Things went along this way, the three of them strengthening magical protections and sealing soft spots. Strange and Wong were better at identifying them before they opened up than Loki and Thor had ever been, and they also were concerned with a much wider area. A couple continents, to be specific. In a few short weeks, using the Rotunda of Gateways, Loki had visited thirty-seven of fifty American states, several Canadian provinces, every country in South America, and Mexico City three times. He'd discovered that the mosquitos in the Amazon loved Jotun blood, that cochinita pibil was delicious, and that Americans were deeply passionate about how their barbecue was prepared. He drank in the loneliness of the Great Plains, walked barefoot in Salar de Uyuni, and sat on a glacier in Torres del Paine while he stared at the bluest water he'd ever seen.
One night, Loki and Strange found themselves closing one soft spot after another in a small town in Newfoundland, Canada, a chain of them opening up across the forest while deer snorted, flattened their ears, and slipped silently in the opposite direction. Afterwards, exhausted, they watched the sun rise from Cape Spear while seabirds keened and the wind from the ocean blew through Loki's hair.
Strange glanced over at him and smiled tiredly, then said, "And I didn't even tell you I was going to show you the world when you signed up for this."
Loki chuckled, watching the sun's red fingers creep up the cliff. "The fact that you think all of this doesn't pale in comparison to some of the things I've seen across the galaxy is almost cute."
"Uh huh." There was a silence and then Strange looked at him. Loki turned his head to meet the other man's gaze. "Has anyone ever told you that you get this look in your eyes when you say something insulting that you don't mean?"
Replies flitted through his mind as Loki stared at him. Finally, he said, "I very much doubt that's true, so no." The only response he got was a sardonic smile from Strange. The two of them lapsed into silence as the sun came up. A gull circled by on an updraft, eyeing them, and flapped its wings once. Waves crashed at the bottom of the cliff. As the sun finally lifted over the horizon, Loki admitted, "It's beautiful, though. I suppose."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Strange glance at him, and he turned his head to meet his eyes. The dawn lit half of his face, illuminating the sharp planes of his cheekbones, bringing out faint gold highlights in his dark hair. Loki realized he wasn't even sure what color Strange's eyes were. Blue? Green? Gray? Right now they looked blue, as blue as the vast Atlantic Ocean spread out before them.
He shook himself. He was tired. What did it matter what color Strange's eyes were?
But his gaze lingered and he thought again, Beautiful.
When he was awake, he thought he could keep doing this. He filled his days and though he rarely stopped thinking, his mind, at least, focused on specific problems. If he couldn't stop his thoughts from running, he could at least direct them.
But he had to sleep. And when he slept, he dreamed. It was always Thor.
"You would have liked Jane, brother."
"Why?"
This makes Thor pause. Then, he says, "She was smart. Much smarter than me."
Loki snorts and says, for old time's sake, "It wouldn't take much." There's no bite in his tone, though. He finishes the hot dog that Thor, under a glamor of Loki's making, bought. Thor's on his third. Wiping his hands on a napkin, he glances up at his brother and says, "I regret that I never met her."
There are tears in Thor's eyes, which he tries to blink away. Hesitantly, Loki reaches out and touches his arm. It's the first time since their reconciliation that he's initiated such contact.
Another night, another memory:
"Hold on," Loki says, offering his arm to Thor as the Tesseract appears in his hand.
Thor looks at him dubiously. "Why?"
"Because," Loki says, "the last place you want to get stuck is the dimension with all the creepy hands."
"The what?"
Loki grimaces. "Like I said."
And another:
"Father was sorry, you know—"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Thor, stop." Loki rolls his eyes and has to stop himself from casting a spell on Thor, or perhaps giving him a warning stab. "He was your father. Not mine."
"Loki, he loved you," Thor says.
With a hard bark of laughter, Loki says, "Oh, yes, clearly. That must be why he practically told me to hurl myself into the abyss."
"That isn't what happened," Thor says.
They've had this conversation once before in extremely different circumstances. There isn't anything more to be said. "I may have made mistakes," Loki says, "but he looked me in the eye and rejected me. You know he did."
