Chapter 1
"He's gone, again?"
Jane Foster returned to the States just six months after Loki had reeked havoc in New York. She had returned to her original work, immediately, but it wasn't long before she learned why she had been so suddenly asked to consult out of the country.
Which led to her, almost just as immediately, asking to see Thor.
Erik Selvig, still recovering from his own part in the attacks, had taken to working harder than ever, trying to use his work to forget his unwilling betrayal, or the nightmares they had brought. He had told Jane upon her asking that Thor had returned, once again, to Asgard.
"Yes, Jane, he's gone again," Erik said, vigorously scribbling calculations into a notebook before he transferred them directly into his computer.
"Is he coming back?" she asked, her brow furrowing.
"I don't know," Erik replied. "I'm sure he's dealing with Loki's sentencing at the moment." His spat the Trickster god's name like it was a disease.
"He was here and I...I didn't even..." Jane's hands fisted at her sides. She hadn't even been in New York. Why had she been relocated? Why had her chance to see Thor been ripped from her? Of course, she didn't know the threat on her life that Loki had hissed to his brother during their first battle. She didn't know that Loki's presence on Earth could have been a direct threat to her very self-preservation.
"Trust me, it's better this way," Erik said, nonchalantly, not even looking up from his computer. That is, until he heard a door slam and looked up just in time to see Jane retreat out of the hanger in a huff.
She had no idea months of anguish would follow—of searching, of missing him. Of crying. Or that those months would lead her straight back into his arms—and the eyesight of those who meant to throw the cosmos back into darkness.
After that, dreams haunted her—the glowing creations of red, the gliding, slippery movement of a red-gelled nightmare that never truly left. Jane awoke, remembering all that had plagued her when the Aether had chosen her as a host, when Malekith had sought her without pause, when her very existence caused the death of the mother her lover cherished. And the death of the brother he wished he didn't.
Still, she wondered why the Aether had chosen her. Thor told her often that the Aether would have chosen anyone that had come in such close contact with it, especially after lying dormant for so long. But Jane felt there was more to it—as if she were missing something.
Of course, she'd always felt that way since she was young—since she was adopted as a baby. She had always felt...different.
However, it would be years until she found out why. Years that she would spend happily with Thor. There would be no reasons for years to come to feel different with him. After all...
She was an alien—and so was he.
Four years later
"Good morning, newlyweds!" Darcy cried, grinning, as she snapped a picture of Thor and Jane. They emerged from their room, dressed in pajamas, hair mussed. Thor grinned, and Jane glared, and Darcy immediately posted it to Instagram, before standing.
They had been married, now, for two weeks, and had just returned from their honeymoon a few days prior. She had never dreamed she could be as happy as she was with him. Once he'd given up his throne for her, however, she realized just how much he loved her. How lucky she was.
"Ian made you breakfast—kinda," Darcy said, as she gestured into the small kitchen behind her, where her 'intern' from a few years ago was fumbling with some burnt toast, and undercooked eggs. "Looks more like he's trying to give you salmonella."
"Clearly," Jane said, as she slid into one of the small, wooden chairs that circled the little kitchen table. Thor glided into a chair next to her and smiled, taking her hands. It had taken them quite a while to decide to marry—his brother's words of her fleeting settled heavy in his mind, and her work often got in the way, as did his part in the Avengers. But he decided a heartbeat with her was worth more than a ten millenia alone. And when he and Jane had finally garnered enough free time, they had begun making the preparations.
Thor lifted her beautiful hands, small in his, and kissed them, smiling down at her wedding ring. He was glad they had finally done it. He could imagine being with no one else.
And Jane knew he was happy. But she also knew that, as dreams of the Aether still sometimes haunted her, dreams of the deaths of Frigga and Loki still haunted him. She understood that he felt the heavy weight of guilt that he had been unable to save them, even so many years later. He sometimes woke in silent tears because of it.
And in the privacy of their room, she would comfort him. And he would smile at her, kiss her, make love to her, and cherish the moments of gladness that could never permanently erase the places of pain, but often dulled the sting.
So, silently, they sat and ate their breakfast with a soft smile—happy to be together.
