I might feel sorry for Loki, you know, if I wasn't me. His eyes hold no empathy, only apathy. Already, the death toll is higher than I'd ever like it to be, the countless
bodies of the innocent being buried in their graves. All of those men, women, and children who will never see the light of day ever again. He should pay, he should burn
for all that he's done. The destruction is still fresh in my mind and the memory of it all, the memory of Coulson, leaves me bitter. His expression is blank and I wish that
I could see one of those 'I'll be back' looks on his sickly little face. That would give me something to look forward to, something to anticipate and prepare for. It would
give me an excuse to lock myself up in my lab, to work on my suit, to even spend a few more hours each day with Pepper ("Let's live our lives before they're gone"). As
Thor holds out the device, the Tesseract locked securely inside of it, to teleport them both back to that alien 'realm', as Thor calls it, Loki looks up from his silent sulking
and takes the other handle. Thor wears a mask of nothingness on his face, but I can see the twitch in his jaw, and Loki's emerald gaze is ever the mystery. Thor twists
his handle and the two brothers are whisked away to Asgard, the blue, wispy tendrils of their departure curling in the air. Yeah, I might feel sorry for the guy. I might
sympathize with him for what his old man is going to do to him when he gets back home. But, you know, I'm not in the sympathizing mood today.
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