Rage clutches at Loki's chest, rage which he can't seem to let go of. He doesn't hate Odin, but he'll never forgive him. The wound hasn't even begun to heal.
There's silence before Thor says, "He made mistakes. With both of us, but especially you. But he loved you. It was one of the last things he said to me before—before he was killed."
Clenching his fists, Loki says, "I don't care."
It's a lie. He knows Thor knows it's a lie, but his brother has said what he wanted to say.
Loki woke up and considered not sleeping anymore.
When he'd gotten ready and gone downstairs, he found a note in Wong's handwriting in the kitchen, informing him the two Masters were out. '(Mordo)' had been added in a much shakier hand. Loki felt a smile on his face, though he didn't know why. There was certainly nothing nice about Strange and Wong's missing friend. He put a finger to the note, where Strange had made the effort to write, then turned away to find something to eat for breakfast.
He grabbed several books on his way back upstairs, detoured to the Rotunda of Gateways to watch for any interdimensional trouble, until eventually returning to his room. Opening one of the books, he settled back against the headboard of his bed and started reading.
His eyes, though, couldn't seem to focus. There was an itch in his mind and in his fingertips. He wanted to go somewhere, do something, though he didn't know what. Sitting up and crossing his legs, he held out a hand and separated his astral form from his body by a few inches, creating a double-vision effect. When was the last time he'd astral projected himself anywhere? It wasn't something he liked doing if he didn't feel at least marginally safe, and really, he hadn't felt marginally safe since his Fall from Asgard
Until now. As much as he hated to admit it, he felt safe here. Imagine that.
He let his astral form slip further out of his body. Even a Master of Magic needed to practice. His mother had drilled that into him from a young age, making it a prerequisite to teaching him magic. He'd spent several months learning how to play the lute just to prove he could practice every day. The best thing about it was that his horrendous playing had annoyed Thor. And, of course, that he'd proved he could commit to something and stick with it.
Obviously, he'd given up the lute when Mother had started to teach him her magic. Sometimes he regretted that. It might have been nice to be able to play an instrument.
Gods, the thought of her hurt. The last time he'd seen her, she'd looked at him in disbelief and shock, as Thor had returned to Asgard after his banishment. At least he hadn't ever had to see the look on her face when she found out what he'd done on Earth after his Fall. Though even facing her disappointment, and possibly rejection, would have been better than never seeing her again at all.
Somehow, without having really made a decision, he knew where he was going to go. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his spine, closed his eyes, and sent his astral form hurtling through space. Without the Tesseract, he wouldn't have been able to do this. Just as the gem in his scepter had allowed him to astral project back to the Sanctuary, the Tesseract allowed him to draw on its power to send his astral form infinitely further than he could have without it.
And then, somehow—why?—he was the last place he should have been going. In the distance, sunlight gleamed off gold towers. His eyes focused on the palace, and with a slow breath through his nose, he set off through Asgard's streets.
The city was empty. He'd expected that, but it was still eerie. The lower city had been gutted by fire. Wood buildings were nothing but ruins; those that had been made of stone had survived, though most of them had still had wooden roofs and were blackened by soot and smoke damage. He walked slowly through the streets, memories assailing him as he passed familiar places. There was the alehouse that Thor had taken him to get drunk the first time—and there was the alley that Loki had puked his guts out afterwards. And there, the alehouse where Loki had challenged Thor to a drinking contest and enchanted his own drink to never get him drunk. Thor had made use of the same alleyway to vomit copiously.
He slowly ascended a staircase, moving through the city. The silence didn't get any less unnerving. Somehow it didn't help that there weren't any bodies, either. Hela, the sister that he had yet to meet, had murdered thousands of their people, then invaded the other eight realms and kept right on killing. But there was no evidence of it. That struck him as a bad sign.
To be honest, he'd expected to find some of Ultimus's creatures here. There were open soft spots—he passed one in the training grounds—but apparently they'd abandoned Asgard. Hela had done Ultimus's job for him here. Whatever Asgardians had survived Malekith's attack had been finished off by her. The survivors had fled and scattered across the galaxy. Thor hadn't known where. The Bifrost had been an asset for Hela, but Ultimus didn't need it. Why would he expend forces here?
