"Okay," Bruce said. "Space and Power. Understood. Strange has the Time Stone, and Vision has the Mind Stone." He pointed at Jane, then reached for glasses that weren't there. "And Reality. Obviously."

Steve pressed fists into his eyes, trying to absorb enough information to fill several encyclopedias. "So, the Soul Stone?"

"Yes," Jane said, leaning forward. "As I told you, the stones exist separate from each other with their own unique talents. However, the power gifted to them at creation is shared, never growing or diminishing, but always moving between them. At any time, one stone may hold the power of all six if the other stones are unused. But it is rare that the wielder is strong enough to contain that much energy."

"So Thanos wouldn't even need all six stones to do what he wants to do?"

Jane shook her head. "To use the gifts of all of the stones as one, all must be assembled, but the might and strength of the Infinity Stones could be used within one stone, yes. That is why so many seek the Power Stone. They incorrectly believe it the strongest of them all."

"It still packs a punch," Bruce mumbled.

Jane continued. "Conversely, the rarest sought and least often found is my sister, the Soul Stone. Many believe her to be the weakest of us. Stories of her mystery float across the universe, but so few discover her that she lies perpetually dormant and allows each of her siblings to draw on her powers. She is a prize, my sister, and she requires a heavy price to awaken and call another master."

"What does that mean?" Bruce asked as Steve questioned, "A price?"

"A life," Jane answered simply. "My sister requires a life, a soul, in exchange for unveiling herself. She collects these souls as others collect trinkets and baubles. They are her captives. Never has a willing heart offered itself to her."

"Willing?" Steve said. "That would mean…"

"Yes, Captain," Jane said, a sad smile touching her face. "It is never simple."

He met her black eyes, eyes willing to sacrifice one life for the lives of billions. Just like the eyes of a simple man in the cockpit of a plane looking into an endless sky and seeing a beautiful love that could never be his. Steve remembered that plane, remembered quickly assessing the options, remembered deciding on a path forward.

He stared at an Infinity Stone made flesh, assessed her meaning, and once again, made a decision. His gut told him it was the right one.

"Steve?"

The alert voice of Natasha Romanoff from the comm panel across the room ripped Steve Rogers from his thoughts. Bruce pressed several buttons. "Steve's here."

"There was a spaceship over New York City about five minutes ago."

"And now?" Steve asked.

"Gone."

Bruce and Steve exchanged a grim look.

"And Strange's colleague lost track of one of the hostiles. Another magical being, per Tony."

"Not the one we fought."

"No," she said, dread peppering her tone.

"Anything else?"

Silence answered him, though they could hear muffled voices in the background of Natasha's comm. It crackled once, and her strong voice returned. "We're coming back shortly. Five of us. Natasha, out."

He sighed as the communication ended.

"Events are moving quickly," Jane said, looking from Steve to Bruce and then to the exit. "Do you have all of the information you need from me?"

Steve studied her as she moved swiftly toward the door. "I think I do."

Jane glanced back, and the two assessed each other. They did not need words. Both understood the plans taking shape, the expectations, the time running short. She nodded once. "Then Jane Foster is needed elsewhere."

Bruce and Steve blinked, and the black of Jane's eyes cleared, the spiderwebs cracking her cheeks and darting into her forehead disappeared completely. Standing before them was simply Doctor Jane Foster. Frail and awkward in appearance only. There was a different set to her shoulders, a higher tilt to her chin, a new determination in her steps as she left them behind without another glance.

.

.

.

The mind of James Barnes dripped with thick globs of fresh blood. His memories fractured first in halves, then fourths, and so on until fragments of memories from similar murders melded together to create new, false memories. Loki smelled the stench of slaughter the very moment he touched Barnes' skin. The only memories that remained intact, protected by what Loki knew to be pure will and torturous fight, were those of Steve Rogers – his valor, his tenacity, his unconditional friendship. And beside those cherished moments stood the specters of innocence lost while restrained in a metal chair, of commands spoken and obedience unquestioned. Loki felt bile on his tongue as he watched a mind ripped away, a monster created over and over and over and over. And he violently pushed back, tried to escape the horrors of an existence he recognized all too well.

He opened his eyes to the dusty, gray tiles of the floor, spitting out hollow breaths and sucking in oxygen, reliving Thanos and the scepter and the absolute rape of his own mind.

"What did you do to me?" Barnes groaned, mirroring Loki's position ten feet away.

