You've Got Sucker's Luck
Chapter 33
Had he not been stretched so thin, perhaps it would have gone differently. Perhaps he would have been able to resist as he had before.
He fought all the same, of course, futilely trying to buy himself time as he watched fate creep nearer with every breath that tore from his chest.
The Mind Stone instantly recognized his touch, bathing the room in blue as heat blossomed beneath his palms and sank deep, infusing his skin with warmth – true warmth – for the first time in three interminable years. This was more than a reunion between allies, this was the comforting touch of an old friend coming to lead him home –
And then enslave him.
Loki angrily yanked his mind away from the precipice of madness and tried to think, but body's own natural rhythm was beginning to align itself with the scepter's pulses of power, driving his heartbeat to dangerous speeds.
I have missed you, my king. Let us never be parted again.
He retched and fell to his knees, shoulders heaving. His eyes darted wildly around the room, never focusing on a single object for more than an instant, trying to resist the compulsion to stare down at what he held in his hands. Attempting to let go of the scepter would be wasted effort; mental fortitude was the only weapon he had left – or so he thought, until his gaze swept over the Casket of Ancient Winters where it still rested on the floor.
His eyes sharpened.
Still fighting the urge to vomit, he swallowed down another mouthful of bile, trained his bloodshot gaze on May and MacKenzie, and unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
"Get – Thor," he gritted out.
sucked in as deep a breath as his burning lungs permitted and took a final look over at Brynn.
Take the next step, my king.
Trying to convince himself that he would be back at her side before she awoke, his eyes slowly rolled into his head, and he let the scepter usher him in at last.
The world behind his lids was a sea of stars, brilliant points of light beckoning him closer – the realm between realms that separated the Mind Stone from Yggdrasil and her pathways within. For three endless days, his psyche had floated in this non-reality as the scepter orchestrated his actions on Midgard, save for those few fleeting moments when he had been able to break free.
He had once thought this void to be impenetrable – one of many delusions imparted upon him by the Other, teaching him the fallacy of the bright lure of freedom. Breaking his spirit so completely that he learned to shy away from the agony of hope and seek mercy in the safer havens of pain.
He was no longer quite so broken, anymore.
SHIELD had been half-right; the scepter did possess a consciousness. But what the mortals had failed to ascertain was the means by which this consciousness came to exist: A Chitauri gem, which housed the Mind Stone and in turn integrated scepter and Stone.
Theirs was a complex dance of synchrony and harmony. But no connection in the universe was truly perfect – as Brynn had once told him, ; everyone has a tell. With harmony came the certainty of dissonance; with synchronicity, disorder. And therein lay the scepter's breaking point: Havoc.
Who better than to disrupt such a delicate balance than the God of Chaos himself?
Your fate is not to disrupt the balance, my king. You are the balance.
To quote my lady – bite me, Loki snarled back and plunged his mind towards the scepter's heart.
He anticipated being met with resistance, but the scepter chose to disregard his subversion as nothing more than petty obstinance, and indulgently invited him forward, giving him leave to freely explore.
However you see fit, my king…
The crooning in Loki's ears grew quiet as the star field coalesced into an endless blue horizon. He knew what he was seeing was nothing more than a construct; his brain was too limited to fathom the true scale and scope of the scepter's inner workings, and so was building a figurative world he was better equipped to grasp.
The trick of his mind's eye started to tug him into a freefall, and the horizon before him dissolved again.
When his vision cleared, Loki found himself gazing at a bubbling creek, the very same where he and Thor had often played in as children. Save for the blue tint of the water – courtesy of the azure stones lining the creek bed – the secluded little brook was indistinguishable from the memories he still occasionally visited in dreams.
Odin's sons, no more than six or seven years old, standing ankles-deep in the placid stream and investigating the the tiny fish that flitted about their toes.
"Loki, look!"
Thor plunged his hand into the water and pulled out a broad, flat rock.
"How many times do you think I can skip this rock?" he demanded. He held the dripping stone out for Loki to see. "Eight times? Nine?"
Loki grinned and kicked out his foot, sending a chilly splash of water directly into Thor's face.
"Can you even count that high, brother?" he teased, then let out a shriek of laughter when Thor ducked his hair into the creek and came up wagging his head like a dog, spraying water in every direction –
…He is not your brother.
