A.N. This is the chapter that has a section using the dialog and general set-up of the work that inspired this one "If Kisses Were Wishes" by STARSdidathing, who kindly permitted me to expand it.

Days and weeks passed into months and years, but Loki still yearned for the man who held half his heart. For the good of Asgard, they continued to work together, and their projects were credited with protecting both the kingdom and its warriors. However, Anthony's creations were different. Where Anthony had once been both an inventor and an artist, the sense of beauty was gone from what he made. Flourishes, colors, and the simple elegance that were the signature of his designs were replaced with efficiency and nothing more. It was as though a great poet had taken to writing clear, perfect lists of historical facts, omitting nothing, exact in every detail, achieving the desired outcome of his words, but forgetting words could make spirits take flight.

Loki saw the signs and knew what they meant. Anthony's heart was no longer in his work. Worse than that, he saw how it affected Peter. Anthony was never unkind, never spoke a cruel word to him, but Peter was now only a worker to him. There was no fatherly pride in the lad's successful inventions and additions, only an additional bit of pay as a reward for his contributions. For his part, Loki took Peter under his wing more often, making a point of eating luncheon with him so that neither of them dined alone at midday. Anthony tended not to pause at all for food. Often the pair of them went to the tavern, and Pepper or Rhodey would fuss over them, Pepper with a sad smile, Rhodey never forgetting to ask if his old friend was well. Anthony never went there anymore. He ate only in the mornings before work and at night before bed, always alone.

None of this made Loki love him any less. He blamed himself, though even now he did not know what else he could have done. If he had insisted on accompanying Anthony back to the forge that morning rather than lolling about in bed, perhaps Obadiah wouldn't have attacked at all or the pair of them could have beaten him. If they had been able to find Obadiah and bring him before Odin before he had the opportunity to plot Anthony's murder, if Loki had listened to his instincts about the treacherous man from the beginning, if and if and if again. However, Anthony was free of any guilt in his mind. He couldn't find it in his heart to blame him, but that same heart screamed his own guilt, even though he couldn't have known what the consequences would be.

On days when there was no work for him at the forge and in the evenings when the shop was closed, Loki was inevitably to be found in the library. He went through mountains of spell books, medical texts, anatomy diagrams of Aesir and Jotun hearts, anything that might show even a glimmer of hope for reversing the effects of connecting the body of an Asgardian to a frost giant's heart. He found nothing. As far as he could tell, it was without precedent. Though he was certain Jotuns could love from his own experience, there was no written proof of it on Asgard. He suspected that was no accident. Even the librarians, who had often been suspicious and aloof around him, looked at him with pity, going so far as attempting to find long-forgotten texts for him that might be of use, but unfortunately, nothing ever helped.

Most nights, Loki returned to his chambers so tired that he could barely undress and climb into his bed before he slept. When he was fortunate, his exhaustion carried him into oblivious sleep until morning. When he was not, either in wakefulness or even the tantalizing world of dreams, he saw his Anthony as he had been, filled with passion for every part of his life: his work, his friends, his adopted son, and almost unbelievably, for him. He remembered the joy and hopefulness in the soft brown warmth of his lover's eyes on the night Loki had confessed how deep his feelings ran, and Loki had wanted to live within that warmth forever. Some nights he all but tortured himself with the remembered feel of Anthony's skin, the sound of his sighs, that morning awakening in bed to sweet kisses on his throat.

In his darkest days, he wished his own heart were as empty as Anthony's so that he need not feel the pain of loneliness anymore. But the ache of it was at least real and reminded him of what had once been and what, he tried to convince himself, might be again.

The betrayal from the lies that had stained his relationship with his family didn't go away. At least Thor had played no part in it, and the crown prince seemed shocked by his mother's role in keeping the secret, but he was far more repulsed by Odin's dismissive attitude towards the pain of the man he had once called his own son. In time, Loki was able to forgive Frigga. She had always treated him as a son, not a bargaining chip to be played when the time was ripe, and at length he was once more able to believe her love for him was real. Odin, however, showed no remorse for his deceptions, and when he learned of Anthony's plight, he spoke not one word about it. If anything, he seemed disgusted.

