August 2nd, 2012
4:01AM
Loki clambers out of bed and immediately shifts between dimensions. New York is immediately gone from him, and instead he finds himself comfortably in his library in the Fon System, surrounded by books on every side, and away from anybody else in the universe. There are other places he might go to, of course, but this library is distinctly his own, and it is… Safe. Comfortable. His.
Skywalking toward the ceiling, he clambers onto the bed that hangs by chains from the very top of the room, enjoying the hardness of the stone mattress, and he lies down on it, alone.
Loki likes to share a bed, this much is true: although Steve is very warm, it is pleasant indeed to feel him in the bed beside him, a shadow of heat in the bed with him, a comfort. But there is something to be said as well, Loki thinks, for sleeping alone.
He does, for many hours more.
August 2nd, 2012
7:15AM
When Steve texts him, to ascertain his safety, Loki assures him of it.
Then, he goes back to sleep.
August 2nd, 2012
12:12PM
Loki stands from bed, eats a handful of dry crackers, and returns to it. He sleeps some more.
August 2nd, 2012
03:51PM
At some point, Loki went from asleep to awake – he knows not when or how. But for the longest time, he lies in the centre of his stone bed, staring up at the carved mahogany of his ceiling and feeling absolutely nothing at all, thinking absolutely nothing at all.
It is utterly exhausting.
August 2nd, 2012
09:52PM
Loki fills half a dozen canvases with careful paint, creating images in oil.
He decides he despises them all, and burns them in a fit of pique that he regrets before the process is even finished. Although he could still save the paintings yet to burn, he finds he lacks the energy to do so, and so instead he powerlessly watches them burn.
August 3rd, 2012
02:48AM
Loki cannot sleep. It his own fault.
August 3rd, 2012
03:09AM
Remembering abruptly that he ought eat something, Loki devours nearly an entire loaf of bread, and washes it down with an acidic drink from the P'nar system.
He passes out whilst taking a dip cool pool of the fountain.
August 3rd, 2012
09:25AM
Still damp, Loki clambers from the fountain to his bed.
August 3rd, 2012
04:02PM
"Oh, shit," Loki says, suddenly sitting up in bed. "I need to bake."
August 3rd, 2012
6:15PM
Steve watches in silence as Loki carefully sets the pastries he had made onto a plate. They look incredible, made of a complicated, many-layered pastry that melts in the mouth, and through their artful twist he has woven lines of a strawberry compote and a dusting of dark cocoa and…
It's artful. Easy. Steve could watch him bake for days at a time.
It's been… Weird, the past day or so.
Yesterday morning, Steve had woken as dawn broke, and the bed beside him had been empty. Loki wasn't to be found anywhere in the apartment, even in his office, and Steve had done his best to force his worry down until after his morning run and breakfast.
Steve Rogers, 07:12
Hey, you good?
Loki, 07:12
Yes. : ) I am simply taking some time to myself. See you tomorrow, at around four?
Steve Rogers, 07:13
Sure, sounds good.
It had made Steve laugh, to see Loki use a smiley, but—
It had been odd, too, moving around in the apartment and having no idea where the guy was. Was he sitting down somewhere, painting at an easel? Was he out in Alaska? Was he right next to Steve, just invisible, so that Steve wouldn't talk to him?
Weird. Weird. But good, too.
When Loki had showed up at four o'clock, already wearing an apron to begin his work in the kitchen, he had seemed well-rested and at-ease, and Steve had thrilled to see him with such a peaceful expression on his face. In the meantime, they've been talking about the family dinner tonight, and although he feels a little nervousness, Loki seems entirely comfortable. He lets his hair down, allowing it to hang loose around his shoulders, and Steve watches as he conjures two chains that neatly move over it, holding it back from his head and creating a loose pair of bands on each side of his head, with a thinner chain running down the parting of his hair.
"I like that," Steve murmurs. "You've worn that before?"
"Not on Midgard," Loki murmurs. He smiles, reaching up and drawing his fingers over the side of one of the chains. "I stole this many years ago, from a merchant on K'trai. He blasphemed me, abusing his workers in my name, and so I sunk his fleet of ships into the ocean. Tricksters… None of us commit cruelty for the sake of cruelty. There is a sense of justice in all of us."
