Don't Leave Me the Way I Am
Chapter Eight
"Hello, Thor."
The single door of the room clicks closed and Agent Coulson steps forward, polished shoes clacking against the metallic flooring.
Thor looks up under creased brows.
He is more self-aware now.
It's afforded some semblance of control, being thrust deep into the heart of the unknown. An awareness of his own mortality is the only thing Thor can hang onto and that old rashness, the self-centredness, the rage, so easily slips away.
His body is most definitely mortal.
And most definitely feels pain.
A part of Thor knows that he is a changed man. That it hasn't taken long at all, to sling-shot into a transformation from that angry confused thing, the man who lost his temper so easily. He can feel the change so acutely, so sharp and deep. There is nothing to be done to stop it.
Perhaps it is better this way, to be more aware, than to just be fueled by anger and shame. But it leaves a gap, a doubt, of where he will still fit.
Because Thor's never fit, not really, not perfectly, not in the way he wants. But he's tried, tried so hard. It had even risen to the point where he just wanted to be King, become something better, something familiar, something good. Just push away his real self, the shadow inside, wear a golden crown as a distraction and not have to deal with the rest.
This banishment is a test.
The Allfather has taken away his power, Mjölnir, and now Thor is grounded.
Maybe he can find another way to change here on Midgard. Maybe he can forget all the things that make him the way he is, the things that which refuse to change.
The clip-click-clip of Coulson's steps come closer.
"There's no need to look so angry," The agent says, a slight tilt to his head.
This, of course, inflames Thor's resentment. For he has been bested by them, this SHIELD. Granted, it took several weapons and the whole of the compound to restrain him after he'd been shown Mjölnir, chucked deep into a crack of earth, slicked with dirt. But a loss is a loss, and Thor feels the ache of it deeply.
An ache punctuated by tight bands binding his wrists and ankles to a welded down chair.
"Release me." Thor commands from between clenched teeth, heels digging into the floor. "I would leave with my hammer peacefully."
"Yes, you would," Coulson walks closer still, coming to stand just to Thor's left, looking at some point unknown. A hand is held steady in the air, as though meaning to land upon Thor's arm. "Except you've tried and it won't budge."
The pain of this stabs Thor through. He is determined to quell the anger which swells. The absolute fury which makes him want to push aside all those who stand in his way. He fights through the heat licking at the backs of his teeth, urging him to yell.
The side of the agent's eyes crinkle. He tilts his head, "I promise we will work out how to make everyone happy. But you scared a lot of my agents, Thor, with that little display in the crater. You want everyone to leave here happy, don't you?"
Thor frowns but nods, once, curt. So they would do this the human way. Talk. From his experience, talk didn't necessarily lend well to peace. At least, when one was wont to say the wrong thing.
"Yes."
"Good," An almost-smirk tugs at Coulson's mouth, "Great. We can start with you answering a few questions."
Midgardians seem to have so many of those.
A hand snatches his chin up.
Thor's eyes widen in outrage as the agent looks down on him, eyelids hooded and thumb pushed rough under Thor's mouth. The finger drags down through the bristly hairs on his jaw as Coulson tips his head further.
He looms, the hint of amusement climbing up his lips. There's a softness to it though, contrary to the harsh pressure on Thor's chin. As if Coulson notices his roughness, his grip relaxes, fingers smoothing back and forth, soothing.
Thor sucks in a short breath through his nose, brows furrowing. Impatient and a touch confused, he says, "You may ask."
"Well, first and most importantly..."
Thor's mouth parts in surprise when the small man slides into his lap.
"Do you like me, Thor?"
A jolt of panic cracks like a whip up Thor's spine.
"What?" He breathes.
"I think it could be sort of cute." Coulson grins, swinging an arm around Thor's neck to balance himself, smug and a lazy weight, as though sitting upon the bow of an old tree. Thor squirm in the chair and restraints.
"The two of us, pairing up to solve mysteries, fighting crime. Think of the fun!"
"You..." Thor is near speechless, "You jest."
"Heh," Coulson turns Thor's head by the chin, index finger curling into his cheek with the barest of nail.
"I'm curious why you're here. Why you think that hammer is yours." Coulson smiles and shakes his head. His other hand is touching Thor lightly, fingertips trailing across the round of his shoulder. "In all honesty, I'm very interested... in whosoever holds the hammer..."
Thor freezes.
"If he be worthy..." The agent leans and there are dry lips against the shell of Thor's ear.
"...Shall possess the power of Thor."
They say it together.
The phrase is a puff of air that rings with the sound of a thousand tiny bells, a wind sweeping across dry skirts of grass. It's a whisper of magic, old as all the nine realms and beyond, swirling and shaking Thor to the core.
This is not Agent Coulson.
