A/N: In honor of the new Thor2 trailer that came out today, I dusted this off and finished it.

I took the long walk down the dark corridor to Loki's cell. He'd only recently been returned to Asgard by Thor and this was my first moment of seeing him again, of having the chance to speak with him since our last painful dispute on the stairs of the Weapons Vault.

Perhaps he heard my footsteps, perhaps something else alerted him, perhaps it was only coincidence; I found him standing at the far wall of his cell, staring out the thick glass to the next dark wall of the windowless corridor. His back was to me.

He didn't turn as I approached and I didn't call his attention. I feared that as soon as he turned he would fill our time with rancor and discord, hard feelings and harsh words, and all I wanted, if only for that moment, was to look upon my son who had returned to me from the dead.

His cell was adequate; his furnishings simple, functional, suitable. I admit I smiled when I saw his bed unmade and the not inconsiderable quantity of books already haphazardly gathered into one corner of his cell. But that smile was soon overcome by the painful press of nostalgia against my heart; that disarray would have described Loki's bedchamber on any given morning on almost any day of his life.

How I longed for those days again.

Soon, without turning, he said,

"You must be so sorry that you ever plucked me from the snow when I was an infant. What suffering would have been avoided if I had died then as I ought to have."

His voice was hard, but I was his father and I could hear the fear that drove his taunt.

"I have never been, nor will I ever be, sorry that you are my son."

His shoulders dropped, as though suddenly relieved of some great tension. But still he said,

"I am not your son."

He was pushing, I knew; looking for a crack or chink or weakness in my resolve, in my reasoning. A weakness that he would use to make himself hear the words I would not say.

No such weakness existed.

"And yet, I am your father."

He put his arms behind himself, catching one hand in the other, adjusting his stance as though he were about to watch a long parade go by.

"Why do you maintain that pretense?" He asked.

"I'm not the one indulging in pretense."

The words made him turn his face, if only slightly and even more briefly, towards me before he fixed his eyes on that far wall once again and said,

"It is not pretense that the King of Asgard brought into his kingdom the refuse of Jotunheim. The pretense is that you let it sit at your table, let it study at your side, let it stupidly believe all this time -"

"Enough." I said, more harshly than I intended. Loki flinched, but did not turn. "I allow no one to speak so of my son."

I expected yet another immediate denial from him, but it was not forthcoming. He bowed his head, slightly, turned to the side as was his habit when he considered grave matters.

"Will you banish me?" He asked, and he didn't try to disguise the fear in his voice when he asked it.

"No. You'll be kept here, in confinement, on Asgard."

I thought I noted a slight nod of his head.

"I see."

"I would have you where I can guard you." I told him. "And where I can protect you."

Again, there was a moment, a shift or subtle lessening of the stress evident in Loki. He placed his hands against the heavy glass through which he gazed.

"May I ask one question of you?"

"Of course." I told him. "You may ask whatever you wish."

"Do you have any regrets?"

Such a question

In my lifetime I had left behind me as many regrets as days that I lived. More, even, I suppose. What king does not? What husband and father does not? But Loki, always the one to ask the hard and yet nuanced questions, had asked a very specific question of me.

Did I have regrets as regarded him?

I walked around his cell, towards the glass wall he gazed through. Before I answered his question, I would see his face.

He did not turn away from me, as I thought he might. He lowered his hands from the window and stepped half a pace back. But he let me look upon him. He looked older; he looked somehow worn, as though all the innocence and mischievousness of his youth had been burnished from him.

And I could not help seeing the happy boy he used to be.

"I will tell you of the one regret which I will never relinquish." I said, and Loki lifted his chin, bracing himself for the blow. He met my gaze and held it.

"Yes?"

"I regret every word, action and omission on my part that ever made you believe you are any less my son than Thor; that made you believe that I do not love you and care for you, or worse - that I hated you. I will never absolve myself of that."

He blinked, rapidly, repeatedly. His need to believe was in balance with his need to not believe and anything more I might say could shift that balance in way I did not wish it to go. So I waited.

"Thank you, for telling me that." He said at last and I claimed it as victory. If Loki had wanted to dispute me on the matter, it would've been frank and immediate. That he did not meant he believed me.

For a moment, then, we said nothing. Loki gazed at the floor and I gazed at him.

"Have you all that you need?" I asked. It was all too soon that I needed to return to my duties.

"Yes." Loki turned his gaze around his cell and his spare fixtures. It was at that moment I felt he realized my question was in anticipation of my leaving him and his demeanor changed from cautiously hopeful to suddenly aloof. "Yes, it's sufficient to my needs." He finished, flatly.

"I must go back now." I told him. He nodded but would no longer meet my gaze. "My son, I am glad that you've returned."

He replied, "Thank you." It sounded rote and I began to turn away with a heavy heart. But he looked at me as I turned and asked, "Will I see you again?"

My heart didn't feel quite so heavy anymore. I nodded.

"Yes."

The End.