"All of you?" Steve asks softly. "What, that's like… A kind of god?"
"A common one," Loki agrees. "Two examples here on Earth would be Dionysus and Ananse."
"Ananse," Steve repeats. "I know Dionysus, but… Who's that?"
"He's wonderful," Loki murmurs, his lips quirking up fondly at their edges. "He's truly a terrible old man, most incorrigible. I very much look up to him. I know not where he is worshiped, precisely, but I know the people who worship him – the Akans. He is a spider: not merely a trickster, he is also a patron of storytellers. We share much in common." He chuckles, and he reaches out, adjusting a button on Steve's shirt. "I've not thought of him in centuries… Not since I last came to Midgard, millennia ago."
"And Dionysus?"
"Oh," Loki says, shaking his head dismissively. "I think of him all the time. I've not seen him—" Loki sighs, softly. "Not since some months before the revelation of my blood." His hand moves from Steve's chest to his own, settling loosely over his heart. "Funny, how you can forget you miss someone until you happen upon their memory." That is funny. Steve thinks of all the people he almost forgets, in the day-to-day – the other Howling Commandos, Doctor Erskine, his mom and dad, Bucky…
"Maybe you should write to him," Steve murmurs quietly. "I kinda… I don't know. I guess I thought you didn't really have any friends in Asgard."
"I didn't," Loki says simply. "Dionysus almost never came to Asgard – occasionally he would accompany a party of the Olympians, but almost never would he deign to do so. He would entertain a Dökkálf, a dwarf – even an angel before he would permit an Æsir at his table, myself excluded."
"An angel?" Steve repeats, but Loki looks past him to the clock on the wall, and he pats Steve's chest.
"You ought change into a dress shirt," Loki says, turning back to the plate and setting a glass cover it. "If you wish to walk, we ought go." An angel, Steve repeats in his head as he moves to grab the blue shirt from the bed. An angel. Surely, surely, there's something off about Loki's Allspeak, if he's saying an angel. What—
No. No. A question for another day.
"Are you gonna wear a tie?" Steve calls out into the corridor, buttoning up the dress shirt.
"What? I— No. Why, are you going to wear a tie?"
"Not if you're not going to wear a tie. But it's— They're not gonna wear ties, right? Are we going to look underdressed if we don't wear ties?"
"I don't know," Loki says, appearing in the corridor as he pulls his apron off. Loki is already smartly dressed, his silver-grey shirt tucked neatly into tight blue trousers. Again, he wears ankle boots – Steve couldn't wear them himself, but he rather likes this pair, and they give Loki an extra two inches of height with their block heel. "Surely it's better to be mildly underdressed than overdressed, though. I should hate to appear in ties to see everyone else in mere jerseys."
"Right. Right, yeah, you're right."
August 3rd, 2012
06:48PM
The boy that answers the door is wearing a tie, and Steve kicks himself.
"Hello, William," Loki says, and then adjusts himself. "I mean— Billy." Billy grins, looking up between the two of them through his curtain of brown hair. He wears a red dress-shirt with his black tie, and he's matched the yarmulke with the shirt, its colour a deep, satiny red. He looks like his mother – Steve sees that immediately, sees the similarity in their soft brown eyes and warm, dark skin, and he immediately puts his hand out to shake.
"Hi there, Billy. I'm Steve."
"Steve," Billy repeats, a little awkwardly. "I'm, um— Kind of a fan. Come in, come in." The apartment is cosy and warm, with blankets and knitted cushions on every surface, crystals hanging from the window, tapestries in rich reds and golds and yellows on the walls… Yeah. Yeah, Steve can see this is Wanda's place immediately. "This is my boyfriend, Teddy."
"Hello there, Teddy. Please, call me Loki," Loki says warmly, holding the plate of pastries against his hip as he shakes Teddy's hand, and then he pats Steve's shoulder, moving into the apartment and disappearing through an archway. Teddy's a tall boy with broad shoulders, his blond hair straight and hanging over his blue eyes, and Steve greets him with a friendly smile and a handshake.
"So you guys are… Hulkling— And Wiccan."