Loki's periphery was a series of chair and table legs before the gleam of a shaking metal arm glittered in the dull fluorescent lights. His words danced between a hiss and a whisper. "They stole your mind."

James winced, knocking the heel of his palm into his forehead three times as if that would force away the remnants of Loki's brief exploration. "You think?" He managed to roll to his back and push flat palms against the cold floor. His eyes were glued to the ceiling. "I don't know if gods are killable, but if you ever, ever think about doing that again, I'll make it my mission to find out."

Loki's nod went unseen. He pressed his forehead to the floor, trying to reign in the madness, the complete despondency, of Thanos' control. Even with the cobwebs of his mind cleared, the titan's influence lurked, and a thrill of excitement invigorated his senses as he imagined the scepter, its power, Loki's power, and what he could do with it. He could unwind James Barnes' pathetic mind, clear the clotted, bloody memories of his history, and remake him anew into a gleaming lieutenant, a super soldier devoted to the God of Mischief. It would be easy.

He turned his head and fully looked at the man, eyes blazing.

So very easy.

.

.

.

"You cannot be serious, Vis!"

"Darling," Vision said, his eyes filled with determination that broke Wanda's heart. "This is bigger than me. The wants of one are insignificant in the face of what is coming."

"Not one. Two. The wants of two! I want you to live."

He brought her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles and trying to will away the tears pouring from her eyes. "Based on the information the princess has given us, I will live after the stone is destroyed."

Shuri leaned against the computer console still pouring out data. Her brother paced nearby. The two exchanged glances often, communicating without words that neither wanted any of this in Wakanda. Or at all.

She pushed toward the couple. "Though your body was created as a shell to house the Mind Stone, it was the power of Thor's hammer, not the stone itself, that created the electrical currents that act as your nervous system." She pointed to several sets of data on her data pad. "It appears to be a self-sustaining power source. Very fascinating."

Wanda glared at the young woman. "Fascinating. Your data tells us that his body and electronics will survive destruction of the stone." She turned to Vision and resisted touching his forehead, nauseated for the first time by the sight of the Mind Stone. "But what of his mind?"

Shuri looked up from her data pad, but did not speak. The silence was answer enough.

"Exactly," Wanda whispered. "Your mind will be ripped away."

"But I will live," Vision said.

"As someone else! As Tony Stark's disembodied servant!" Wanda cried until her voice became a hiccup. "As someone who doesn't even know me."

"But you will be alive, Wanda," Vision said, unrestrained tremors rocking his voice. "If the choice is between your life or mine, I will always choose you. Your life is more valuable!"

"That's not true," she said through her tears.

"It is, darling," he said, rocking her in his arms as T'Challa and Shuri turned away from the couple.

Wanda poured her sorrow into him. "You won't remember me. Or us."

He could not deny it.

"Refuse, Vis. Please!" She searched his eyes as he wiped her tears away over and over again. "Why do we have to make this decision for future generations? Why not take and protect the stones and grow old together? Let the next group of heroes make this horrible choice. Please!"

He tilted her blotchy face toward his. "And be hunted the rest of our lives by the titans of this and every other world? To wish that same fate on Stephen Strange and Jane Foster and whoever wields the other stones?" He lifted her hand to his forehead. "It is not fair, my love."

She touched the stone with her powers, feeling him, feeling the complexities within that stone, the familiarity of it. "I am not feeling fair right now," she sobbed.

The fight left her, and he held her close, absorbing her warmth and wishing there was any other way. To lose these feelings after only just discovering them. To lose this woman, all the memories, all the moments. It was a physical pain in his chest.

Somehow, a tear rolled down his cheek. He had not known a being such as himself could cry.

.

.

.

A small, warm hand touched the back of his head, gently smoothed over his hair, down his neck, and grasped his shoulder. Her simple touch banished his wicked thoughts of leading James Barnes into a new war against humanity. Second by excruciating second, he registered the warmth of a body kneeling on the hard floor beside him, knees tucked into his side, and a quiet voice whispering to him, her sweet breath touching his cheek as wisps of hair tickled his ear.

"You're safe now. You're safe. Loki, you're safe."

He clenched his eyes shut tighter to halt his tears. He had cried too much since he arrived on this pathetic planet. Still, several escaped. Jane's fingers caught them, then began rubbing the back of his hand, tracing every finger in turn. Never losing contact with him as she assured him safe, safe now, safe. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Over and over. She was likely counting down from twenty in her head. A stabilizing habit that endeared her to him even more.