Odin kept his distance from Loki, and Loki was glad of it.

In time, Loki learned to manage the pain of forever pining for his Anthony. Luckily, Loki was skilled in lying, and he learned to lie in every gesture and word when Anthony was near. But those who truly knew him were not fooled.

"I know you are still in love with him," Peter said without warning one day as they ate together at the tavern.

Loki nearly dropped the bread he had been buttering.

"I would never say anything," Peter added quickly, "not to him."

"And when did you come to suspect this?" Loki said.

Peter looked up at him and laughed.

"I think I figured out the two of you were in love before both of you did," Peter said.

"And I show my lovelorn nature now by doing what?" Loki asked petulantly.

"Nothing," Peter said. "That's just it. You're very careful not to show anything. Too careful."

"You are too observant by half, young one," Loki said, sighing.

"He doesn't know, though," Peter added, taking a mouthful of cheese. "Since it happened, he just doesn't look closely enough at anything to really see it."

"And your Michelle? Does she see you?" Loki said, changing the subject abruptly.

"Maybe," Peter said, smiling at his plate then glancing up at him. "I send her marigolds each week."

"You are still very young, Peter," Loki said, ruffling his hair fondly. "Enjoy the slow, sweet thrill of the chase."

"I am not sure I would even know what to do if I caught her," Peter said, his brow puckering into a frown.

"And that is a conversation I will leave to your aunt," Loki said, chuckling before paying their bill.

Loki chose to walk that night, accompanying Peter home as it was on his way, then continuing towards the palace. His heart was twisting inside him, and he wondered if he should perhaps not come to the forge tomorrow at all. It would be closed, as it always was upon his birthday, but not for him.

Anthony would keep his vow. Every year, he had allowed Loki one kiss, and every year Loki had taken it. The first time, he had hoped that like some fairy tale, a kiss would awaken his love's heart, but the hope was dashed by reality. As his birthday drew nearer, he toyed with the idea of not kissing Anthony, of keeping his distance and what shreds of dignity he still had. He knew the other man acted only out of pity. But inevitably, unable to withstand the temptation of feeling his lips, breathing in his scent, holding him close if only for a handful of minutes, he would take what scraps were offered. He had no pride left, only the desperate, mad hope that someday Anthony would kiss him again with love.

Loki did not sleep that night. He tossed and turned, and finally, giving up, he dressed again and went to the library shortly after midnight, still looking for answers. As he tried yet another book that held information only vaguely related to his problem on the off chance he might learn something useful, he was startled by a voice behind him.

"You still search, brother. Your perseverance is truly to be lauded."

"What are you doing in the library?" Loki asked as Thor sat next to him at the table piled high with weak possibilities. "Did every tavern burn down in the whole of Asgard?"

Thor laughed quietly.

"No such tragedy has happened, though I admit, I do not recall the last time I walked through these doors. I was looking for you, and Fandral said he thought he had seen you heading this way," Thor said. "Is there really nothing in all of this great mass of print that would heal the hurt that has been done to your Anthony?"

"Nothing I have found yet," Loki said. "Why were you trying to find me?"

"It is your birthday tomorrow, or today, rather, and I will not be home in the evening as father is sending me on a diplomatic mission to Alfheim," Thor said. "I only just learned of it, and I wanted to wish you health and happiness in the next year."

"Thank you," Loki said, strangely touched.

"I have ordered your favorite mead from Alfheim, and I will bring it home with me when I return," Thor said. "We shall drink, and the world will be well."

"Some things in it, at least," Loki said, smiling, but it took effort.