"That's right," Teddy agrees, and he gestures for Steve to join them in sitting down on the sofa. The living room has a sofa and several comfortable chairs gathered around an empty coffee table, under which Steve can see a dozen gameboards neatly stacked. The rest of the living room is dominated by a dining table set for ten, where long candles are lit in trios in three golden candelabras, and like Steve, Wanda doesn't seem to own a television.
"Stop it," he hears. "Stop, I will— You pop that gum one more time and I'll— Come here!" There is a crash in the corridor, and then Pietro and a younger man – a man the spitting image of Pietro himself – are wrestling on the floor, with Pietro pinned beneath his junior in a blur of green and grey respectively. There's a choking sound, sped up and unnaturally fast, and then Pietro is standing above his nephew, pinning him with a foot on his chest, and he is a tissue in his hand. "Filthy habit. Disgusting. It'll rot your teeth, and more importantly, it inhibits hunger – you know, in Singapore—"
"This isn't Singapore, you crazy old man, let me up—"
"I'm not going to let you up, young man, until you learn the error—"
"Pietro," Wanda says, her hands on her hips as she comes out from the kitchen, a dish towel slung over her left shoulder. Behind her, Loki watches Pietro with raised eyebrows, seeming amused. "Please don't stand on your nephew." Pietro steps back, and immediately the younger speedster is on his face, glaring up at his uncle – and he must glare up at him, because Pietro is nearly eight inches taller than him. Clinging to the back of his head, pinned neatly in with his silver hair, is a yarmulke of dark blue silk.
"Hey, Piet," Steve says.
"Hello, Captain Rogers."
"Captain— Oh my God, you're—" Pietro lifts his nephew bodily by the scruff of the neck, and Billy laughs, putting his head in his hands. "I meant gosh, Uncle Piet, put me down!"
"Apologise," Pietro says, unflinching.
"I'm sorry for blaspheming. You happy?"
"Almost never," Pietro says, but he drops the kid down, and immediately the young man is across the room, a grin on his face. Up close, Steve can see he has Pietro's grey eyes and the same shock of silver hair, but his features are much more like Wanda's – richer, darker skin, and round lips and cheeks.
"I'm Tommy," he says, all his teeth on show. "G— Gee, it's great to have you here, sir, seriously, really—" Tommy's hand is hot to the touch, much like Pietro's are, and Steve smiles as he shakes it. He glances to Pietro, and he sees there is a slight smile on his serious lips, a smile he shares with Wanda.
There is a knock on the door, and Pietro disappears from sight, flickering down the corridor.
"Mom, you need anything else done?" Tommy asks, speeding across the room in much the same way, and Wanda reaches out, gently patting his cheek. There's only an inch of height between them, Tommy just taller than his mother.
"Would you get a cushion for your grandfather's chair? And Tommy, don't run so hard in the house – you'll wear out my carpet."
"Okay," Tommy says, and he walks at a more human pace, bumping fists with Loki (who seems baffled by the motion, but performs it dutifully) as he moves toward a store cupboard to pull out a cushion. Steve looks to the door, and he sees Erik Lehnsherr. He's taller than his son by a few inches, but the resemblance between their faces is utterly uncanny – Steve had expected Erik to have pale skin in comparison to his children, but his skin is only a shade or so lighter, retaining a dusky brown colouring, and his features have the same hard, angular planes as Pietro's, giving him an eternally severe look and a natural scowl. The main differences are in his eyes, which are a piercing blue instead of grey, and his hair, which is cut short and tight to his head instead of drawn loosely back and relatively long, like Pietro's own. By no means does he look his age – he looks like a youthful sixty, not like an eighty-something.
Then, Lorna Dane. She's beautiful, but it's a slightly terrifying beauty, much like the beauty of Loki himself. Her hair cascades in green waves around her head, and her dark lips are held in a serious line. She's much paler than her father and her siblings, but she shares some of Erik's bone structure. And then, for some reason, Remy LeBeau. Why the Hell he's here, Steve doesn't know.
"Mr Lehnsherr," Steve says, standing gracefully to his feet, and he offers his hand. Erik watches him for just a moment, glancing down at Steve's hand as if wondering if the two of them will soon begin to fight, but then he takes it. Erik's grip is strong, and slightly forceful – it makes Steve bite back the urge to laugh.
"Captain Rogers," Erik replies smoothly.
"Glad to see we're all on such friendly terms," Lorna says dryly, and she takes Steve's hand – her grip is even tighter than her father's. "Call me Ms Dane at your peril."
