge the victor.
He will not give Odin, nor Thor, the satisfaction of breaking him.
"Loki."
He feels as though he is falling, and sits upright, heart pounding and eyes snapping open. She's gone, as are any traces of the supposed doorway.
A dream, Loki thinks, only to snort and correct himself. Not a dream.
He grinds his teeth, cursing the weakness of his mind, to have conjured and fallen for something so base as a hallucination. Yet another sign, aside from his certain boredom, that he's been in this damned prison far too long.
But, he thinks, expression changing, Odin cannot keep him in here forever.
Sooner or later, the Allfather's clever little relic will become necessary, and he will be left with no recourse other than to let Silvertongue roam free.