When he arrived at the palace, he stopped, his hands clenching. He couldn't. He couldn't go in there. The rest of Asgard he could face, but not this. The great hall, the throne room, the gardens. His parents' quarters. His own, assuming they hadn't been cleaned out after his presumed death. Thor's. His entire childhood, his entire life, an empty, dead husk.
Instead, he turned his back on the palace and made his way out to the edge of one of the terraces surrounding it, where he put his hands on the wall and gazed at the city. It wasn't even inhabited by ghosts. It was barren. Their people were extinct, or they might as well be. Asgard was like a fossil, a city ossified by abandonment and time. And he should never have come, but he couldn't tear himself away. This was his home. It was gone.
Something tugged at him, a presence, on the other side of the galaxy where his physical form was. Loki's eyes focused back on the wall of the room as his awareness retreated from Asgard, its blue sky and sparkling water and gold turrets telescoping away into blackness. "I know you're there," he said, not turning around. "You can stop lurking in the doorway."
There was a rustle of cloth, then a creak, and Loki shifted so that he could see the door. Strange was standing there, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. "Where were you?" Strange asked curiously.
Loki stared at him, one of his eyebrows raised just a hair higher than the other. "I've been right here all morning."
"Uh huh." Strange couldn't have looked less convinced. "You know what I mean."
Smiling, mostly to hide the fact that pain was shredding his heart, Loki said, "Nowhere special." Neither of them spoke. Perhaps Strange could guess where Loki's consciousness had been. Or maybe he could simply tell that this wasn't a moment to intrude.
Finally, though, Strange asked, "Everything quiet here?"
Loki flicked a wrist. "No alarms all morning. I suppose that means everything's as quiet as it can be." Strange chuckled, and Loki tilted his head. "Any luck tracking down your friend?"
Shaking his head, Strange said, "No. We thought we had a lead, but…" He shrugged. "Turned out to be nothing."
Loki nodded, hesitating. Then, he said, "I hope you find him soon."
There was a flicker of surprise in Strange's eyes, but all he said was, "Thanks."
This time, Loki shrugged and looked away. Was there anything worse than being thanked? Especially when he'd done nothing. Glancing back up at Strange, he said, "You haven't stopped lurking yet. Come in, if you're just going to stand there."
A smile flashed across Strange's face and he came in, settling down in the chair. Folding his hands in his lap, he said, "You were astral projecting, right?"
Loki wasn't sure he wanted to admit to it, but then he said, "Yes."
"You don't use the same method we do."
"That should go without saying." Raising an eyebrow, Loki added, "But, my dear doctor, how would you know that? Not prying into my magic without my permission, are we?"
With a chuckle, Strange said, "I wouldn't even if I thought I could. It was just a guess." His hands shifted, trembling as he interlaced his fingers. "Your magic is…"
"Incredible? Amazing? Vastly superior to your own?"
Giving him an unruffled look, Strange said, "I was going to say 'interesting.'"
A smile twitched at Loki's mouth. "I see."
Strange leaned back in the chair, putting his hands on his legs. There was a look on his face that Loki wasn't used to seeing. Not quite uncertainty, but—caution, perhaps? A desire to ask for something, but awareness that he might be on treacherous ground? Loki waited.
Leaning forward, Strange said, "I'd love to know how it works."
Ah. Maybe Loki should have seen that coming. After all, he was curious how Strange's magic worked too. He just preferred to find out on his own, rather than being direct and asking. Being direct wasn't exactly his thing. "I don't think I can explain how it works," he said, actually feeling regretful about disappointing Strange. "You learn your magic, correct? All humans, in theory, have the ability to harness power from other dimensions to perform the spells you do?"
"When you say it like that, I don't feel quite as special anymore."
A smile flickered across Loki's face. "Don't worry, I doubt anyone would argue that you're notspecial." He stopped, startled at his own words, then pressed on, as though it had been nothing to take note of, "That isn't how magic works on Asgard. It's something you're born with. If you're not, no amount of training will ever induce the ability to appear. So there's no method I can describe to you, no lesson that will allow you to perform magic the way I do." A thought occurred to him. A stupid thought.