The scepter's coy reminder cut ruthlessly into his heart as he watched his younger self – scampering about on a cloudless afternoon, joyful, innocent, secure in his parents' love – and mourned for a boy and a blissful childhood that would soon be lost. Reflected in his tears was a bright-eyed little girl living centuries away, merrily playing make-believe under roulette tables and trusting in a future and a fate that was not rooted in sorrow.
Agony, betrayal and loss would eventually transcend time and space. The day would come when shared tragedy would cease to run in parallel and would form a single point to healing – healing that had already begun.
But nothing, nothing could ever deny that if it had not been for a madman—once that very same boy who would have loved to teach his pretty, mortal playmate how to skip stones in exchange for her teaching him to count cards—tragedy would never have been shared at all.
A bank of blue moss unexpectedly appeared under his feet. The boys' figures faded away as Loki wearily scrubbed his eyes dry and took a deep breath, struggling to regain his sense of urgency. At that moment, sentiment came with the very real possibility of disaster.
Steeling himself, he lightly hopped into the creek, and commenced his search of the allegory.
Everyone has a tell…everyone has a tell…
The blood pounded in his ears as he headed down current, jogging through the shallows and repeating Brynn's words in his head. He set a brisk pace, using his innate draw to chaos as a compass. He did not know where to look, only that he would recognize his target when he found it – the slightest imperfection, a fracture, any hint of irregularity that he could exploit and use to disrupt the channels of power forged amongst the trio of symbionts.
He was certain that somewhere in this figurative place existed a weak spot. He was equally certain that the scepter's hubris kept it unaware of its own fallibility. His mind had built a metaphor of the scepter's internal world and its physical properties, but the metaphor itself was not a fiction. He only need find the weak spot – quickly.
The water's depth was lower than he recalled it being in his youth, reaching no higher than mid-calf, but the pebbles crunching beneath his boots made a familiar sound as he waded forward. He hurried along, continuously scrutinizing his surroundings and tracing the same path he had wandered so many times as a child. The scepter remained a lingering presence at his back but had taken on the role of silent observer and let him explore without interference.
An occasional breeze played with his hair as he walked, and in the distance he could hear shouting from the practice yards. His cape – also blue – trailed through the water behind him and grew increasingly wet with every step, bringing to mind the afternoon he and Thor had stolen their father's robes to use as a fishing net.
Every detail of the bucolic scene was just as Loki remembered, even the rustling coming from the nearby bank of trees – a surefire sign that Odin's damned ravens were on the prowl, hopping from branch to branch and watching the youngest prince's every move in hopes of finding cause to fly off to their master and tattle.
Yet instinctively he felt that something was awry – the irksome experience of being hale, hardy, and utterly plagued with the nagging sting of papercut. What was he missing?
(Of equal import, exactly how relative was time in this place?)
Loki took another desperate look around, bloodying the inside of his cheek in his teeth and trying to ignore his rising panic. Something had led him here, but what?
Still gnawing at his mouth, he anxiously resumed course again, but he had only gone a few paces when he felt a soft tug at his shoulders.
He spun clumsily on his heel, knives at the ready – then nearly fell onto his backside as the sodden ends of his cape wrapped around his legs and threw him off balance.
A colorful string of curses left his mouth as he fought to stay upright, making several undignified stumbles in the process. Scowling, he firmly replanted his feet, sheathed his knives, and set about disentangling himself from his own livery.
The lightweight expanse of fabric lazily circled his knees as he went to reach for it, the blue folds nudged along by the stream's peculiar, counterclockwise direction. No wonder he had fallen, Loki realized; he must have turned at just the wrong moment, causing the cape to tangle.
His fingers were just grazing the water when he noticed the current was still circling around him. The movement was smooth and subtle, its radius extending beyond no more than a yard from where he stood in the center.
Wearing a frown, he quickly bunched up the sodden ends of his cape into one hand, dangled the dripping expanse of cloth above the water, and let go.
The cape hit the surface with a smack and started to sink…then was swept into the counterclockwise flow of the current once again.
His eyes narrowed.
Odin's sons had explored every waterway within the confines of the palace grounds when they were children. This particular stream had been ideal for skipping rocks, he recalled; the water followed the gravitational pull of Franang's Falls, keeping the current placid and leaving its surface smooth as glass. Any aberrations in the flow of the water – such as strange, solitary whirlpools – were an impossibility.
Sinking down on one knee, he curiously dipped his hand beneath the water's surface, fingers spread wide. He could feel the spin of the miniature whirlpool steadily increase the lower he reached, as though trying to draw his hand deeper into the creek.