"Lorna," Steve says. "Call me Steve."
"What? No handshake for Remy?"
"We've met, like, twice," Steve says.
"Ah, time for a kiss then!" Steve leans in, kissing Remy on both his cheeks – the French way – and leans back. Awkwardly, Remy laughs. "Oh, cher. I like you."
"Erik," Loki says smoothly, and he catches Erik's hand in his own. In response to Erik's hard grip, he sets his left hand neatly over Erik's own, and Steve can see the slight stiffening of Erik's spine at the subtle act of control. "Such a pleasure to finally meet you. Charles speaks of you so continuously."
"I'm sure he does," Erik replies, visibly disarmed, and he says, "A pleasure to meet you as well… Done with your attempt at world domination, are you?"
"Oh, quite finished. And yourself?" Erik blinks. For a long few moments, he and Loki hold each other's gazes, each of their expressions cold and hard and holding a veneer of politeness, and then— Erik laughs. The sound is low, quiet, but undeniably genuine, and he sets his left hand gently on Loki's shoulder for just a moment.
"You really do have a silver tongue," he murmurs, and he neatly steps away, allowing Loki to introduce himself to Lorna. As Erik walks across the room, thanking Tommy for the cushion and moving slowly to his place at the head of the table, Steve watches as Pietro and Loki stand together. Although Pietro's speaking too fast for Steve to understand, and his lips moving too fast for Steve to read, he's apparently impressed, and Loki wraps his arm around Pietro's shoulder for a moment, pulling him close in a half-hug.
I'll sit between you, Loki murmurs, inaudibly, and Pietro nods his head.
At Wanda's instruction, they each move to stand at the table, and Steve watches as Pietro says a few words to Billy, catching the younger man's shoulder for a moment. Billy stands behind the chair beside Erik, with Teddy on his other side, and Loki sets his hands on the chair at Erik's left hand, gesturing for Steve to settle beside him. Steve is in between Loki and Pietro, then – that's fine.
They are standing for a reason. Steve lets the familiar sound of Hebrew wash over him as Pietro sings in easy, lilting Hebrew, reciting the kiddush over wine, and he watches as Pietro passes the silver cup to Lorna, who hesitates for a second before she takes a drink, than leaning to pass it to Billy, then to Erik.
When the blessing is over, each of them sits down, and Steve is amazed at the food Wanda's made – parcels of chicken stuffed with vegetables and spice; an incredible lentil stew; spinach pies made with thick, flaky pastry… It's good. It's all incredible.
And it's—
Funny.
With Pietro on one side of him, and Loki on the other, Steve is distinctly aware of how similar their table manners are, although Pietro (much like his nephew) eats much faster than Loki does. Each of them uses their cutlery with a delicate grace, always holding it just so, and never dropping even a spot of food, never eating messily, always chewing with hyper-attentive grace and poise.
Erik notices Steve's stifled smile, and he follows Steve's gaze, looking between his son and Loki. Erik smiles himself.
"How are you occupying yourself these days, Loki?" Erik asks quietly. "I hear you have already drawn back from superheroism."
"I've applied for a lecturing position at NYU," Loki answers, taking a sip from his wine. "Honestly, they were rather excited merely to see my application, and I have some three hundred years' experience in academia, so all looks favourable."
"What would you be lecturing in?" Pietro asks, leaning forward.
"Oh, nothing too complicated. Applied astrophysics, theoretical mathematics, et cetera."
"Nothing complicated," Erik echoes, seeming amused. "How are you finding Earth?" Loki hesitates, seeming thoughtful. He draws his fingers through his hair, drawing it back over the shell of his ear, and Steve sees Erik's gaze flit to the bar of silver that is pinned through it.
"It isn't perfect," Loki says, his tone measured. "But I grow more grateful for my position as the days pass me by. Recently, I was reunited with three of my children, who I never thought I would be able to see again, and I feel most… Most humbled, by my experiences on Earth."
"I saw the pictures," Billy says quietly. "On Facebook. You must have been so happy, to finally get them free."
