FIVE HUNDRED REVIEWS! I love you all so much! Just because you're so awesomely awesome, here's a short little chapter as a reward. THANK YOU! MWAH!

PS, I've seen The Avengers three times already and am going again on Wednesday. And Friday. And possibly Saturday again, too. Anyone else find Loki unbearably sexy when he takes that dude's eye? He just looks like he's having so much fun!

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Loki walked aimlessly through the palace, his mind a million miles away.

Actually, that wasn't accurate. It was several light-years away, on a planet he'd come to love and in a room that no longer existed, months earlier when Taryn had first accepted his gift of the Ouroboros necklace and then declared her love for him. It had been one of the happiest moments of his life.

Every instant of the evening replayed itself in his mind. The way she'd trembled in his embrace from the aftermath of his near-battle with Thor. The strength of her arms around him, holding tight as though frightened Fury would show up and try to take her again. The softness of her skin, her warmth, the scent of her hair when he'd buried his face in it and just breathed her in. The taste of her kisses, tinged with the salt of her tears, unbearably sweet despite it. In that moment Loki would have given her anything. Everything. All she need do was ask and the universe would have been hers.

But she never asked for gifts from him. Her years of studying the gods of myth and legend had taught her well. Every gift came with a price–it was a law not even Loki could break. So when she hadn't asked, he'd given anyway.

That necklace… it wasn't merely protection or a signal to every Æsir that she belonged to Loki. He'd put everything he was into that chain. All his love, all his hopes, all his power and magic and longing. Everything. And when she'd accepted it, he'd never known such joy.

And when she'd taken it off, he'd never known such pain.

Loki sighed and stopped his endless pacing. There was no justifiable reason for him to feel so damned hurt about it. Logically, there hadn't been much choice. Taryn could have watched Jane die or she could have acted, and the only action open to her had been to use the necklace's healing powers to save Jane's life. Clearly Taryn hadn't known about the poison–none of them had–and she also couldn't have known that Loki had used so much magic during the battle and its aftermath that healing Jane and her unborn children would nearly kill him. Really, it all made perfect sense if he just looked at it logically.

But logic wasn't helping him feel better. His heart stubbornly fixated on the sight of her throat bare of his mark, the rejection of everything he was, his magic and his symbol and his devotion. Logic said she'd done none of that. His heart said everyone else had rejected him, so why was he so surprised that Taryn had done so, too? Loki knew he wasn't an easy man to love. Really, he should've expected her to reject him long before this.

That was why he'd left her once she'd awakened in the wee hours of the morning. Half the time all Loki wanted to do was hold her, envelop her in his love, wrap her so tightly in his arms that she could never get free. But the rest of the time, he wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled for terrifying and hurting him like this. The internal argument was tearing him apart. He was Chaos, and fire, and unpredictability. Logic forged the chain that had always kept the worst of his wildness leashed. Now that it wasn't working, he hardly trusted himself around her right now, unsure which urge would win out.

Yesterday, while Taryn slept in the Healing Room, Thor had dragged Loki away and forced him to eat–something he'd taken to doing quite regularly during her illness. Somehow, though, Loki found himself drinking more than eating. Frigga had gifted them with a cask of her finest wine to celebrate Taryn's awakening, and Thor kept refilling his goblet again and again until Loki was almost as drunk as he'd been the night of his drinking contest with Volstagg.

"You must tell me what ails you, brother. Your lady is whole once more, and yet you are not happy," Thor said bluntly once Loki was swaying on the bench, and he'd had enough of his wits left to realize that Thor had gotten him drunk on purpose just so he could broach this topic.

"I am not yet so inebriated that I cannot walk away," Loki warned, attempting to glare at Thor–he thought he aimed the glare correctly. The one in the middle looked most solid.

Thor waved a hand, dismissing that. "I could always put Mjolnir on your lap," he threatened, and Loki knew it wasn't an idle threat. When Loki scowled again, Thor sighed and his voice softened. "Brother, we were once so close that you could tell me anything, and I you. Through these last months, I thought we had started to become so again. Can you not tell me what troubles you so?"

And to Loki's eternal shame, he had buried his face in his hands and wept. Wept! Even in memory, it was enough to make his face burn. He'd wept, and these were not the easy tears of drunkenness. These were harsh, painful, ripped from the deepest part of him. Loki wept like a man without hope, who'd lost everything. He wept for the weeks of watching his beloved dying before his eyes, for his helplessness and his rage and yes, for fear. He wept for the terror of watching her fade away and now the bone-deep fear that she could so easily leave him again–not through death, but by choice.

For a long time, Thor sat in silence and just let him cry. Finally his brother came to his side and wrapped one beefy arm around his shoulders. "Loki, Loki, what is this?" Thor murmured, as gentle as Loki had ever known him to be, and he'd wondered briefly if Jane had taught him this tenderness. "Please, brother, speak to me."

Loki remembered raising his head then, seeing the full goblet before him, and draining it in one long gulping draught. And then, thankfully, he remembered nothing else. He hoped he'd passed out then. The alternative, that he'd bared his soul and all his fears to Thor who could not keep a secret to save his life, was too horrible to contemplate.

He'd awakened hours later in his chambers, Taryn no longer sequestered in the Healing Room but tucked against his side, and he'd known that this was also Thor's doing. There was no hangover, and that was clearly his mother's work–none of his own magic could have accomplished it, even if he'd been capable of executing a spell in his inebriated state–and he'd known a skin-crawling embarrassment at the thought of Thor and Frigga discussing his breakdown. He'd risen quickly, washed, and was contemplating the cold wood laid in the fireplace when Taryn had finally woken and he'd had to escape before his warring emotions could strangle him.

Loki?

As if his thoughts had conjured it, he stiffened at Taryn's voice in his mind. Yes?he replied, careful that none of his turmoil showed in his tone.

I'm going to be with Thor for a few hours. I need to move around and start getting my strength back. Is that okay?

It wasn't something she would've asked before, and Loki found that somewhat comforting in a confused sort of way. She didn't want to worry him again. He told his heart firmly that this was proof that she did care, that she hadn't rejected him. Of course, he told her, smiling a little. It's a good idea. I'll be busy until this afternoon or I'd accompany you myself. And that was a lie, but a little one–he did indeed have much he needed to do, but nothing that couldn't be put off. He still needed more time to try and soothe his raw nerves before he returned to her.

I'll see you at dinner, then, she said, and he heard the answering smile in her voice. I love you, Loki.

And I, you,he replied, and then she was gone. He sighed and took the crystal rose from his pocket–even though she was here now, he still carried it everywhere. "I love you, Loki," her voice rose from it at his touch, an echo of the words she'd just said, and he held the trinket tight, willing himself to believe.