He closed his eyes, leaning in further, following the downward tug of the current until his palm rested flat against the creek bed. Bizarrely, the current continued moving along the length of his arm in the same downward direction. He could feel the water's draw under his hand as it flowed between his fingers –
No. The water was draining between his fingers, down through the pebbles and deep below, eventually emptying into a space that was another non-reality, where the steady exchange of energy between stone, staff, and scepter took place.
But within that perfect rhythm stirred a nearly imperceptible…fissure. The faintest of hairline cracks. Nothing of consequence, not even a disruption…
A lone whirlpool quietly circling in the midst of a placid stream.
He startled, eyes flying open. Keeping his hand firmly in place, he shifted and peered at the current, still flowing around him in the same, steady rotation.
His mouth parted, and the breath left him in a stuttered laugh of disbelief. For the first time, hope began to drown out the relentless drumbeat of fear in his heart, and as he let his eyes fall back shut, he promised himself that by week's end, he would teach Brynn to skip a stone.
Carefully tucking this dream away– so, so many dreams he had of a future with her at his side! – he wiped the smile from his face and began to plot. He needed to act quickly, before his common sense, and the scepter, caught up with his schemes.
The fissure he had just discovered was not a fatal flaw in the scepter's makeup. But if he could amass enough power, he would be able to set and spring the trap. By flooding the hairline crack with his own magic, and overloading the scepter's otherwise flawless exchange, he could dodge the scepter's influence long enough for Thor to reach him – in theory.
Merging spells to create more formidable enchantments was nothing new, but he had never melded the bulk of his knowledge into a single spell – let alone harnessed the power required to invoke the enchantment! Wielding such magic far exceeded the scope of any he had commanded before, and by all tenets of sorcery was an impossible feat.
Well, he never was much one for rules.
Decided, Loki bowed his head, retreated to the library of his inner mind, and flung open the doors.
A millennium of learning unfurled itself before him and came to stand at the ready. He paused to admire his life's work, then without further debate, feverishly set about accomplishing what could not be done.
The water glided peacefully around the black-haired maelstrom that knelt crouched in its center. Loki worked at breakneck speed, poring over the spectrum of his knowledge, and combing through the minutia in between – rudimentary charms he had learned as a child, countless illusions and tricks that had earned him his prankster reputation, incantations that could fell entire battalions – knitting them all together into one gloriously reckless act of sorcery.
Molten Seidr slowly gathered at his fingertips, waiting for his call to arms and illuminating the water from below with icy beams of light. He sensed the intoxicating brightness but fought the temptation to look; he was a master alchemist, but the power churning within him spanned centuries – a single glimpse would blind him.
He shivered, veins thrilling with raw energy as he continued remaking Yggdrasil's laws of sorcery as he saw fit. He was overtaxing his corporeal form and would be in poor physical state when he returned to his body, but the challenge was almost as dizzying as the reward itself.
The taste of frost soon prickled his tongue. Shuddering, he siphoned off small traces of his life force to further fuel the spell, then, punch drunk on the satisfaction of stealing the dream that he held in his arms each night – the future he longed for and a life and a love that could be made real – clenched his fist and melded anarchy and magic.
Every spell that he had read, written, or witnessed began pulsing beneath his hand, and the creek's gentle turning started to quicken.
My king…what are you doing?
He smirked, knowing he had finally aroused the scepter's suspicions, and dug his frozen fingers deep into the pebbles until he touched dirt.
Breathe, he told himself.
A burst of wind gusted by, nearly toppling him over.
Don't think…
The wry twist of his mouth gentled.
…Everyone has a tell.
And with the warmth of Brynn's pit viper smile in his heart, and the sweet sound of her laughter in his ears, Loki ripped the Seidr from his body and plunged it into the scepter's core.
"Any idea what he's doing?" MacKenzie asked, tilting his head in Loki's direction as he re-silenced his comm. He had just finished speaking with Fury to confirm Thor was inbound.
May kept her eyes trained on the demigod standing stock-still in the middle of the room, not loosening her ironclad grip on Ives's upper arm as she answered, "Other than looking like death warmed over, you mean?"
The stiff set of her mouth made her indifferent reply all the more worrisome. This latest turn of events had left both agents in a state of ill-concealed agitation, but aside from taking Ives into custody and staying vigilant for whatever God-of-Mischief shaped clusterfuck might come at them next, they were sidelined until Thor arrived.
