Just saw Thor: The Dark World yesterday with my sister, and the first thing she said to me when we left the theater was "Loki/Sif, I ship it!" I thought about it for a few seconds and resolved to go down with this ship. So, here's my first go with this new OTP. I loved writing this so much, and will probably write a follow up. Enjoy!
Before All this Hate
"Lady Sif, I want you to take the first watch of that traitor." Odin ordered from the throne without looking up from the scroll he was perusing.
"Of course, my king," she replied, despite the goose-bumps ridging her arms.
She hoped the All-Father did not see her shiver under her armor. Sif would just assume die before allowing anyone to see any sign of weakness in her form, especially Odin. She was a shieldmaiden of Asgard, there was no room for fear or discomfort, but as she walked toward the dungeons acute twinges prickled under her skin. The fork-tongued Trickster was one of the few things capable of making her squirm, for various reasons. She had fears the same as any man and the very concept of someone having the power to pry them out scared her beyond belief. The foremost step of becoming a warrior was overcoming fear. Loki could undo all of that hard work with a snap of his fingers. In the past, Sif had never needed to face the prospect of his wrath, but his attempt on her life proved their former friendship was irrelevant.
Still, she mustered her courage and put on the same countenance she did before battle. He was locked in the strongest cell of the Nine Realms. Nothing could get in or out, even the apprentice of Frigga's magic. No, there was nothing to be afraid of. She reassured herself of this the whole way down the cells but was no less struck by the cool fury in his eyes when she approached his plain white prison where he faced the glass window standing as straight as a spear shaft. His pale face was as calm and collected as ever, but those piercing orbs were burning with a cold fire that coursed and ebbed along to the contempt seething from every pore. His left hand was dripping blood from the knuckles, no doubt from a blow to the wall. Steam rose from each crimson drop as it hit the floor.
"Ah, Lady Sif, what a pleasant surprise," he hummed with mock pleasure and a frozen smirk. "I was rather hoping you would be the one they sent to torture me."
"I'm not here to torture you, not yet at least," she growled. "Fortunately for you, I am only your jailor."
"Fortunately for me…" he mused, rolling his tongue as if tasting the words and weighing their significance.
Sif's hand instinctively came to rest on the pommel of her sword.
"Yes, if it was my choice to make you would die slowly in agony for your crimes," she hissed back.
Loki let out a harsh laugh that rang throughout the hall, bouncing from wall to wall, echoing in every corridor and causing other prisoners to look toward the commotion. Sif jumped, startled by the sudden outburst as he touched his hand to the enchanted glass closest to her face. Blood from his split skin that had trickled into his palm smeared the transparent surface in a blossom of oozing red.
"My crimes, Lady Sif?" His voice was lathered in sly condescension. "Do I really earn your loathing for so little? While you dote on the murderer of thousands who sits on your throne and the slayer of hundreds who fights at your side? Yet I am so cursed as to be the object of hate for pursuing what was only mine by right."
He bared his teeth and his tone dropped to a more deadly pitch.
"Fortunately for you, I am only a prisoner."
Sif narrowed her eyes and slammed the edge of her fist to meet his bleeding hand.
"You cannot scare me!" she nearly screamed, for both their sakes. He was right. She was fortunate that he was not free.
Much to her surprise, his snarl suddenly softened and he trailed the tips of his fingers over the glass to the frame of her jaw line. The corners of his mouth eased into a sad smile.
"I do not wish to scare you, Sif. Contrary to popular belief, I remember our childhood. Can I be blamed for my bitterness after all that has happened to me? I still remember what life was like before all this hate…"
He looked sincere, apologetic, but she was not foolish enough to trust his face. The title "Trickster" was not given lightly by the people of Asgard; Loki had earned his nickname with voracity, once at the expense of her hair. She could not let her guard down just because he was showing some shadow of wistful guilt.
"No one within the reach of the Bifrost trusts you. Why should I?" she spat, taking two steps back. His word games were just as dangerous as his magic if she did not stay on the top of her wit.
"No one within reach of the Bifrost has reason to trust me, except you," he murmured cryptically. "Would you like me show you?"
"Absolutely not!"
But even as she made the retort Sif felt tendrils of skillfully planted curiosity pry through her brain. Why her alone? How could even Loki imagine a scenario where she had the sole reason to believe his lies? The questions raked the surface of her mind, painfully digging through her memory. Something was there. Something…
She turned her back on him, pressing the heels of her hands to her temples. His throaty chuckle swirled around her like suffocating smoke.
"Get out of my head," she choked.
"This is all your own work, my dear Sif," he said defensively. "You know why you should trust me and it stings you as much as it stings me."
"You're lying," she croaked hoarsely, her throat beginning to constrict. It felt as through a vice had clamped down on her skull. This had to be another trick.
"You're lying to yourself!"