Thor noticed, and looking a little embarrassed, glanced around to be sure they were alone before saying, "It saddens me to think of you alone on this day. Would you like me to make you a second gift of some hired company? I know a great many beautiful women whose talents I can personally vouch for, but if you would prefer a man, I am certain I can arrange something to your tastes."

Loki nearly choked in shock before saying, "Thank you, but no."

"You are more steadfast and loyal than I would ever have suspected," Thor said, thumping him on the back. "I wish you success in your quest, brother."

"I hope all goes well with your meetings on Alfheim," Loki said, and Thor smiled at him and left.

Loki went back to his chambers after that, and he managed to sleep for a few hours before the sun rose, beckoning him for his single, heartless kiss. Heavy in his sadness but certain, he let himself awaken. He bathed, dressed, ate, all of it mechanically, then left the palace and walked to the forge, wanting the air, desperate for the light.

The workshop was, as always, closed when he arrived, but he went in, and Anthony was waiting there, expecting him. He looked resigned, even perhaps sorry for Loki. No malice was in him, but no love, either.

"Hello, Loki."

Loki allowed himself the indulgence of reveling at the sound of Anthony's lips saying his name, not his title, just a simple greeting. He shut the door, noting that, as usual, the windows were closed, the room lit only with candles. Daylight was banned, and on the off chance some blundering customer might arrive and try to look through the windows to see why the shop was closed, all was shuttered. It was a small courtesy, this privacy, but the darkened and locked chamber reminded Loki of Anthony's darkened and locked heart. But he would not allow that thought to tarnish this.

"Anthony," he said, trying to sound casually indifferent, though his mere presence showed that was a lie.

He walked to Anthony, waiting for some permission, but the other man said only, "You have not changed your mind?"

Part of Loki wanted to say he had, to have the strength to turn around and walk away from what would be a kiss from only one side, but looking at him, he couldn't make himself do so.

"No," he said, watching as Anthony was momentarily weighed down with the knowledge that he was missing something within him, something he could never find but only remember.

Loki closed the little distance remaining between them, allowing his fingers to touch Anthony's face. He tried to keep his own features impassive, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do so for long, not with the warmth of Anthony's skin under his hand and his thumb tracing the curve of his chin, so he moved, bringing their lips together.

The noise that was dragged from Loki at the touch was one of hopeless wanting, and no matter how hard he tried to silence it each year, it always resurfaced, a sob and a sigh combined. Anthony's hands rested on Loki's sides, gentle, trying to give some small bit of comfort, and Loki memorized the feel of his lips again, tucking the sensation into his brain to savor for the next year. Anthony's mouth never opened to him, his lips still as stone. When the kiss ended, Loki allowed himself a few silent moments of resting his head against the other man's hair, breathing in his scent. His heart was in agony as surely as if he had once again taken hold of the dagger by the hilt and plunged it into his chest.

Taking a breath, Loki ended it. Keeping his eyes firmly on the floor, he let Anthony go, then turned to leave.

"Loki?"

He turned at the sound of his name again, hoping against hope, knowing it was impossible but still not able to keep himself from wishing.

"Happy day of your birth."

The sadness-tinged words felt like salt on a wound, but he nodded his thanks and left, closing the door behind him.

He knew, in that moment, it was the last time he would call on Anthony to keep his vow. Every year the pain was worse, and as he stood on the other side of the wooden door and shook with suppressed sobs in the morning daylight on a busy street, he realized that it was folly to continue something that brought only tears. In a blink, he was back in his chambers. He returned to his bed and fell asleep once more, not waking again for many hours.

At his birthday dinner, sorrow sat heavy on his heart while his mother wished him a good year and Odin gruffly nodded in agreement before finding an excuse to leave the table quickly. With Thor's place empty as well, the table was too vacant, too silent, too full of holes where people he had once loved should be. A servant brought forward the traditional cake alit with candles, and though he thought it was folly, he closed his eyes and made a wish for prosperity and luck. As the candles sputtered out, Loki saw no reason to believe this year would be any different than the ones before it.

He would be proven wrong.