"So what's the plan?" May inquired when MacKenzie remained silent. She paused to aim a withering scowl at Ives, then dryly finished answering her own question. "Don't tell me – hurry up and wait."
MacKenzie idly watched as Ives balked under May's glower and resumed her failed efforts to keep still – the psychiatrist had not stopped fidgeting since being placed in handcuffs – then lifted his broad shoulders in a heavy shrug.
"Yeah," he finally answered. He slid his gaze back over to Loki, adding a muttered, "And hope that Thor gets his ass in gear."
Standing before them was not the haughty, otherworldly being who had survived a pounding from the Hulk and walked away without so much as a limp, but a desperate man locked in the fight of his life and losing fast.
Loki stood hunched over the staff, harshly sucking in air through clenched teeth, a vein in his forehead bulging as he strained against the might of an invisible, unfathomable entity. His grip on the scepter was manic; every bone, tendon, and vein corded beneath the skin of his hands. Tremors wracked his body, and the occasional spasm revealed an unrecognizable mask behind a stringy black curtain of hair – a vessel had burst in his eye, leaving it bloodied and half-scarlet, and his once-flawless features were twisted into a grimace, flesh drained of all color save for the greyish tinge of his lips.
MacKenzie had seen better looking corpses.
The seconds dragged on, marked by each bead of sweat – or tear; it was hard to tell – that dripped off Loki's chin.
Struggling to resist the compulsion to check his watch, MacKenzie crossed his arms over his chest and looked over Ives's greying head, trying to catch May's attention.
"How long has it been since he moved?"
May glanced his way, then shook her head, hard-faced. "At least five –"
Ives let out a sudden gasp. She went to bolt forward, glasses nearly flying off her nose as May promptly yanked her right back.
"What are you -"
"His hands," she gestured haplessly towards Loki and spluttered, "His hands are turning blue..."
May and MacKenzie's eyes shot back over to Loki.
Whorls of hoarfrost were blossoming over his knuckles.
A dusting of ice soon gloved both of his hands up to his wrists, erasing his glamor and leaving frigid blue skin in its wake. Everyone's mouths hung open as the sparkling patches of rime thickened to hoarfrost, then grew transparent and smoothed, encasing his hands in a contiguous, glassy shell of ice – and then began to expand.
Moving faster now, the sparkling patches of rime expanded a few inches beyond his grip on the staff and began to creep up the length of the scepter, aiming for the curved, wicked blade and the glowing blue stone cradled at its tip.
Spasms wracked Loki's body the instant the ice came into contact with the mind stone. The gem's inner light began to flicker and fade, and his eyes flew open with a moan.
Both agents looked on warily as Loki dragged his head up. As soon as they had reasonable reassurance that an attack was not imminent, May began directing Ives closer to the door, and MacKenzie took a cautious step towards forward.
"Hey, man," he said, feeling his own eyes start to water when Loki made a half-seeing glance in his direction. He stepped closer. "Whatever you're doing, keep it up – it's working."
Loki scarcely heard the empty bolster of encouragement. His tactic was working – he had succeeded in throwing the scepter's cycle of power off-kilter, but he could hold the Mind Gem at bay another few minutes at most.
How weary you are, my king! It is unnecessary to fatigue yourself so; you've no need to fight. Accept that which must be, and rest.
Loki violently twisted away from the clutches of his invisible tormentor and squinted up MacKenzie.
"Thor?" he puffed raggedly.
May's free hand flew up to her comm.
"Where the hell is Thor?" she demanded.
"Ives's brute squad showed up," Coulson answered. His voice was tight; the agents' body cams were still providing real-time footage of Loki's condition, and Coulson knew – from very personal experience – the level of risk everyone was facing. "We've already sent backup but he's running a few minutes behind."
"We don't have a few minutes," she fired back, scowling. She flicked off the comm without further comment and reached for her belt.
Ives was so engrossed in watching Loki that she initially failed to notice May had unlocked her handcuffs. She absently drew her hands from behind her back, continuing to study Loki with rapt fascination as she rubbed her wrist.
The sight of a gun aimed at her kneecap proved to be a sufficient distraction, however.
"Wake her up," May said curtly once she saw she had the psychiatrist's attention.
Ives blanched, the whites of her eyes doing wide behind her glasses.
"You wouldn't," she breathed, staring down the barrel of the Beretta weapon.
"Trust me," May dryly informed her, thinking back to Loki's threat regarding the woman's spine. "This is the better of your two options." Her index finger curled around the trigger. "Wake. Her. Up."