When his heart had finally calmed, he turned his palm up to allow her to trace the heavy lines on it. She had always wanted to see and touch his hands, impossible as it was when he appeared to her as nothing more than a projection of his mind.

"And you save me once again," he whispered.

"Shhhh," she said. "Let's get you off the floor." Her hands left him. "Mr. Barnes? I know I have no right to ask with everything I, well sort of me, has done to you, but would you help us?"

Loki bared his teeth, indignant that she would ask for help, that she thought he needed it. But shame and pride pushed the air from his lungs as heavy steps rounded the table. There was an awkwardness to James Barnes as he placed his feet to Loki's side, then stepped one over him, decided against that, and brought it back. The cold of his metal hand curled under Loki's arm and cleared the last strand of the phantom scepter's influence from his mind. With his own hand on the floor and Barnes' surprisingly gentle tug, Loki stumbled up and into a chair Jane had pulled over, elbows falling hard on his knees. He refused to open his eyes, not wanting to see Barnes' face, afraid to see the Aether's black, indifferent eyes, not trusting his voice to either of them.

"You don't…have to leave."

Loki's head snapped up at Jane's soft words. Her pale profile greeted him, no trace of the black of her eyes or skin. This was Jane, not the Aether. And she was looking away from him and across the room, holding up a hand to the dark man striding toward the door. Barnes stopped suddenly and turned half his body back at her.

"Thank you, James."

He didn't raise his eyes until she spoke, and that's when Loki saw it. The moment James Barnes fell fully under the spell Jane Foster so effortlessly and unconsciously wove. Not the Aether, not the Infinity Stone. Jane. In all her quiet, awkward kindness. Wearing her heart, as always, for all to see.

Loki recognized the shine in James Barnes' eyes. He remembered the moment it happened to him. It was the first time she asked him to stay. The first time she showed him all her hope and curiosity and gratitude, her eyes shining just enough to make a man wonder if she would shed a tear for him. And hoping, so desperately hoping, that her tears would heal all of the horrors, all the wrongs, all the monstrosities in a past worth forgetting but refusing to fade away.

Barnes shrugged. "Any time, Jane."

She smiled, and the spell was complete. Loki's gut twisted at the stars in James Barnes' stare as he looked at Jane Foster. He was a man starved for kindness and forgiveness and simplicity in an overly complex world. An overly complex life. And he saw everything he could have in the smiling face before him.

And Loki despised him for it. Looking at James Barnes was like looking at a fractured mirror in a forgotten room. Barnes would be a perfect match for Jane, a better one than he or Thor or anyone else. He would welcome the good pouring out of her to heal his deserving soul. Not like his own. Not like the frost giant monster who enjoyed murder, trickery, and mischief. Not like the man who regretted his actions while still reveling in the power that allowed them. Not the fragile thing he had become while slowly falling so deeply in love with her for no other reason than she was his only constant, his only friend, his shining Home in a universe where a home for him did not exist. Would never exist.

Jane Foster did not belong to him. Even if she somehow survived the destruction of the stones, she never would. And his heart tore apart in his chest.

"Jane," he whispered, his voice cracking. "You should accompany James Barnes to the medical facility. He can escort you to your room once his condition is assessed. I will be fine here."

The pair of them glanced his way with matching confused expressions. Loki noted the small vertical line between Jane's eyebrows. He would give up the world if only to smooth that line. To ease her worry. To simplify her life. He looked away and began assembling the scraps of his mask, the only thing left to protect him when she left.

She knelt before his seated form, pushing his knees apart so she could inch closer. He leaned away to accommodate her but did not meet her gaze.

"Loki," she said. He knew the tone. He had lost count of the number of times she had used it. It meant simply 'look at me.'

"Loki," she said again.

He sighed, refusing to look at her. He knew her every intonation. Her speech patterns. His name on her lips was always more than a name. It was a surprise, a delight, a doubt, a demand. But this one, this quiet and purposeful breath…this was a plea. She begged him, and he fought not to obey.

"Please. Just go." He did not know if his words made a sound.

"Loki." There was steel in her.

"I," he started, eyes drawn without permission to her face, her beautiful shining eyes. He sighed. "I cannot deny you anything it seems."

The warm hand that cupped his cheek unmade him as he distantly registered the dark figure slipping out the door to leave them alone.

"Loki," Jane said, her small thumb running along his jaw. "You will escort me to our room. Then we can talk. But I will not leave your side. Me. Jane. Not the Aether. So, don't try to pawn me off on someone else, okay?" The edges of her lips twitched, and he tried, truly he did, to give her the smirk she wanted. A small acknowledgement of the passing of this deadly serious episode. But he could not. He could only lean into her hand.