"Oh, you have no idea," Loki whispers, his gaze momentarily far away. Steve reaches out, subtly taking Loki's hand where it rests in his lap, and Loki glances at him, offering him a very small, slow smile. "You will understand, I'm certain, when you have children of your own, Billy, but it's— It's an immeasurable love, truly, the love one feels for one's children."
"Unspeakable," Pietro agrees softly. "Ineffable."
"And hard," Erik says, finally. "One does one's best, and it never feels sufficient."
"Particularly when it isn't one's best," Pietro says archly.
"You would know," Erik replies.
"Okay," Billy says hurriedly. "Let's— Talk about something else."
"This bread is wonderful, Wanda," Erik says, carefully drawing another segment of the soda bread from the loaf for his stew.
"Pietro made it," Wanda says, helplessly.
"It's wonderful," Loki repeats, firmly. "You must give me the recipe, Pietro."
"And me," Erik says quietly, almost forcefully in its awkward warmth. Uncomfortably, Pietro shifts in the seat beside Steve, and only relaxes when Billy and Teddy draw Erik into an in-depth conversation about some recent scandal in the Israeli cabinet.
"You okay?" Steve asks quietly.
"I'm fine," Pietro says. Steve doesn't see him drink it, but his wine glass goes abruptly from full to half-full.
"Cher," Remy murmurs softly, and Steve sees him take Pietro's hand in his own, his fingers drawing easy and gentle over the back of Pietro's hand. Steve recalls, a few weeks back, when they'd all gone out to the Irish session, that Remy and Pietro had been out together, that the two of them had gone home together, but… For some reason, it only clicks that they're together right now. They wear matching bands of titanium on their ring fingers, each fashioned to hold an Ⓧ wrought in the metal instead of a gemstone. They're subtle, simple, and they catch the shine of the candles…
Loki squeezes Steve's hand, and Steve brings his cold fingers to his mouth, touching his lips to the backs of his knuckles. It's strange, how comfortable he feels at this table: across from him, two young men content in a relationship, and then Pietro and Remy… Loki is staring at him, his lips parted, his eyes soft.
Steve feels himself shiver, and Loki turns away, joining the conversation with a snappy comment about the Israeli prime minister.
August 3rd, 2012
08:44PM
"Are you ever going to get married?" Erik demands.
"I've been married," Pietro retorts. The two of them are standing chest to chest, and despite the slight lead Erik has in height, Pietro makes up for it by vibrating slightly, giving him an otherworldly and distinctly inhuman quality. Loki pretends to be listening to William, Theodore and Steve's incredibly boring conversation about heroic morality, and keeps the majority of his attention to Pietro and Erik.
"You know very well what I mean," Erik says. "You are sixty-five years old, and you spend your days eternally alone – I only want for you to be happy, and—"
"Happy! Happy! That's rich, coming from you – and what of Wanda?"
"Wanda has children."
"I have a daughter!"
"And where is she?" Loki hears Pietro's cut-off sound of desperate frustration. "Even Lorna has brought someone this evening, Pietro, and…"
"Remy isn't mine," Lorna calls dryly from across the room. She, Wanda, Tommy and Remy are gathered around a game of Monopoly, at which Wanda seems to be dominating. Remy is sweating, his skin shining with it, but all of the others – even Theodore – are concentratedly ignoring the argument occurring across the room, as if they don't hear the words being exchanged. It reminds Loki of his own childhood, arguing with his father as Mother and Thor said nothing, only ever interrupting if Loki began to cry, or if Father began to shout. "He's Pietro's." Loki turns to look at Pietro, who is as stiff as a board, his hands clenched into tight fists in front of his chest, and then he turns to look at Erik's face, which has fallen dramatically.
"Pietro," he says softly. "You might have told me."
"Why should I tell you anything? You never ask. You have never once asked after my well-being, never once, not when Wanda and Lorna are right there! You give orders, and you pass judgement, but you don't care," Pietro says harshly. "What should you care what—" Erik catches Pietro's hand by the wrist as he waves his hand emphatically in the air, and Pietro lets out a sharp noise, surprised at having been grabbed. Erik's eyes are not on Pietro's alarmed expression, however, but are instead levelled at the engagement ring on his finger.
"How long?" Erik asks quietly.