Ives had enough sense to take the agent at her word. She hastily pulled out two pre-filled syringes from her sweater pocket. and hurried back towards the gurney, repeatedly looking over her shoulder in fear as the agent trailed behind her. The sights on May's weapon stayed trained on her knees until she had administered both medications.
The drugs' effects were immediate. In one moment, Brynn rested in a state of unnatural stillness, and in the next had shot forward with a gasp and was looking wildly around – searching, only to be met with unfamiliar, unwanted faces.
Her lips began trembling.
"Loki?"
He was not so far gone as to miss her fleeting nose wrinkle when her eyes finally fell upon him – a reflexive reaction to the sight of his helm, which she had never seen – and then she was ripping out the tubing in her hand and clambering off the gurney, calling his name.
He was losing the strength to stand when Brynn skidded over to his side. She followed him down as he sank to his knees, keeping her arms outstretched to brace him lest he fall, and came to kneel in a crouch before him.
"Can you hear me?" she asked frantically as she started looking him over.
Loki attempted a smile, watching her.
"You – don't – like – the horns," he rasped.
Brynn's gaze lifted to his and tears sprung into her eyes. Sniffling, she shook her head.
"No, I hate them," she choked, trying to play along.
As if to prove the point, she seized the helm from Loki's head and unceremoniously heaved it aside. She grabbed his face between her palms, leaving behind a bloody handprint on one cheek, and forced her own faltering smile.
"I hate the horns," she told him shakily, "but I hate the scepter more, so let go of it, okay?"
Loki's red-rimmed eyes locked on hers and held. For the moment had his attention but he knew his mind was slipping away, the spectrum of his thoughts steadily marching towards azures and indigos –
You are nearly there, my king.
Something shook him by the shoulders, hard.
He dizzily sat back on his heels with a grunt. Both hands remained clenched around the scepter as it came to rest across his lap, but he managed to wrench his eyes open and saw Brynn anxiously peering up at him.
"Loki?" she whispered.
He nodded.
She let out the breath she had been holding, then clasped Loki's cheeks in her hands once more. She appeared calmer, but an undercurrent of fear trembled beneath her words as she went to speak.
"Okay. Try to tell me what happened." She shifted to run a thumb over his eyebrow, one and then the other. "Just start from the beginning. We can figure this out, I promise."
Her manner was that of a parent desperately trying to disguise a crisis by wiping a smudge from their little one's cheek, Loki. Grasping for any familiar, mundane gesture that signaled all was well, lending calm and comfort by way of false confidence – for surely there was no reason to feel frightened if there was time to fuss over a grubby face.
After several unsuccessful attempts to coordinate his mouth and tongue, Loki managed to reply.
"She threw – she threw it," he stuttered. "It happened so – so fast," he continued, having to pause for breath every few moments as he continued fighting to differentiate his thoughts from the scepter's. "Couldn't stop – myself."
You could have stopped yourself, the scepter corrected. But you chose otherwise. It was the right choice.
"It's okay," Brynn swiftly reassured him, "but –"
"I tried to – freeze it," Loki interrupted. He was determined to be the one to tell her what had transpired, and his speech started to slur in his rush to explain. "Didn't – work. If I had – if I had the Casket – I could've done it. I could've –"
A prism of light momentarily erupted in his periphery, and another vessel burst in his eye as his throat closed.
His mind split for the third time; now he was left to juggle the careening thoughts of his present self, the scepter's merciless barrage of self-doubt, and the memories of a boy taking his last breaths as he dangled above an abyss.
I could've done it, Father! For you! For all of us!
Brynn was still patiently waiting for Loki to continue, but grief had stolen his voice and he could only gape at her in despair – until she smoothed his hair and caressed his cheek, and the dam broke.
Suddenly he heard himself telling her, over and over, "I could've done it, I could've done it, I could've done it –"
She cut off his anguished ramblings with a soft hush and swept in to kiss his forehead.
"Shh – shh – I know, Loki," she soothed. "I know." Lips still pressed to his brow, she murmured these words a second time before drawing back and gathering his face in his hands.
Blinded by blue once again, yet convinced he could see the Bifrost reflected in her eyes – Loki clung to the lifeline that was her touch and her voice as she looked back at him steadily and spoke.
"I know you could've done it," she told him simply.
I know you could've done it.
And he believed her.
An expression that he had worn as a child in another lifetime slowly brightened his face – wonderment.