Until the buzz of Thor's cell phone alerted them. He glanced up. There were only two reasons that Thor's phone went off—when he was with the Avengers and Jane needed him...
And when he was with Jane, and the Avengers needed him. He stood up, and moved across the room to the counter where the phone was plugged in. He opened the text from Maria Hill, and frowned, his brow furrowing. There were suddenly tears in his eyes.
"Thor?" Jane asked, as she moved toward him. He turned, sharply, and started toward their bedroom.
"I must dress quickly—I must—I must—" He choked on a sob, and dropped the device at his feet as he caught himself against the wall. Jane glided up behind him, and bent at the waist. Picking up the phone, she looked down at the text and felt her own tears form.
Emergency. Stark Tower ASAP. Loki.
It just...wasn't...
Possible.
"He should not be alive."
"Well, he is."
"I saw him die. I watched him die—I held him in my arms!"
"Look, Point Break, all I know is he showed up in the Widow's room nearly dead—all bruised and bleeding, face pale and swollen, begging for help. He didn't seem like...well, the him we met in New York near five years ago, capiche?"
Thor stood in the central command center of the Avengers new home, Stark Tower, his arms crossed heavily across his massive chest. Jane stood next to him, her eyes sliding back and forth between her husband and Tony Stark, who stood just across from the demi-god, one dark brow raised at the Aesir as Thor clearly contemplated the gravity of Stark's words.
"You say he...appeared to the Black Widow?" Thor asked.
"Damn right he did," came an angry voice as Clint barged into the room, Natasha at his heel. She rolled her eyes at Clint's machismo, jealous tone of revenge and anger as he stopped at a nearly-45 degree angle from Tony and Thor. "Look, I don't know, and I don't care, how he's alive, or why he's here! I want him gone! Especially if he's barging into a woman's room uninvited!"
Tony coughed, and word that sounded like yourwomansroom flew out of his mouth as he covered it with his fist and patted his chest. "Ooh, feels like pneumonia."
Natasha rolled her eyes again. "I don't think he was specifically targeting me, Clint. I think he knew Thor might be here. He was just targeting the Tower, probably, when he...uh, teleported? Whatever kind of Stark Trek shit alien-demi-gods use."
"So, now you're defending that ass?"
The Widow pinched the bridge of her nose. "No, Clinton, I'm not. I'm just saying, this place was his end-goal. I don't think he really cared in what specific room he landed."
"May I see him?" Thor blurted, suddenly, interrupting their bickering.
Jane and Tony glanced at Thor, and the two spies fell silent, before the billionaire nodded and led Thor toward and elevator. Jane followed, despite not being invited. He was her brother-in-law after all—and, once upon a time, her savior.
Thor glanced down at the form of his younger brother as he lay, unconscious, in the bed on the tenth floor of Stark Tower—the medical floor. His face was bruised, one eye black-and-blue. He had a split lip, cuts and bruises all over any skin that was exposed, and, unusually, his entire throat was brownish-black—darkly bruised.
Thor's brow furrowed, sadly, as his touched the crown of Loki's head, gently, the way their mother used to when they suffered from night terrors. Pulling down the sheet that covered his brother, he noted the jagged scar that ran through his chest.
So...
Kurse's attack had damaged him. Just not permanently.
He readjusted the sheet over him, and turned somber blue orbs on Jane and Tony. "This is...disconcerting."
"You're tellin' me—doesn't it take like ten otherwordly sledgehammers just to make a dent in bastards like you?" Tony asked, his eyebrows twitching, facetiously.
"It is true," Thor confirmed. "It would take much to cause such damage to him. I cannot image where he has been or why he is wounded so. But, I will stay here at his side until he awakens that I may ask him—and...assure that he is safe."
"And I'll stay with you," Jane whispered, touching Thor's shoulder, tenderly. He smiled at her, nodding, gently.
You believe your meager little kingdom can combat the Empire? Foolish creature.
This kingdom has withstood longer than your so-called "Empire". You think me foolish? Then prove you are better than me! Prove it.
A soft, menacing chuckle. Foolish, foolish creature...
Loki gasped as his eyes shot open, the pain from the deep bruise on his throat causing him to relive the recent terror of the attack. He flailed, choking, clawing at the air as heavy, hacking sounds bubbled up from his throat.