"Two months," Remy is slowly on his feet, the board left behind him – he has folded his cards and passed each of them to Wanda. He stands with his hands in the pockets of his waistcoat, and although his skin has a shining glow to it, his red eyes ablaze with uncertainty, he doesn't back away from Erik. He stands beside Pietro, at his shoulder, and Loki can see the desperation in Erik's eyes.
"My son," Erik whispers.
"Don't call me that," Pietro says, nearly shouts. Erik crumples. For such a proud, broad-shouldered man, with such strength visible in him, it is most disarming to see, and Erik draws his hands back.
"Excuse me," he says, slightly hoarsely. "I must take a moment."
"Take an hour," Pietro mutters, and Loki sees the regret pass over his face as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but Erik is already moving toward the door. Loki sees Wanda stand, but Loki raises his palm, moving to follow the other man himself, and he steps out of the apartment behind him, closing the door.
Erik is leaning heavily against the wall, gripping so tightly at the elbows of his suit jacket that his knuckles are turning white, and Loki conjures a chair for him with ease, gently pushing him to sit down. Erik drops heavily into the chair, his expression a mask of calm. His body shakes.
Loki reaches out, and he touches the arm of the chair: immediately, the two of them rest on a sea of thick, white cloud, a distance removed from New York and the confines of the apartment building, and Loki sees Erik look around, uncertainly.
"That we not be disturbed," Loki says simply. "He doesn't mean to be unkind to you – he is trying most fervently to let you into his life. I hope you realise that."
"I do," Erik says quietly. "You have children yourself?"
"Six, overall," Loki murmurs, then adds, "I've lost two."
"It's a terrible thing, to lose a child. The worst heartbreak imaginable." Loki can see from his expression that he speaks from experience, and he sees Erik's hand draw hard over his own lips. His piercing eyes are softened by the well of tears, and Loki offers him a handkerchief – one that Erik takes with a murmured word of thanks. "He thinks I don't love him. Do you know that? Do you know that he thinks I despise him?"
"He knows that you don't," Loki says quietly. It occurs to him how ironic it is that he, of all people, should be offering such counsel, and yet— No. No, there is no irony here. Loki is as qualified as any to give advice upon this subject, and to listen to an individual in pain. "He merely believes that you look more kindly upon your daughters than you do him, and he is right to believe that, because it is true." Erik stiffens, his hands clenching into fists.
"It must be very difficult," Loki says, allowing his sympathy to weight heavily in his tone. "To look at such a stubborn, hard, and deeply unhappy man, and see your own reflection." Erik's composure breaks, and Loki watches in silence as a tear rolls down his cheek. He is breathing heavily, and he shakes his head, staring down at his own hands.
"Every time I meet him, I am made painfully aware of all that I have done to slight him, to harm him. It is so… Difficult, to— He is so stubborn, and so biting, and so full to the brim with sarcasm, always with a sharp word on his tongue. He wears his pain as armour. I can't look at him and not feel agony. I have broken him so many times that he is made up of jagged edges, and now I have the gall to show the pain when he cuts me, as if it is his fault, and not my own."
"You both have jagged edges," Loki murmurs softly. "Let us not pretend, for Pietro's sake, that you are a man without pain yourself." He reaches out, slowly, and he sets his hand very gently on Erik's shoulder, feeling the thick muscle beneath the fabric of his suit. "He loves you: he doesn't mean to be cruel to you. And vice versa."
"You really think that I love Lorna and Wanda more than him?" Erik asks, quietly. "He isn't— He has always been in need of discipline, of…" Manliness, Loki supplies the end of the question – he knows not if Erik is conscious of what he means, but it cuts Loki to the bone nonetheless. Within him he feels a raging storm, a turmoil: without, he displays quiet calm, as the water's surface that hides a tumultuous current.
"I think you show your love for them in different ways," Loki answers. "And to show them the hilt of the blade whilst you show Pietro its sharp edge is unkind, regardless of your intentions." Erik sighs, quietly.
"When you phrase it in that way…" Erik glances at him, wiping hard at the tears in his eyes, and he says quietly, "For such a young man, you have a great deal of wisdom."
"I'm not a young man," Loki says quietly. "Much as you or your children, I am far older than I appear to be. Far, far older, in my case."
"The silver in your ear… It's as if I can't feel it," Erik murmurs. "As if it is off-limits to me, somehow – as if it is assur. Wrong, forbidden." Loki's hand moves slowly up to the silver, and he feels its familiar cool beneath his fingers.