A mighty hammer, forged in the heart of a dying star, had shattered his soul in one felling blow. But stronger still was the mortal's heart that had re-forged him and made him whole again – and perhaps worthy of a gift far more precious than Mjolnir.
We are that which has made you worthy!
The bellowed contradiction reverberated throughout his skull loudly enough to rattle his teeth. The scepter had been quietly riding out the turmoil of his emotions but seized the opportunity to dig at this still-festering wound.
An image before flashed before him:
His brother (He is not my brother!) pinning him beneath Mjolnir as though he were no more than an errant child instead of a king. Coming to find that despite all he had done to win Odin's favor, and all he had lost in the process, that he was still not sufficiently worthy to at least lift the hammer long enough to escape from underneath and be spared further humiliation…!
A snarl began to build in Loki's throat, but Brynn cried out his name again, and he was able to sidestep the trap.
Sentiment! he cursed himself. Thrice-damned sentiment had left him an open target for only a matter of seconds, but he might as well have let his guard down for eons.
"Loki!"
"Still – here," he wheezed.
"And you need to keep it that way," Brynn pleaded. She was clenching the lapels of Loki's coat in her fists, tightly enough that the riveted metal trim had cut into her skin. Pinpricks of blood were beginning to stain the green velvet, but she did not loosen her grip as she made another attempt to sound encouraging and said, "Tell me what you need to let go of it."
"C-can't do it," he told her, panting.
She looked at him blankly.
"You can't tell me what you need to let go, or you can't let go?"
Swallowing, Loki lifted the staff, trying to show her the ice encrusting its golden surface had melted to water, and that all that remained visible of his Jotunn form were his fingers.
"Can't," he told her again.
She glanced down in time to see his glamor finish restoring itself, and her false composure finally broke.
"Loki, let go of it," she repeated, hysteria edging into her voice. Her face flew back up to his. "Just let go of it, Loki, that's all you have to do!"
Such folly, the scepter observed with disdain. Such frailty. So very much in need of the guiding hand of her king. Shall she be the first to kneel…?
The implied vulgarity in the question drew a strangled growl from Loki's throat, and his rage bought him another few moment of respite.
"Brynn – I-I'm sorry."
She doggedly shook her head.
"Shut up," she ordered, voice thick from fighting tears. "Just – just shut up. Don't you dare tell me you're sorry. You're not allowed to give up. I won't let you."
Loki's heart swelled as he listened to her stubborn entreaties. Ever the fighter, his little queen. And it was just his luck that was ever the coward.
Scrounging together the last few scraps of free will, he mustered what little strength that remained in his muscles and edged forward on his knees.
"You can do this," Brynn was still insisting. "You ignored it, you did it every single time before, and…"
Her voice trailed off as Loki touched his forehead to hers. He murmured her name, and as she looked into his eyes, tears that had been threatening to fall down her cheeks finally spilled over.
"Do it for us," she begged him. Her voice cracked, and in a broken whisper, she rasped, "Do it for me."
Loki held Brynn's gaze for a time, struggling to find words that might help her to understand, needing her to stop asking him for the one thing he could not give, and trying not to despair that he had already forgotten the color of her eyes, where he once could count every green freckle hiding in the depths of gray.
"Liten vannfe," he finally breathed. "Kjærlighet – min frelser,min lilledronning – I can't. Not even for you."
A light left her eyes when she realized what he was trying to communicate: He was at peace with whatever path lay beyond his own defeat, be it madness or death, or both.
Brynn's grip on his coat slackened. She drew her arms around herself, staring at him in disbelief as she slowly shrank back. Her faith in him had been absolute, so much that it never occurred to her that his might be a losing battle.
Loki watched the tears slowly trail down her cheeks and dampen her mouth, staining the lips he had once brushed in the faintest of kisses. He was grateful to have at least been granted that gift.
The gifts yet to come are far greater, my king.
The scepter stole even this small moment of unexpected serenity. Must he be denied everything?
He cried out in pain, and Brynn abandoned all pretense of bravery, threw her arms around his neck and gave into her panic at last.
"Let go of it," she wept, clinging to him. "Just let go of it, please, Loki - whatever it's telling you, it's lies, I swear it's lies," her voice strangled and hitched in a sob, "All you need to do is put it down and then it'll be better, I promise – Loki, you don't have to do what it's telling you – trust me, please!"
I am the only one you have ever been able to trust.
The blue light glowing between them started to intensify.
Sniffling, Brynn drew back and glanced down in confusion.