An exceedingly stupid thought.
It was showing on his face, because Strange gave him a questioning look. Loki licked his lips, feeling his heart stutter a little with nerves. Also stupid. Of course, for someone as smart as he was, he certainly had a history of bad decisions. Why not add another to the list?
Slowly, he said, "I can't describe it to you. But—if you'd like, I could…show you."
"Show me?"
Loki hesitated again, then made his decision. Drawing his legs up to sit cross-legged, he motioned for Strange to come sit next to him. When Strange did so, Loki, faced him and held out a hand. "May I?" The collar of the Cloak rippled, drifted towards Loki, then settled back into place. At Strange's nod, Loki put a hand lightly to his shoulder. He let his fingers rest there, and then his eyes flicked up to meet Strange's.
With a slight smile, Loki twirled a finger. Magic flowed through him, down his arms to his fingertips, and he concentrated and channeled it through Strange, too. It hit something in the wizard, some sort of friction, a force unlike anything Loki had ever felt, and twined around it. Neither force submitted to the other, it was more like…like they sized each other up, found the other satisfying, or perhaps worthy. Strange jerked and his hand went out, his fingers brushing Loki's knee in surprise.
And then the spell scattered, passing through both of them into the room. Power rippled back through Loki and suddenly it was like he could see Strange, not just with his eyes, but with every sense he had. Not mind reading, but an opening of soul that almost made him pull away. But he'd committed to this decision, bad or not, and occasionally, he could follow through on his commitments. Strange let him in, dropping his defenses, and the two of them circled each other, their respective magics feeling like they were caught in a dance and Loki knew for one white-hot, blinding fraction of a second, with a certainty that he'd rarely felt about anything, that he was right to trust Strange, right to help him, right to be here.
The room went dark as glowing green and gold orbs flickered into being, floating in the air above them. The…connection, or whatever it had been, dissipated, leaving Loki feeling shaken. Strange raised his gaze to the orbs, then looked back to Loki. There was…so much on his face. It was open as it rarely was. But all he said was, "Pretty."
Loki waved a hand and the room returned to normal. He pretended he hadn't noticed Strange's expression. "Yes," he said. The spell itself hadn't been anything special. A party trick, something he'd learned as a teenager to impress the girls and boys that he'd pined after. "Did you feel it?"
An idiotic question. How could Strange not have felt it? Whatever he'd just done, Loki hadn't ever experienced anything like it. And if he'd known that would happen, he never would have suggested it in the first place. But he had, and it was done. Belatedly, he realized his hand was still on Strange's shoulder and removed it.
Strange nodded, seeming lost for words. Clearly, he'd felt the same thing that Loki had. The connection. He didn't know what else to call it. But all Strange said was, "Look, at the risk of sounding ignorant, how did you do that?"
No mention of anything deeper. Fine. Good. "I told you," Loki said, "I can't describe how I do magic, that was the whole point—"
Touching Loki's knee again, Strange said, "No, that's what I mean. How did you…push your magic through me like that?"
Loki considered lying. Making something up to try to bolster the illusion that he had control of anything in his life. Instead, he replied, "I don't know. I just did it." A swift, thin smile passed over his face. "I'm considered quite the gifted sorcerer."
Strange smiled. "Now, that I knew."
There was another silence, which seemed like it should have been uncomfortable. But it wasn't. Loki felt something—maybe everything—in him edging towards being at ease with this human wizard. This human wizard who had given him a chance. But there wasn't any point in talking about what had happened. They had both felt it, they hadn't expected it, and neither of them had words to describe it. Words weren't necessary, anyway, since Loki knew that neither of them would ever mention it to another soul.
Then, Strange asked, "Do you feel that magic in you? All the time?"
Surprised, Loki replied, "Yes, of course. Don't you feel yours?"