No mere mortal could send such a shiver down his spine with words alone. No mere Asgardian could do the same. But when Thor cranes his neck to stare deeply into the mortal's face, his eyes are deceived.
Oh, but there is only one he knows to be so tricky. And yet, he can't hope. Mustn't.
The agent stops short, breaking eye contact. His thumb catches on Thor's lower lip.
"You could like me, couldn't you?"
Thor gawks fully.
"Perhaps," The agent leans close, so close, and Thor swallows thick, wrists twisting against tight bands, "You could even... wish to bed me?"
Unbidden, his eyes flicker down to where Coulson sits. A mental image unfurls lightning fast at the question, striking Thor hot and shameful.
The hand on his face squeezes.
Thor grits his teeth, eyes clamped shut in pain. Coulson's strong. Godly strong. And there is the hard streak of a scar upon the palm that swipes roughly through Thor's beard. It draws a deep line into his cheek. It hurts, but also sends a flare of recognition, bright and sharp in the bottom of his gut. Thor turns his face into it, exhales into the cup of that palm, and the instant those fingertips float off his lips he gasps sharply, eyes flying open:
"Loki."
The agent does not give affirmation, but grins.
"Loki?" Thor whispers, unwilling to say more but not knowing any other way to ask. His thighs are buzzing, thrumming with rushing blood at every point touched. He's breathless, the words ghosting out of him with disbelief.
"Is it really you?"
"You should see your face," And when Coulson laughs Thor is certain.
At once, Thor is mentally counting down from a thousand, breaths coming deep. Whether it's anger or... or something else he's holding in check, he does not examine.
But to know that this is the press of Loki's body seated on his lap is unthinkable. No. The thought is not comforting at all, for it makes him feel— Thor's already disorientated, limbs tingling and restless. It ties his stomach into knots, when Loki laughs again, slithering off his lap.
"Are you quite done gloating?" Thor huffs, closing eyes against the new guise of his brother, the mockery.
"Hmph," Loki pats him on the cheek twice. Thor doesn't even have to look to know full well when his brother is rolling his eyes.
"Nice to see you too, Thor."
"You shouldn't have come." Thor thumps his heels in frustration. He can't help but glare at the mud caked upon his boots. "I am in the middle of peaceful negotiations."
"Yes. And that would explain why you're all tied up. And dressed to impress as well. Charming, Thor."
Thor slumps, lips pressed together in a thin line to keep the indignation back.
"Loki, you should not be here—"
"It's alright," Loki saunters around the chair, a fingertip trailing through the thick of Thor's hair as he circles. A thin strand of gold falls across Thor's mouth and sticks. Thor exhales, blowing it away and it's with a sudden snap of Loki's fingers and a golden spark, his hand restraints vanish.
The ankles bindings remain tied.
"Loki, release my—"
"Ah-Ah-Ah," Loki snickers, waving a finger. "Far be it from me to intrude on your... negotiations."
"You've already intruded," Thor growls, but can't fault his brother. There've been many times when a fellow comrade had fallen prey to their own foolishness on a quest. It was only fair, to get in a good laugh at his expense. Still, Thor's mouth twists as he gingerly rubs the raw skin of wrists.
"Shhhsh." Loki thunks him on the back of the head and a tiny satchel lands in Thor's lap. Upending the contents onto his knees, Thor smiles. If there were any more proof needed, this was it. Thor turns over a smooth healing stone in between fingers before crushing it in his fist, the glitter falling to mend his reddened flesh.
"Heimdall cannot see me, you know that, Thor." Loki says, circling back around, arms crossed.
"It is still forbidden. What happened to real Son of Coul—"
"Oh," Loki stops, "Just a bit of fun."
Thor glares, which earns him a smirk in reply. But Thor does not want to ward Loki off, it's the last thing he wants, and Loki somehow must know it. Because he gravitates back towards Thor until their knees brush together. He just stands there, looking down on Thor, his stolen face crossed with amusement and something Thor can't quite place laced between the unfamiliar features.
"I have missed you," Loki says, but it sounds more like a reprimand than sentiment.
"I have missed you as well," Thor mutters softly in reply.
Loki snorts and his hands fall to Thor's shoulders, kneading once, "It has not yet been long enough for that."
Thor gives a wry smile. Loki always pretends to be surprised by his reciprocation. Sometimes, it's almost as if Loki genuinely doesn't believe it, or at least chooses not to. Chooses not to believe the only thing that Thor himself believes in.
This love.
The way Loki can shrug it off, make jest... only serves to make Thor try harder. Only serves to tie this knot in his chest tighter. Constricting, squeezing him off into two halves; the Thor who is different and the one he wants to be.
It's inevitable, a reaction that cannot be undone.
Thor holds his breath as Loki kneads again.
He scrunches the stiff material of Loki's human garments in his hand and Loki moves, knee grazing up to lean against the small slice of chair between Thor's thighs.