"Baby, drop the scepter," she blurted out, watching in horror as the gem's internal light continued to brighten. Her eyes shot back up to Loki. "Drop the scepter," she repeated shrilly, not understanding why he was choosing to do nothing but blink at her in open astonishment. "Loki! Drop it now!"
Your throne awaits, my king.
Loki wrenched himself out of Brynn's grip for the final time and lifted his head, searching for May and MacKenzie.
"Take – her," he instructed, his voice a burnt rasp, "Get away. All of you."
Baffled, Brynn followed Loki's gaze and glanced over her shoulder to see MacKenzie approaching her from behind. Understanding instantly dawned on her face, but MacKenzie was already starting to slide an arm around her middle before she had time to dodge away.
Her head whipped back towards Loki.
"Wait, no…!" she protested, words ending in a shriek.
Brynn went feral the moment her feet left the floor – arching her back and kicking out, twisting, flailing, all but using her teeth to try and wrench out of his grip. The savagery of her response was shocking; Loki had seen Norse berserkers in lesser states of rage.
"Fight it!" she shouted at him, voice straining as she struggled against McKenzie's hold. She dug her nails into his forearm, drawing blood, then let out a muffled scream when he stoically scooped her up in both arms and kept walking.
"Loki, fight it, fight it!" she was still screaming as MacKenzie carried her through the exit. She succeeded in freeing one arm in time to grip the door jamb and yanked herself back, managing another hysterical, "Please!"before the agent finally tugged her away.
May followed behind them, marching a re-cuffed Ives ahead of her.
"Thor's coming," she told Loki as they walked by.
He scarcely noticed them pass.
The scepter waited until Loki was alone to unleash its defenses in full force. The wedge of Seidr he had crammed into its conduits of power had all but dissolved, and he doubled over as his own magic was thrown back at him, remolding his identity, one synapse at a time. Threads snaked around his hands and legs and shoulders, preparing him to take his place once more in Thanos's chorus of marionettes.
He knew he was reaching the end when the scepter finally released his hands. Groaning, he dizzily pushed himself up and moved to kneel prone on the ground, propping himself up by an arm.
"Now the spell hath lost its hold," he mumbled, propping himself up on an arm. Where had he heard the phrase before...?
His free hand crept back around the scepter.
That which is sowed with long-suffering patience reaps the greatest rewards. It is time, my king –
A crash, followed by the sound of pounding feet.
"Brother!"
Loki sluggishly dragged up his head. Squinting, he peered through the blue haze obstructing his vision and saw Thor crouched on one knee beside him.
Never had he been so grateful to see the oaf's face.
"Cage," he croaked.
Thor's eyebrows knotted in confusion, then shot to his hairline.
"Banner's cell!" he roared, hauling Loki up by the collar as he climbed to his feet. "Where is it?"
"Twenty-fifth level, starboard side, third right – look for the strobes," Fury shouted through the comm in Thor's ear. "We'll meet you there!"
Taking care to avoid coming into contact with the staff, Thor heaved Loki over one shoulder and transferred Mjolnir into his opposite hand.
"I'll come back for your helm," he promised.
Loki's reply was cut off mid-grunt as Thor began sprinting to the door. He bolted into the hallway and searched for the closest window. Finding none, he thrust Mjolnir forward and hoped for the best.
As always, the hammer obliged.
Thor's feet left the floor as Mjolnir unceremoniously smashed through the nearest bulkhead and straight through the hull of the Helicarrier, then shot into open sky and headed north.
Your brother has heart.
Loki's chapped lips twitched into the faintest of smirks.
And a very little brain to match, he concurred, and took a vicious swing at Thor's head with the scepter.
Thor saw the approaching blow far enough in advance to catch the staff mid-swing delibrately allowed Loki to drop, leaving him no other choice but to either plummet to the ground or grab hold of the scepter and be dragged along behind him.
The wind tore at their faces as Mjolnir flew around the Helicarrier's starboard side. A strip of emergency strobe lights had been activated in the windows lining the twenty-fifth floor, providing a beacon, and Mjolnir made a spectacular entrance through the glass seconds later, leaving a tidal wave of debris in its wake.
After a brief pause to consult its internal compass, the hammer took a whiplash-inducing left turn and hauled the brothers down the hallway, slaloming around the occasional mortal along the way.
They had just narrowly missed crashing into a vending machine when scepter made a sudden yank in Thor's grip. Clamping his hand down tighter, he glanced down to see Loki pulling himself hand-over-hand up the staff. The air rushing against him was hampering his progress, but Thor knew the savage gleam in Loki's eye meant murder.