It was Jane who was at his side, then, trying to calm him, calling out to him, trying to hold him down. His arm swung around, across her cheek and she gasped and doubled back, grabbing her face, which immediately began to bruise.
Thor burst in, noticed the mark, and his brow arrowed down in anger. He would have lunged for Loki, but Jane grabbed his shoulder and gestured to Loki—he was having some sort of terror. Fighting an invisible enemy. Thor's arrowed brow shifted from anger to concern, and he immediately glided toward his brother.
Reaching out, he grabbed Loki by the arm, firmly, strongly, but with tenderness in his face so that the thrashing man would not think himself threatened. "Loki!" he called. "It's alright! You are safe! Brother, calm yourself!"
Loki's green eyes found Thor's scruff face, and immediately, he was broken from the half-vision he had been trapped in and he began to calm, his chest rising and falling with deep, hindered breaths—fearful breaths.
"That's it, brother. Deep breaths," Thor replied. "You are well—you are safe."
Loki's eyes darted about the room in confusion, before falling on Thor. "Where-" he croaked, his voice nothing more than hoarse whisper.
"Midgard. Stark Tower."
Realization and remembrance struck him and he grabbed Thor by the front of his armor, suddenly, his eyes blazing with desperation and determination. "Asgard," he croaked. "Captured. Occupied."
Thor's eyes widened. "By who? Loki, what is the meaning of—"
"Father," he choked. "Odinsleep." He pulled Thor closer. "It was me."
"I don't-" Then, it dawned on Thor. "...Father. The throne room. That's why he wouldn't take Mjolnir! You can't-"
"Shut up," Loki gasped, and then sat up, gripping his middle. Thor's brow furrowed and, upon inspecting his torso below the chest, nearer his stomach, he found wounds fresher and far outside of Kurse's healed scar. The entirety of his stomach was black and blue, with bruises and lacerations.
"Who did this?" Thor whispered.
Loki glanced down at his wounds and moaned.
"Loki," Thor repeated, his tone more pointed now, "Who did this?"
Loki was silent, his green eyes searching the faces of each person in the room, before he spoke one, single name:
"Vader."
"So, what does it mean?" Natasha asked, sitting at a table on the debriefing floor of Stark Tower. Like on the Helicarrier, the table was equipped with screens, and she couldn't help but glance at them every now and again, and watch Loki as he was tended by nurses and aids—fed, checked on, medicated. She glanced up at Clint, who scoffed at the screen perpetually, mumbling something about Loki's special treatment.
Natasha frowned. She agreed that Loki shouldn't be treated so well after what he'd done to all of them—to New York, to Earth. But she had to admit that had the Red Room ordered her to try to enslave mankind while she still worked for them, she would have. Without a second thought. And she'd committed similar horrors in her own time. She had been forgiven.
A twinge of sympathy fluttered within her, even, at seeing the nearly invincible god so broken and bruised. Judging by Thor, she knew it had taken a lot to cause such damage to someone with a form such as Loki's.
"I do not know," Thor said. "It is not a name I have ever heard before in Asgard."
"So, what do we do?" Clint asked. "We just take his damn word for it?"
"My friend," Thor said, gently. "He is still my brother."
"Your brother who lied to you about being alive," Clint snapped in reminder.
"Hey," chimed another voice, sharply. All eyes turned on Steve Rogers, who sat at the other end of the table next to Tony and Bruce. "Doesn't matter. This isn't about Loki. It's about Asgard." He looked at Thor. "What's our play?"
"Excuse me, play?" Tony asked. "Um, pretty sure space is out of our jurisdiction—and, uh, I don't know if I've told you but I have a little anxiety issues caused by the last time I was in space. Not a big fan of repeating that endeavor."
"Friends, I would not ask that you endanger yourselves for Asgard's sake—that is my burden," Thor replied. "I ask only that you continue to care for my brother as he heals—I will return home and ascertain the extent of this take-over of which Loki has spoken."
"Hell no!" Clint growled. "Let him suffer—stupid dick."