"You are just a magnekinetic," Loki murmurs. "You have a natural ability to bend metals, to shift their atomic structure, and so on. But silver-smithing is one of my facets, one of my godly areas of expertise. Silver doesn't just obey my command: it waits for it, eagerly, and runs through my very heart. For it to wait for your instruction, for it even to present itself to you, would be a confusion of my person, a blasphemy of my own self." Erik is staring at him, his eyes uncomprehending, and Loki loosely shrugs his shoulders. "That is the best way I can explain it," he says simply, and he sits down upon the air. "You don't touch him."
"What do you mean?" Erik asks, his expression uncertain, and Loki tilts his head slowly to the side, examining Erik's features.
"You never touch him. Don't you notice? You hug your daughters, kiss their cheeks; you put your hand on Tommy's shoulder or draw your hand through Billy's hair… The most you will do with Pietro is stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder." Erik leans back in his seat, his lips a thin line.
"He doesn't want me to touch him." He seems to believe it, and Loki feels his heart ache.
"Of course he does," Loki whispers. "You think he wants to stand there, awkward and alone, as you assure his sisters that they are loved, assure his nephews of your affection, even his daughter? You think he isolates himself because he truly prefers his life that way? Then this is less, even, than cruelty: it is foolishness." A long silence spans between them, and Loki looks out over the carpet of cloud they settle on, feeling its downy softness beneath their feet. "If I might make a suggestion?"
"Yes?" Erik asks, immediately – his tone is so eager.
"You ought speak to him of the Tanakh, and of the Talmud. He is confident of his faith where you are not, and it would be a comfortable neutral ground where you might speak upon your differences, whilst discovering your similarities."
"Do you spend much time together? You and Pietro?"
"We speak often," Loki murmurs. "It exhausts him, to spend so much time with those who cannot match his speed. I can understand him no matter how quickly he speaks, and that is very freeing for him, he who has so much to say, and so few who will listen."
"I don't listen to him enough," Erik says.
"No," Loki agrees. "You do not."
"It's very easy to talk to you," Erik says, almost suspiciously. "Why is that?"
"I'm a priest," Loki answers, his tone blunt and simple. Erik does not disbelieve him, or even question the answer: instead, he leans back in his seat slightly, and he looks Loki up and down, as if seeing him in a new light.
They talk for some time more.
August 3rd, 2012
09:24PM
The door opens, and Steve watches as Erik re-enters the room. Loki maintains his distance from Erik, neatly closing the door behind them, and Steve watches as Erik moves across the room, to where Pietro is sitting at the dinner table with Remy, speaking seriously and quietly, and a little faster than is natural for the human ear to process. Immediately, he is on his feet, his hands spread in front of him—
And Erik hugs him.
Pietro freezes, wide-eyed and confused as he feels his father's hands around his back, squeezing him tightly, and then he relaxes. Closing his eyes, he hugs Erik back just as tightly, and Steve looks to Lorna and Wanda, who are both open-mouthed and staring.
Well done, Wanda mouths to Loki, and Loki spreads his hands, as if to reply, It was nothing.
Loki slides down onto the sofa beside Steve, and Steve reaches up, dragging a loose strand of hair back from his face and tucking it behind his ear. Loki leans in, pressing their foreheads together for a moment, and then he draws away. "You okay?" Steve asks quietly.
"I think I offered good counsel," Loki murmurs. Steve smiles.
"Yeah, I bet," he agrees. "You didn't miss much."
August 3rd, 2012
10:08PM
Steve had been half-expecting Loki to make his excuses and head onto wherever he'd been before, but he doesn't. After they say their goodbyes to each of the Maximoffs – Pietro hugs Loki tightly before he goes, to everyone's great surprise – Loki walks back to the apartment with Steve, and slides into bed beside him.
"You're a good man," Steve murmurs quietly.
"No, I'm not," Loki says.
"You're trying, though." There is a pause, and Steve looks at the bare silhouette of Loki he can make out in the dark of the room.
"Yes," he says, finally.
Steve falls asleep with Loki's weight pleasant and cool upon his chest. He dreams that Erik Lehnsherr plays a game of Monopoly with Odin, and wins.