"Why, Jane?"

She stood then, shaking the aches from her knees, and held a hand out to him. "Take us to our room."

He touched her fingertips, and with a flash of turquoise light, they stood beside a small cot in a gray room monitored by several cameras. He let go of her immediately. "Why?" he asked again.

She slumped onto the cot, a sigh of exhaustion escaping her. She kicked off one boot, then the other, and peeled off mismatched hiking socks. She ran her hands through her hair, never looking away from him. "I only have one day left."

His knees gave out at her bluntness, and he found himself kneeling in front of her, his eyes level with her eyes. His mouth level with her mouth.

Her hands once more smoothed over his jaw. "And I want to spend it showing you that you are worthy. That your future will be extraordinary. I just know it. Because you're a good man, Loki."

He could not breathe. He could barely see through the film of tears in his eyes. "Jane."

She tugged him closer, an inch perhaps. "Let me show you."

"Show me?" he whispered.

She nodded. "That you will never be nothing."

Her lips were softer than flower petals. Her eyes were open, as were his. Reminding him this was not the Aether. This was not a trick. This was not a deception or a mere curiosity.

She pulled away. "You are everything," she whispered and then returned, firmer, as her hands glided into his hair and pulled him closer still. He rested shaking hands against the cot on either side of her body as her knees squeezed into his hips, pulling him closer until he felt his chest against hers, the hard plains of his body against the softness of hers.

"You are good," she said against his mouth as she pulled his hair just enough to tilt his mouth to better fit the shape of hers.

Her heartbeat pounded against his sternum, growing faster and out of rhythm as his control faltered.

"You are loved," she whispered, kissing him for the first and fifth and tenth time and pouring years of emotions into him. Overwhelmed, he lifted his hands to her waist, to her shoulders, to her cheeks, into her hair. He pulled her closer, drinking the wine of acceptance and love that she offered so freely. To him. To the villain.

On her final day of life.

He pulled away, gasping, and pressed his forehead to hers. "You say these words because there is no tomorrow for you."

"No," she said, clutching him to her as if she would shatter. "I should've said them before now. I think I've known them, felt them, for a long time. I just haven't trusted myself until this moment. But Loki," she pulled an inch away, "you need to know it. You need to know everything. Tell me you believe."

His body shook in her arms, his eyes closing at the intensity of Jane's stare. "I cannot," he whispered.

"Tell me," she said, her hands twisting in his hair. "Loki, please."

Her voice. Her plea. Her unbearable faith in him.

"How can you forgive my past?"

"Because it doesn't determine your future," she breathed. "Now, tell me you believe me."

He pulled her mouth back to his, silencing her, focusing on her words and her meaning and just what it would mean if she was right. If it could possibly be true.

I believe you.

They jerked apart, eyes wide.

"Loki?" she said looking from his eyes to his mouth to his heart, her hands touching his lips and his chest, trying to find the words that had drifted across her mind.

"I do not…" his eyes widened as realization dawned. He pursed his lips.

Jane?

Her eyes flew to his again and a smile spread across her entire face, a light beaming from within her.

"How?" she asked.

"The Aether said we shared a bond. I could not imagine that…this…would come of it. But you heard my thoughts while you slept in this very room." He ran his thumb along her bottom lip. "We are intricately connected, Jane."

That blasted line marred her forehead, but her eyes sparkled. "May I try?" she asked, as her knuckle traced his brow and followed the path of his jaw.

He jerked a nod, unsure. She squeezed her eyes closed.

Loki.

They both released the breath they were holding, nervous laughter tumbling from their mouths as he brushed a thumb across that damned line and smoothed her skin. She looked into his eyes with something new and ferocious and endless. Then Jane thought the words she needed to say to him, the admissions and explanations and hopes and dreams and fears. She told him all of her secrets. And the God of Lies listened, amazed then confused then enlightened then ecstatic then, above all else, truly hopeful, and he nodded and smiled until his cheeks ached. He picked her up and spun her around the room, his lips bruising hers, laughs and tears turning to gasps and moans as he gently laid her on the small cot, a twitch of his fingers blinding the cameras. As they moved together, two minds and bodies becoming one, he whispered beautiful words out loud and then into her mind. Words of trust and thanks and love. And over and over again, love.

And for one night, they ignored what the future would bring.