AN: Eh, I'm just pretending for this story that Thor 2 didn't happen.
Sif didn't know why she did it. It never made her feel better. It never helped. All she knew was that there were some days she had no choice. She would lie awake late into the night, waiting, till she could be certain she would not run into a drunken Fandral, returning from some feast or Thor, pacing the halls of the palace thinking of Midgard and the Lady Jane. She would wait until she was certain she would see no one, and then she would slip out of bed, dress quickly and walk out into the night.
Every step that brought her closer to the dungeons, her mind would yell at her, screaming to know why she did this to herself, but she always ignored it. Never had she, once started, turned back.
She made her way down to the prison cells and would find Loki's. She would walk towards it, her pride refusing to let herself glance towards the prison guards in embarrassment, and she would stand before it, looking in.
It was a plain white room, with comfortable furniture and stacks of books. She didn't think she had ever seen Loki sitting in one of the chairs however. He was always on the ground, his back against the far wall, his long legs crossed, a book in his hand. He never looked up. He never acknowledged her. He never said a word, (that in itself, she had to admit, was unusual for Loki). And he would read. Occasionally he would turn a page.
She would stand there, almost at attention, her legs a little apart, her arms behind her, watching him.
There were times, darker days, when she would wonder how much she had to answer for the fact that he was in that cell. Could she have stopped it?
His hand in her hair, pulling her towards him. Her arms around his neck, kissing him, holding him, needing him…
She had once looked on it as a weakness. A mistake. A mistake she kept coming back to. His smile, mocking and yet strangely sincere, each time she found herself in his arms again.
But there had been the screaming matches too. No, wait. Loki had never screamed. Maybe they could have worked through it if he had. He had always been calm. Biting.
She told herself it had been complicated. Odin, Thor, her own family, their friends. So many people had had expectations. And she did care about Thor, didn't she? She once even fancied herself in love with him. And yet, she wondered now if she ever had been. If she truly cared about him, in that way, wouldn't his feelings for the Lady Jane hurt? But she couldn't care less. He still made her laugh, spending time with him still made her happy, but seeing him care for someone else was nothing, nothing to the pain she had felt when she heard of Loki's fall into the void. Then she had hurt, then she had raged, then she had wanted to tear out Odin's other eye for allowing himself to be so blind.
But she had been blind too hadn't she?
So many people to blame, so many faults to acknowledge. Why did Loki have to declare war on Midgard? Everything else. It could have been repaired.
But not this, she thought, as she stared into his prison.
Eventually she would turn her back on him, forbidding herself the weakness of a sigh, and walk resolutely away.
She would return to her room but she would not lie back down on her bed. Instead she sat up by the window and looked out at the slowly brightening sky. She would not sleep on these nights.
Loki could always sense her coming. He didn't know how exactly. But he knew, every time, when it was her footsteps upon the stone floor. And he would raise his hand and tilt it, performing a quick spell, casting the illusion across the small room. Then he would stand, leaving behind him an image of himself, book in hand. Occasionally he'd remember to have it turn a page.
He'd cross over to the far side of the cell, sink down onto his knees, inches away from her, and watch her, examining the curve of her jawbone, the color of her eyes, the wave of her hair. He'd study her closely, as if each time might be the last. And it might. He never knew, when she walked out, if she would ever return again.
She never said anything. So he didn't either.
He wondered if she knew she was looking at an illusion.
He wondered if she could sense him, inches away from him, his cell's shield all that was keeping him from pulling her to him.
He wondered what she would say if he let the illusion drop and she was left there, staring directly into his eyes.
And he wondered why she came. She hadn't cared before. Perhaps it was because of Jane Foster. Yes, that must be it. Thor was distracted. Thor was in love with someone else. Sif was hurt and so she came here, just as before when he was free to kiss her and bury his fingers in her hair. But eventually Jane Foster would age and die and Thor would realize the awe-inspiring warrior that had been fighting at his side for centuries now, and then Sif would stop coming.
He shook his head at his brother's stupidity. Who could look at any woman, even Jane Foster, when Sif was by your side?
She would stay for an hour, sometimes even two, and then she would leave. As soon as her footsteps faded, Loki would drop the illusion. He would stand up and walk towards his bed and lie down on it, staring up at the ceiling. He would not fall asleep those nights.
