Gradually, his grief over losing his mom becomes more bearable, and he reaches a point where he's actually able to mean it when he tells Bucky, no, he's going to do this on his own, which is when Bucky finally stops asking. They join an art school, with Steve on a scholarship, and Steve keeps himself busy. The longer he goes without seeing Loki again, the less he expects it, and the more resigned he becomes to the idea that Loki might be out of his life for good.

Then war breaks out in Europe, and it becomes hard to focus on anything else with his mounting frustration about the US government's refusal to do much of anything to help the people suffering under the Nazis. Japan attacks Pearl Harbor and America is finally dragged into the war, and Steve's determined to do his part, so he convinces Bucky to train him for a couple weeks at Goldie's Boxing Gym. They both go to enlist; Bucky is accepted, of course, and Steve is turned away. He changes some of his information, goes to another recruiting center, and tries again; he's declared 4F, again.

Most people would probably take that as a sign to give up on enlisting and start figuring out another way to help with the war effort—drawing propaganda posters, maybe. Steve isn't most people, for better or worse.

He's sitting at the little desk in his living room, reading, when there's a noise he really thought he'd never hear again: the edge-of-his-hearing rustle of Loki stepping back into Steve's world.

"What is this?"

"Hi," Steve says, turning with a smile that falters as soon as he sees what Loki's holding: the papers from his two failed attempts to enlist and the one he's going to use next time, two of which include information even Loki will recognize as false. "Uh. What does it look like?"

Loki flips through the papers. "It looks as though you are trying to join your military for active service, despite at least two doctors doing their duty in protecting you from your own recklessness by declaring you medically unfit."

Steve frowns, stung and a little annoyed at Loki's sharp tone. "The whole world is at war, and lots of American soldiers are in Europe fighting and dying to stop a damn dictator. Even Bucky's going. I just want to do my part to help."

"Help," Loki repeats, very nearly sneering. "How do you propose to do that? By falling ill the moment you arrive and forcing your comrades to take care of you? Or perhaps you intend to use your body as a brief, ineffective shield for someone who actually belongs on the front lines."

Steve stares at him, completely taken aback, but his sudden hurt and bewilderment quickly give way to anger. "Okay, one, I haven't seen you in years, and now you pop in out of nowhere just to yell at me? And two, I'm an adult and it's not actually your business what I decide to do with my life, especially when you haven't bothered to visit in years, in case I somehow forgot to mention that. You got no right to tell me what to do."

Loki tosses the papers back down on the table, the gesture eloquent with disgust. "Clearly someone needs to, because Norns forbid you do something sensible for once in your life—but no, of course you know best, of course you should rush off in heedless pursuit of glory like everyone else and damn the consequences—"

"When the hell did I say anything about glory? I don't give a shit about glory, and thank you very much for suddenly deciding I'm an idiot."

"Is that the word you wish to use?" Loki asks, still caustic. "I cannot imagine why that description might apply to someone who seems determined to throw away a life that is already far too brief."

That brings Steve up short, and he finally takes a good look at Loki—breathing hard, fists clenched, eyes a little wide—and suddenly he sees what he missed, the fear and agitation under the unexpected nastiness. "You know, if you're worried about me, you could just say so."

Loki scoffs. "Worried? Why would I be worried? It is plain that you are doing a marvelous job of taking care of yourself."

"Loki," Steve says firmly, "stop it. If you have something to say, say it, but you don't get to just—have a go at me. I think I deserve a little better than that."

Loki opens his mouth again to retort, but then he looks away, shoulders slumping. "You are right, of course," he says after a moment. "I am…I spoke out of turn. I should not have presumed to know your motives." He shakes his head. "I suppose I should not be surprised that your aversion to bullies would eventually lead to this."

"I guess that's one way to put it," Steve says. "You get why I have to do this, right?"

"I still think it is foolish," Loki says, "and that you have far more to offer your world in some role other than that of a common soldier. But you would not be Steve Rogers if you did not care enough to try."

"Pretty much," Steve says, and adds as gently as he can, "And if I want to use my life this way, that's my choice, not anybody else's."

"Believe me, I know," Loki mutters. He pushes away from the table, one hand worrying at the other. "I have not stayed away by choice. This was the first time in decades that I could locate you with any certainty."

Steve is used to doing the math by now to translate Loki's Asgardian time to Earth time, and he frowns. "Only decades? It's been 6 years for me. I'm 24 now."

Loki seems to do the math in his head as well. "I am 967—not quite 70 years since last I saw you. You are right, that is different than before. Proportionally, I believe you are now a little older than I am. That is…odd. Something to do with the anchor, I suppose. It might explain why reaching you has grown so much more difficult."

"Well, I sure don't know if you don't."

"No, you would not," Loki says absently, still thinking. Steve decides not to take offense. After a second he shakes his head and refocuses on Steve. "No matter. Whatever you do, you will be careful, yes?"

Have you met me? Steve wants to ask. Instead he says, "I'll try. That's all I can promise."

Loki sighs. "Well, that is more than I can ever expect from Thor, at least."

Oh. "Something's going on at home," Steve guesses, "and you took it out on me."

Loki glances away again, looking embarrassed. "I…perhaps. That would be…quite churlish of me, wouldn't it?"

"I'd probably go with 'unfair,' but yeah," Steve says mildly. "Want to talk about it?"

Loki hesitates, long enough Steve thinks he isn't going to answer, and then he releases an explosive sigh. "Thor is going to be crowned. No date has been set, it may not be for a handful of years still, but he is officially heir now rather than merely heir-presumptive, and his coronation has moved into the realm of certainty."

"And you're upset you didn't get picked," Steve says. The idea of being king is so far outside his experience as to be nearly incomprehensible, but he sure knows how rotten it feels to be passed over, again and again, for somebody else.

"No," Loki says, and grimaces. "Well—yes. It is not that I truly want the throne, only that I would like to be…chosen. For once. Or to be seen as...good enough. Worthy."

"Yeah," Steve says. He definitely knows what that feels like.

"And I have…concerns about Asgard's future," Loki says, and adds quickly, "I do not speak out of jealousy. At least—not primarily."

"Concerns," Steve says. "Like what?"

"Thor as king will be a disaster," Loki bursts out, apparently unable to hold back when Steve isn't immediately judging him. "I love my brother, but I have begun to believe that I alone can see his recklessness and arrogance, his inability to temper his impulses. As king, he will be far worse, and no one will be able to stop him. I do not doubt that he means well, but he will lead Asgard to ruin."

"But you'll be there too, right?" Steve says. "I don't mean it's your job to make him look good, but could he be a decent king with you as an advisor?"

Loki smiles without humor. "My brother has not listened to my counsel in…decades, certainly. Perhaps centuries. Not unless I am saying what he already wants to hear. As king, he will have even less cause to heed my words—if, in fact, he even bothers to remember that I exist. And no one else will listen either. I have tried to tell Father that Thor is not ready, but he is blind to Thor's faults and too eager to shed the burden of kingship, and so he dismisses anything I say as a younger brother's petty jealousy, I suppose because he cannot fathom that I might have anything of worth to say." He glowers at the wall. "I do not know what to do."

"I'm sorry," Steve says, a little helplessly. "I wish I had some ideas for you."

"It is hardly your fault that all Asgard sees me as an afterthought."

"Well, no, but I'm still sorry you have to deal with this." Steve leans forward to catch Loki's gaze. "And Loki? Whatever you end up doing, you be careful too. Okay? Neither of us is exactly the poster child for being sensible, but—be careful."

"I will try," Loki says after a long moment. "Like you, I can promise no more than that."