Meredith became like an addiction to him. Each time he swore was the last, he would find himself again returning to that small, unimportant planet, to that unimportant girl. He knew that he should know better. He knew that his absence from Asgard, repeated too many times, would not go unnoticed. And worse, he knew that once or twice, his concentration had slipped, the shields he used to protect himself from Heimdall's gaze had slipped. He was lucky. Each time had only lasted a fraction of a moment, and Heimdall had yet to notice. But he knew how dangerous was the ground he was treading. Midgard was forbidden. In the past centuries, one or two inhabitants from the Nine Realms had found their way to the planet, and Odin's punishment had been swift and firm.

But it seemed each evening spent with Meredith made every other evening on Asgard that much more difficult. Her notice, made the slights of home harder to bear. Where before he could get through a feast of Thor's exploits being lauded and his own ignored or overlook a gesture of pride from Odin direct at Thor relatively successfully, now it was unendurable. During his time at home, he became even more reclusive, but it rancoured when he realized no one, not even Frigga, noticed. And that drove him to seek out Midgard and Meredith even more.

When he was with her, everything from Asgard seemed so far away. The pain was still there but distant. And in her eyes he was perfect. In her eyes, he was wonderful, in her eyes he was everything.

She fell in love with him. And he knew he should leave. He knew at that point he owed it to her to pull away. But the feeling of being loved was too intoxicating. Too overpowering. And he could leave whenever he wanted. That's what he told himself.

Meredith was a mere mortal. She was nothing. What did it matter if he whiled away a few hours with her?

And then it happened.

Loki was reading, trying to ignore the sounds of Fandral and Hogun squabbling, when Thor had come bounding into the room, grinning from ear to ear, excitement radiating out from him in waves.

Volstagg eyed him. "What has you so excited?"

Thor was oozing pride as he announced: "The Allfather has requested I begin to sit in on his meetings with foreign representatives."

Loki froze. He knew what this meant. Given the babble of excitement from the others so did they. Odin was training Thor. He wanted to teach him. To hand over the throne. Odin had chosen.

Inwardly, Loki cursed himself. He shouldn't be surprised. He shouldn't feel this sting of pain. Odin had always chosen Thor. Despite Loki's childhood beliefs that he might indeed earn the throne over Thor, in adulthood he had learned the cold hard fact that Odin would never choose him over Thor in anything, let alone when it came to the throne of Asgard. But it did hurt. He hurt. Worse, it was as if every wound ever inflicted by Odin, by Thor, by everyone continually loving the eldest prince of Asgard and ignoring the younger, was suddenly erupting in his head, oozing acid across his mind.

Loki shut his book and smiled. He congratulated Thor and gave one or two words of advice. Thor never even noticed. No one in the room did. No one seemed to realize that Loki had just lost something. Of course they didn't. No one else had ever thought he would ever earn the throne either. It hurt how completely they dismissed the very possibility.

As soon as he could, Loki slipped away. His brain was screaming at him. He could hardly form a coherent thought. He couldn't really remember doing so later, but somehow he made his way out of the palace, to the secret pathways and to Midgard. His brain continuing to scream the whole time.

And he found himself in front of Meredith's apartment door. She answered, surprised to see him so early. But she let him in, smiling, happy. It was a small, dingy apartment. Shabby and cheap, but she had tried what she could to make it look nice.

But even Meredith couldn't stop what was going on in his head. He felt like something was breaking. Something that he would never be able to put back together again.

Her smile faded. He wasn't even sure if he'd greeted her before he started pacing back and forth across the living room. She sunk down on the couch and watched him, alert. Following him closely with her eyes. She said something at one point. He couldn't remember exactly what it was but he shot back something nasty in response. She had blinked in surprise. He'd never spoken to her like that before.

She tried again and he ignored her. And then suddenly he turned and she was standing right in front of him. She tilted her chin up, as if daring him, her eyes were bright, but her voice was firm.

"What's wrong?"

"You wouldn't understand," he snapped.

"But I want to. I want to help you."

"You couldn't even begin to comprehend-"

"Then try me. I'm here Loki. I want to know what's wrong. Why are you upset? If you ignore me, how can I help?"

"You can't help."

"Even if that's true, I still want to know. I want to share this, whatever it is."

He sneered at her. "You? Share anything with me? As if we were on the same level? You are nothing. You can't even begin to understand how nothing you are compared to who I am."

She blinked. He thought she was going to cry and he was glad. He wanted to hurt someone else. He didn't want to be the only one screaming in pain.

And he was surprised when she reached out a hand and took his. "What is wrong?" she repeated, in the gentlest, softest voice he had ever heard. And it dawned on him why he could never stay away no matter how often he resolved to. He loved her. He loved her because she loved him and for so many reasons beside. He loved her because no matter what she said, he was not the being composed of pure light, it was her. Her with her sweetness, softness, and love. And it broke him.

He fell to his knees gasping for breath, fighting back an insane urge to laugh or cry. And she was right there, kneeling beside him. And he told her. He told her absolutely everything. Kneeling there on the ground together. It took hours. He told her of Asgard. He proved it with displays of his magic. He told her of Thor, of Odin, of the Warriors Three, even of Sif. He told her of the pain and the rejection. Of being passed over again, and again, and again. And he told her he loved her. Again, and again, and again.