"Keep trying to fight it, brother!" he shouted.
Loki bared his teeth.
"You," he snarled, "are not," he yanked himself further up the staff, "my brother!"
Loki's fingertips were just grazing Thor's ankle when the Mjolnir flung them around the final corner and into the secured area that led to the Hulk's glassed enclosure. Fury and Coulson stood waiting on the catwalk as the brothers blurred past them, hurtling towards the cell.
With a heave that nearly ripped his arm from its socket, Thor flung Loki through the door, landing in a crouch just in time to see him finish smashing into the wall with a sickening crack.
Blood streaked down the glass as Loki slid to the floor, scepter still in hand. He rolled onto his back, laughing, and lolled his head sideways to beam at Thor, who now stood framed in the entrance.
"Brute," he taunted. Still chuckling, he paused to tongue at his split lower lip and then touched his nose, taking a quick glance at the blood that came away on his fingers. He flashed another grin and glanced back over to Thor. "Does Jane Foster know she is being courted by such a savage?"
Thor ignored the insult and stalked forward.
Loki watched him approach, still wearing a smirk. His close encounter with the wall had left him slightly dazed, and he failed to connect A to B to C, and why Thor had decided it would be a good idea to loom over him with Mjolnir in hand, wearing his most majestic scowl.
The answer became obvious the moment Thor quietly said, "I'm sorry, brother," and began to lean down.
Instantly, the fog cleared from Loki's eyes, and he drew back his fist to strike Thor in the face. His blow landed short, however, and by the time it occurred to him to use the scepter, Mjolnir was already resting heavy upon his chest and Thor was standing back in the doorway.
Red-faced in apoplectic rage – Weak! Unworthy! – Loki flung out his arm and brandished the scepter, roaring Thor's name.
Thor half-turned to leave and wordlessly extended his hand.
Loki leapt to his feet the moment Mjolnir's bone-crushing weight lifted, scepter already aimed at Thor's retreating back –
Just in time for the door to seal shut behind him.
His gaze furiously slid to the far end of the room. His eyes narrowed when he spotted none other than Coulson, standing by the control station panel with one hand resting on the button that engaged the chamber lock.
He feigned a smile.
"Conviction at the push of a button, Agent Couslon?" he quipped drolly.
Coulson met Loki's gaze straight on, did not so much as flinch when he slowly raised the scepter, took aim at his head, and fired.
A blinding bolt of blue shot from the scepter, but thanks to either dumb luck or the contradiction in terms that was 'mortal ingenuity,' the transparent adamantium barrier survived the blast. Loki was forced to dive to the floor a second later when the bolt rebounded off the glass and flew back towards him.
He flattened himself against the floor as the blast careened around the cell, violently ricocheting off wall, ceiling, floor, and back again until its energy finally dissipated.
"Loki," Thor said told him through the glass as Loki rose back to his feet, "I promise, somehow, we will find a way to –"
"Save me?" Loki finished. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and elegantly wiped his chin with. "I've no need of your mercy, brother. Although right now your stupidity would certainly be convenient." He cocked his head thoughtfully and remarked, "I suppose I have Jane Foster to thank for that – not only taming the mighty Thor, but lending him a bit of her intellect as well. One can only hope you expressed your thanks by finally bedding her properly."
He slid his gaze back over to Thor and fixed him with a poisonous leer. "Or perhaps your lady love is not as bright as everyone claims. Tell me brother," he drawled, "did she actually succumb to your charms, or did you have to take the mewling slut by force?"
An ear-splitting crack of thunder reverberated throughout the Helicarrier.
Giving Thor a condescending wink, Loki saluted him with the scepter and turned to take a seat on the bench, the split tails of his coat flaring out behind him.
Fury regarded Loki silently for a moment and then looked over to Thor.
"Are we good to let him cool his heels in there for a few hours?"
"I believe so," he nodded, sadly watching Loki through the glass. "But I prefer to remain close by."
"We'd prefer that, too," Coulson agreed.
"Summoning your minions, gentleman?" Loki called mockingly.
An expression that might have been pity flickered across Fury's face.
"Nope," he said finally. "Gonna go see about your magazines."
Loki gifted the group with a sneer as he watched them depart and settled back more comfortably on his bench.
AN: Yay, I'm back! Check out my Tumblr for previews of upcoming chapters. wrathkitty dot tumblr dot com