Strange shook his head. "Not like that. It's more like a skill I know I have. Like playing the piano or performing brain surgery. I mean, not that I can do either of those things anymore, but you get the idea. What I just felt in you, though, it was like…" He paused, considering. "Like something wild. A river, or the sky, or a storm."
"Not a storm," Loki said quietly.
Strange's brow furrowed. "Okay. Not a storm."
No one had ever described his magic that way. Loki had never thought of it that way. It was simply a part of who he was and he'd never stopped to try to quantify it. To cover the fact that Strange had wrong-footed him yet again, he said with a smirk, "I don't think anyone's ever been quite so poetic in describing anything about me. I don't tend to inspire it."
Strange looked like Loki had just handed him a gift. He cleared his throat and recited, "'His beauty was hard to fix or see, for he was always glimmering, flickering, melting, mixing, he was the shape of a shapeless flame, he was the eddying thread of needle-shapes in the shapeless mass of the waterfall. He was the invisible wind that hurried the clouds in billows and ribbons.'" When Loki stared at him, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth in surprise, Strange said, "A.S. Byatt. Ragnarok. Good book. Pretty poetic."
Human literature. As though he was going to express pleasure at being described thusly by—what? A novelist? "I stand corrected," Loki finally said.
Strange shifted back, then stood up, like he'd suddenly realized he'd crossed a line he hadn't meant to. Again, he looked at a loss for words, and Loki took some satisfaction from that. Strange may have been able to quote literature at him, but Loki could get him to shut up, if only for a minute. "Well," Strange finally said, smiling wryly, "I'll let you astral project in peace."
Loki nodded, but as he started to leave, he said, "Strange." The wizard stopped and turned around. The Cloak drifted lazily in Loki's direction. He hesitated, and then amended, "Stephen."
It was the first time he'd said Strange's given name. It felt nice to say it. "I've been meaning to thank you." He stopped again. Even this small gesture felt like pulling teeth. It was an admission that he owed someone, an admission of vulnerability. But Strange deserved to hear it and Loki really did want to say it. "For all you've done for me, I mean. Saving my life, healing me. Letting me stay here." He flicked his fingers casually, as though giving words to all of this wasn't much of anything for him. "Allowing me to help you and Wong."
Strange leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest. "You're welcome," he said, sounding surprised.
With a slight smile, Loki said, "But I suppose you had to save my life. Your Hippocratic Oath."
Chuckling, Strange replied, "Yeah, maybe. But that's not why I did the rest of it." When Loki raised an eyebrow, inviting him to go on, Strange shot him a smile that gave away nothing. "It just so happens that I like you, God of Mischief."
Loki snorted in disbelief. "That is very unwise on your part, Strange."
"Maybe." Strange shrugged. "Then again, you can ask Christine—'wisdom' isn't exactly one of my strengths."
"Mm. You must have shown some to be given charge of this place. And the Eye of Agamotto." Loki folded his hands together. "But I suppose I'm very charming. People can't help but like me, usually to their detriment."
Strange smiled again but didn't respond to this. Instead, he turned again to go, but then stopped, looked over his shoulder, and said, "You should come down and eat dinner with me tonight. Wong's at Kamar-Taj. I wouldn't mind the company."
Trying to hide his surprise, Loki gave him a thin smile and said, "Only if you're buying."
With another laugh, Strange said, "You drive a hard bargain…but okay. Mainly because I'm pretty sure you don't have any money." Loki shrugged. Guilty as charged. "Is that a yes?" Strange asked.
Inclining his head, Loki said with a mischievous smile to offset the formality in his tone, "It would be my pleasure to dine with you, Doctor Strange."
There was a flash of happiness in Strange's eyes. Pointing to the door, Strange asked, "Open or closed?"
Loki considered this, then said, "Open."
It was only once Strange had gone that Loki allowed himself to examine this decision, which had been deliberate but had still surprised him. Leaving a door open to other people was something he simply Did Not Do, and even the people he'd loved more than anything in the universe had been shut out much of the time. But he'd just let Strange in, even though he couldn't describe exactly how. It felt uncomfortable but not wrong.
He picked up the book again, ran his finger along the pages at the corner, and settled in to read.