Then it hit her at full force, the memory that she had repressed for years. What life was like before all the hate, before she joined forces with Thor and the Warriors Three, before she was Asgard's greatest shieldmaiden, there was a boy and a girl who would hold hands, and look at flowers, and braid each other's hair on warm evenings when the stars burned brightly overhead. She had pushed it so far to the back of her mind that it was nearly lost.
"I still remember" he repeated quietly, coaxing her to face him once again.
"You have changed," he made herself say without looking him in the eyes.
He had been sweet once. A sweet, sad little boy who always strove for approval but only received it from his mother. His mother, and Sif. He had always been enough the way he was, without all the lies and the illusions.
"No, Sif, the world changed. You were all just too blind to see what I was capable of," he said bitterly, sweeping his fingers in circles around the glass, drawing swirls with the almost dry blood. "But my feelings for you never once shifted."
"You tried to kill me!" she shrieked.
"You got in the way!" he yelled back, matching her tone. "Why do you think you couldn't remember our friendship, hm? Do you really believe you just repressed it away? That was my doing! You never did cope well with betrayal; I didn't want your death to be any more painful that it had to be."
Tears started to form in Sif's eyes. The more he spoke the more it all came rushing back. There was a time when he was nothing but kind to her. He loved her once, and she loved him. Every touch was tender, every glance was gentle, every kiss was warm. What happened?! How could he have the power to make her forget all of that?! Her knees went weak and she leaned against the wall to keep from collapsing. It was all too much!
"I should kill you for this," she managed to spout through her heavy breathing.
"And I should like to die for it, but that's not in our control, is it?" he replied, but not unkindly.
She sank to the ground under the weight of his words. He followed, kneeling and pressing his forehead against the window. Almost out of unconsciousness, her hand flew up to meet him and she recalled the feel of his skin cool skin under her fingers. His eyes dropped sullenly, betraying the longing lurking behind them.
"I hate you," she tried to bite, but it came as a barely audible whimper.
"Who is telling lies now?"
An uncontrollable shiver rolled over Sif's body.
"Undo it!" she demanded, fighting the pain in her chest. "Make me forget again! I don't want this! I don't want us!"
"You know as well as I that none of my magic can breech this cell. I could not do it again even if I so desired." His voice dripped with bitterness, but there was not even an ounce of dislike detectable.
More detailed recollections began rattling around in Sif's memory, bombarding her senses with familiar smells, sounds, and sensations. The soft perfume of a blooming rose left on her pillow, blades of grass on her bare arms in the warmth of spring, cold fruit tea that could only be made by one man's hands, cold rain pounding all around while hot breath flits over the skin on her neck. She resisted the urge to vomit.
"Please, I'll do anything, just make it stop!" she sobbed, weakly smacking the wall with her open palm.
She saw a single tear roll over Loki's cheek as he studied her.
"Why does our love cause you so much pain?" he asked, his own anguish leaking into his words.
"It's not ours, it's not mine," she gasped. "It can't be!"
He sighed and closed his eyes, letting his hand fall back to his side. Sif wanted to cleave open his skull for this, but more than anything she wanted to tangle her fingers in that silky black hair and crush her mouth to his. The urge was overwhelming beyond anything she had ever experienced before. Pain radiated from the tips of her fingers to her very core with every moment that passed, and the few inches between them grew into miles.
"I have been told by many that I do not have a heart," Loki muttered, rising back to a standing position. "I have spent these past years believing them, and yet… and yet I feel what can only be heartbreak. Set your mind at ease, Lady Sif, for tortured me you have."
"No, Loki, please!" she called as he made his way toward the back of his cell.
He spun around quickly on his heels.
"Please, what?" he snarled. "What more could you possibly want from me now? To lie and say it's all a trick I planted and that we were never in love? Do you want me to try to kill you again and swear on the life of my mother that I feel absolutely nothing?"
"Yes!"
She wanted, needed, it to be true.
"Well I am sorry, then," he answered emptily, turning his back on her. "Even I can grow tired of lies, and you have thoroughly exhausted me."
Doing her best to ignore the throbbing that racked her whole body, Sif used her sword as a makeshift cane to stagger back to her feet. She needed to leave, even if it meant violating a direct order. Her whole world was shattering like a broken mirror, throwing what was once a perfectly clear picture into shards of light and color with edges sharp enough to draw blood. You bastard…
As she finally managed to stumble toward the stairway with as much dexterity as her blurred vision and aching body would allow, she paused with she heard the faint call,
"Sif."
Even though every nerve screamed not to, she turned just enough to acknowledge Loki. He was back to the front of his cell, both hands pressed firmly against the glass as if trying to push through it. There was no anger left in his face, no bitterness, only sorrow and pain, the kinds of which could bring any man to his knees.
"I never once stopped loving you."
Sif brought her free hand to her mouth and bolted up the stair as quickly as her fatigued body could manage.