"Clint." Natasha glared at him. She glanced at Thor—it was clear he was fighting an internal battle regarding his brother. A war criminal—who had saved Jane, clearly died saving Thor, and then lied and usurped the throne. That was who Thor wanted to love, was unsure to love, fought to love, hated to love. That was Loki. His baby brother. How could he leave him to suffer? Yet, how could he agree Loki did not deserve it?
Jane noticed the pain in her husband's gaze as well, and touched his shoulder, gently. Something had been nagging at her, in the back of her mind, since Loki had said the strange name, but she couldn't place why. For now, it was her job to comfort her husband, and offer help in anyway she could.
Which gave her an idea.
"What if I did it?" she asked, looking up at Thor. "What if I took care of Loki? He saved me—I mean, he is a dick, but he saved me. I suppose I owe it to him. That way no one who really hates him has to do it."
She offered Clint a pointed look.
"Yeah, well, saving one person doesn't make up for the hundreds he killed," mumbled Clint.
"Oh, it doesn't, huh?" snapped Natasha, who stood, suddenly. She started to leave, then paused. Whipping her lithe, curvy form around, she glared at Clint. "Then, what does, Clint? Huh? Guess my ledger is forever stained."
And she left.
Clint massaged his forehead with his palm. "Dammit."
"Guessing that was the wrong thing to say, hm, Romeo?" Tony said, and then glanced at Jane. "Kudos to you. You've got more balls that I thought."
"You have to, to be married into his family," Jane said, jerking a thumb at Thor. Thor smiled, sheepishly, and sank, defeatedly, into a chair.
Things were about to get a lot worse.
He could feel it.
Someone was in his room. He could feel their presence, their warmth. He could always detect the warmth of any non-Jotun being. Sometimes, it was a comfort. It always had been with his mother. Sometimes, however, it stifled him.
Cracking green eyes open, he was surprised to find Natasha standing against the sheet-metal wall that faced the left side of his bed. Her eyes were watching him with such calculation and confusion—as if she were trying to solve him like a complicated equation.
He smirked. "Lovely to see you, Agent Romanoff," he rasped. Apparently, his larynx was bruised, and it hurt to talk in more than a scratchy murmur. "How long have you been here?"
"An hour."
A chuckle bubbled up from Loki's throat, mixed with a shuddering cough, before he calmed himself. "And, thus, the quim proves yet again her superior ability to sneak up on me."
"Bite me, bitch."
Loki laughed again, but it erupted into an even worse cough that just seconds prior, and Natasha's brow furrowed. When he did not cease to calm himself, she was forced to push herself up off of the wall and approach him. She leaned him forward, patting and rubbing his back. "Hey, hey, calm down. Come on, ass, calm down, you're going to make yourself vomit."
She picked up a nearby glass of clear water, and pressed it to his lips, watching as he drank it down, and it calm and lubricated his rough and ravaged throat. Slowly, she helped him ease back onto his pillow.
"Sorry," she said. "Didn't think you'd have an episode."
Loki swallowed, winced a little and rolled his eyes. He was silent, now.
They were both silent, in fact, for a long time.
Then, Natasha spoke up: "Can I ask you something?"
Loki furrowed his pale brow, looking at her.
"Did you mean it?" she asked. "What you said on the Helicarrier four years ago? About..." She glanced down, scoffing at her feet for sinking so low as to ask him about this, "...the horrors...never being able to get rid of them? All the wrongs you do...the red?"
Loki watched her expression change—morph from confusion, to anger, to anguish, to guilt all in a matter of seconds. His eyebrows arrowed down, as if he were contemplating an answer, before he glanced away, toward the window opposite of the wall she had been resting upon.
"Yes," he said, and thought of his mother. "I did."
Natasha frowned. "And how...does someone live with those things, then? When they look back and realize they...never wanted to be the person who committed those things?"
Loki laughed, once—a bitter sound. "You, Agent Romanoff, are asking the wrong being." He looked straight at her. "I do not believe I ever shall. Apologies."
"Eh, I didn't expect you to have the answer," she mumbled, sighing. "I was kind of hoping you'd answer the first question differently."
Silence. A strange kind of understanding passed between them. Then: "I know."
"Restore us, O God;
Cause Your face to shine,
And we shall be saved!" Psalm 80:3