Summary: How well do Thor and Loki know each other? Some arguments can't be won. (A bit of a character study.)

Deuce

The green-clad fiend stood atop the high ground, while the hero climbed to equal footing.

"You've lost your edge, softened like a married woman," Loki mocked as Thor clambered up. "And I was so looking forward to a . . .rousing fight."

"You've tried persuading diplomacy into me many times," Thor said with slight amusement, straightening upright. "Why are roles reversed now?"

Thor couldn't have known, could not have known, but he had plucked a painful nerve.

"Ah," Loki struggled. "Yes. You are now...more mature? Level-headed? Wise?"

"I've learned that hot blood and the heart are two very different things," Thor said. "And which one to lead by. My time on Midgard taught me that."

Loki snapped.

Crack. His staff hit the hammer.

"I spend years, decades,trying to sway you, and it takes a mere few days on Midgard?" Loki hissed. "All of Asgard...My—our entire existence's purpose was for you, Thor! Everyone but you knew that! And yet-" He shrieked behind his teeth and turned away.

"Your existence, brother?" Thor's voice rumbled lower. "You believe you live for me? What folly is this?"

"Ha!" Loki threw back his head and laughed, and still laughing—struck again. "I loathe you," was Loki's weak whisper, as Thor blocked the lunge. "And until you have fallen through stars' wells lower than Hel, you cannot comprehend the depth of hatred."

The wind blew their clothing. Their weapons remained locked together.

"I know regret," Thor said slowly. "And I know I never realized what I had until it was gone."

"And good riddance."

Loki disengaged and retreated.

"Loki." He tried to catch Loki's shoulder, but it jerked away out of reach. "Brother—"

"'Know your place, brother.'"

"Loki—"

"'Whatever I've done to you, Loki—'"

"I couldn't see—"

"The king of Asgard took me in," Loki said with seeming calm, "because looking at the face of an abandoned, red-eyed, frostbitten, Jotün infant, he remembered the face of a golden-haired healthy boy born a few years before—and could not bear to taint such a memory."

"Father loved you as his own."

"The same king," Loki pressed on, "slid my footing until any garish light shining was mercifully protected by your shadow. Careful prodding and wire grew a lovely little king's advisor, safeguard, and spysmith. "

"You were an equal prince of Asgard, brother," Thor stressed. "You showed courage and fortitude through horrific trials. In time the throne also would have been offered to you, even as the offer still stands by your worthiness. Asgard will be blessed as one day—the same day, we ascend the throne and rule Asgard jointly in balance. By Mjolnir and all brotherhood," he vowed, "I know it."

A few moments passed.

"Pretty words," Loki said finally. "You always were good at rousing tavern speeches. But I've told you before, Thor," An awful little smile danced around Loki's mouth. "I have never wanted the throne."

"'You've only ever wanted to be my equal'," Thor recited wearily. "My equal doesn't amount to as much as I had believed, brother. I wished I had told you that before."

"What is my favourite colour?" Loki changed subjects lightning-quick.

"What does this have to do with anything?" Thor was hardly thrown, but played along. "It's green; you wear it near everyday."

"Wrong," Loki sang. "But your favourite, Thor, is not red as some idly think, for red reminds you of battle and you do not love battle so much as the songs would have you. It is gold, the same as Idunn's apples and mother's hair in summer and the burnished armour of the All-father, all of which you love. Although I believe you may be considering your favorite burnt amber, the dark shade of a Midgard woman's soft doe-eyes and lashes."

"Leave Jane out of this."

"Ah, yes, she has a name. Another thing you love: titles. Mother, brother, son of, friend, lady, ally. Noble, regal titles dispensed as casually as dropped leaves in a lake, having much the same effect."

"And you love the sound of your own voice, Loki," Thor retorted, his temper fraying. "What is the point?"

"The tip of a spear," Loki said, "just as obvious in its use."

Thor clasped his elbows and waited.

Loki's eyes relaxed from their slits, and his forehead smoothed. He inclined his head in mock civility. "I apologize for my atrocious behavior. Next time I will be sure my slippery tongue only wags as wide as the breadth of your forehead."

Thor easily ignored the veiled insults. Sensing the impending parting, he stepped close and embraced Loki before he could vanish away. His chin landed on top of Loki's crown, but he bent down until their heads were closer. Loki struggled.

"I love you, brother," he whispered into Loki's ear. "I cannot express it as eloquently as you, perhaps, but you must believe it. I miss you and mourn your sorrows. If you believe nothing else I say, believe the honesty of my words. I love you."

Shoulders tightened suddenly, and a breathe sounded in Thor's ear. He held tighter to his brother, but Loki ripped away, eyes were bright.

"You might just tell him that when you see him," he said, and Loki's clone began to melt away.

"Wait," Thor tried. "Wait—"

The clone smiled sardonically through blurring lips.

"His—his favorite colour, what is it?"

It sighed, fading. "You dolt..."

Thor was left standing alone.

"...red, I suppose..."

AN:

Red is associated with violence and vibrant love. (And Thor's cape, naturally.) So which does Loki like it for?

(And if he's not lying and his colour really is red, of course he'd be ticked he couldn't wear it at Asgardian functions 'cause Thor took it already! It would've been a fashion faux pas.)