She blinks once, twice, then rubs her eyes and tries again. This cannot be real. This is the product of an overactive imagination and grief, loneliness, heartache…whatever one wishes to call it. But in no way can this be reality.

Loki stands beside her balcony, smirking, though the expression fails to reach his eyes.

Sif leans back heavily against the door of her chambers, refusing to meet his gaze. "This is a cruel joke," she says, her voice low. "I cannot imagine why my mind chooses to create you now, after months of waiting." It would have helped before, she thinks, but she refuses to say it out loud. She will not indulge this hallucination.

He takes slow steps towards her, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "Please, Sif."

She looks up at the utter brokennessin his voice. His eyes are wide, and a watery blue-green…as if he's been crying. She swallows, desperately trying to keep herself from reaching out to take his hand. He cannot be real.

Then why does he look so different than she remembers?

His hair is longer, brushing his shoulders now, the inky black strands looking sharp as they stick out in every direction. The shadows beneath his eyes are harsh, defined, like he hasn't slept in months. His armor looks worn, disheveled, and he is so gaunt and pale that her heart aches.

He is before her now, his gaze asking that she allow him to come even closer.

She slowly raises a hand, reaching toward him, already preparing herself for the nasty punchline of this sick joke: her touch passing right through him, his image dissipating.

Sif's eyes go wide when, instead, she touches Loki's cheek.

He is so alive – so warm – as he leans into her palm that her eyes fill with tears. She moves closer, wanting to sob, laugh, hug him, kiss him, punch him –

"Sif," he whispers, pulling her into an embrace.

"How?" she demands, but her voice is shakier than she intended. "You were dead. You let go. Thor saw – "

"Thor does not know anything," he growls, his grip on her tightening. "Least of all anything about me." His voice softens once more as he continues, "I am not dead, love."

The familiarity of the endearment is more than she can bear. She buries her face against his chest, finally allowing the tears that she held back for a whole year to fall.

"Loki," she whispers. It rolls off her tongue so easily that it is hard to believe how long she has gone without saying it. "Are you – "

"No questions." His voice is soft, pleading, but commanding. "I am permitted one night – one night before I am to carry out his plans. One night anywhere, doing anything I please, is all I have. We cannot waste it with such useless talk."

"Useless talk?" she growls. "Useless talk?! You have been gone for a year. I thought you dead. I mourned you,Loki, and you dare to call my reasonable questions useless talk?!" She pushes away from him with such force that he stumbles back from her, falling to his knees on the stone floor of her chambers.

All her anger fades at the sight of him there, kneeling before her, his chest heaving. When he does not rise for several moments, she knows with frightening certainty that his weakness is not an act.

"Loki?" she questions softly, dropping to the ground beside him.

He shakes his head, his eyes shut tightly. His voice is hoarse and breathless when he says, "Please, Sif."

The words reinforce just how much he has changed. He never once entreated her for anything before. Now, he is nearly begging.

What has become of you, sweet prince?

Thankful that he cannot see the sadness in her eyes, she immediately offers him the support of her arm, so that he might rise. He accepts the help willingly, though she knows such a show of weakness must be killing him.

She helps him settle on the edge of her bed, then crouches down before him, her hands resting on his knees. Sighing, she rubs her hands against the leather there in an attempt to comfort him, gathering her courage for what she is about to say. "What do you wish to do, then, my prince?"

His gaze searches hers in a desperate, lost way that frightens her. "Will you forgive me, Sif, when it is all over? Will you still love the man within the monster?"

"Always, Loki," she promises, raising a fist to her heart in the salute of kings. She chooses not to ask what he means by that, and she does not try to convince him that he is not a monster. She has spent far too many nights fighting for that lost cause. "Now, Loki, let us waste no more time. What do you need?"

She knows the answer before the word leaves his lips.

"You."

A/N: For day 2 of Sifki Week, with the prompt of an AU. I definitely borrowed Sherlolly's best line. ;) Title comes from the song of the same name, from "Wicked." As always, thank you for reading!