"You are my brother."
"Am I?" Loki mutters wonderingly, as if there's any reason to wonder, and his hands become a tight weight. Thor's mouth falls open at the painful sensation of nails biting into his shoulders and Loki bends all the way in, knee wedged uncomfortably deep in the v of Thor's legs.
"Yes," Thor shifts uneasily, catching the hard line of Loki's thigh in one hand before he presses close. The presence of it is firm, unrelenting, determined. Loki's hands come up to cradle the back of his neck.
All of a sudden, every part of Thor is freezing, except for where Loki's touch rests. He swallows, a hard lump, and can almost imagine it is his heart tumbling back down.
Pleasure strikes hard enough to make his head swim. The guilt in this closeness, this love, is a crack of lightning in his veins. The desire is too great, dangerous. For this brotherly affection is so much more than a simple gesture. It's deliberate. And it is so hard, so very hard, to control this body. Loki must mean to humiliate him, or worse— because Loki is nothing if not capricious—
A brief moment of uncertainty seizes Thor. That this really isn't his brother, but someone else, a stranger.
"Thor," Loki's thumb sweeps gently across his cheek. "Thor, calm down."
Loki leans so that their foreheads rest against one another.
"It's just me. It's Loki."
The steam of hot breath curls against Thor's lips.
"I know," He suppresses a shudder. "I know."
"You like me better as myself, don't you?" Loki asks, and the absolutely cunning expression that overtakes the Agent's face is very out of place.
"I..." Thor bites his lip, not wanting to voice the truth that simmers just shy of the surface, "Merely hate your tricks."
Loki smirks.
They've never been like others. Thor knows that brothers are meant to ignore these weaknesses in each other, meant to become indifferent. Perhaps if they'd both given up the strange sense of chivalry, the need to protect, Thor wouldn't have gotten so tangled up.
But it's not Loki's fault. His heart gallops in an unwinnable race, guilt clogging his throat. It's not Loki's fault Thor feels this way.
Loki grins and the air shimmers then, to reveal green eyes heavy lidded and dark, so dark, with the lights crowning his head.
And there he is, Loki, in the flesh. The same familiar touch, the same sly low voice. Loki cups both of Thor's cheeks in warm palms, and Thor can feel it, perfectly straight— that promise cut deep upon Loki's hand.
Loki grinds his knee.
Thor sucks in the longest drag of air he dares, blood rushing down, fingernails clawing into Loki's thigh. It takes two hands to keep Loki at bay. He resists, but Loki leans closer yet with the most boyish grin, reminding Thor of all the times Loki had joked with him before.
It's only a moment before he's allowing Loki to slide right in.
"Oh," Loki whispers, dangerously close, "You did miss me."
"Jane?"
The lab has been ripped apart.
Gutted and cleaned, it looks nothing as it did before, cluttered with knowledge built up over a long four years of hard work. The walls are bare of the once haphazardly hanging papers, not even all the thumbtacks left behind. It happened fast.
Jane moans and scrabbles desperate hands through the cupboards, file cabinets— even the garbage bins.
Empty, empty, and empty.
The only thing missing is a comedic moth flying out at her face as she uselessly flings open another desk drawer.
"What happened?" Jane asks, voice sounding hollow to her own ears.
"It was like this when Darcy and I came back, we were going to call you—"
"And they took my iPhone," Darcy complains.
"Ha..." Jane breathes out despairingly. She makes one errand after being held against her will in a diner for an hour and this is what she comes back to?
"Jane," Erik intones.
"No," She scratches at her scalp, sending long hair every which way. "Don't say it, Erik!"
The warm familiar weight of Erik's hand settles on the crown of her head and Jane bristles, not wanting to accept the comfort but needing it all the same. Erik smoothes the bird's nest of her hair back into place. She leans into the touch, brows drawn close as she surveys the remains of her life.
The large windows let in all the light of the afternoon desert sun. Large streams pooling across the expanse of floors picked clean of the machinery which used to make residence there. The space looks big, massive, without the equipment numerous grants had helped to purchase over the years. And the absence of all the notes, the scribbles of Jane's shorthand on faded yellow stickies, it makes the lab seem like a foreign space.
She snorts and shakes her head – a lot more crumbs and eraser rubbings in the corners than she'd have guessed.
"Jane."
"I know," She replies, irritation welling up. "It's all gone. Those men at the diner..."
"Weren't just cops." Darcy supplies and even she looks forlorn, picking through the scraps. The only thing left close to being useful is a pile of tiny paper circles, a spill from the lab's hole puncher previously gone unnoticed.
"The government," Erik explains, "I've heard of SHIELD before. It's not something we can mess with."
Darcy flicks them one by one off the table.
Jane sighs. "Well what now?"
"We can go home," Erik suggests and the thought is a sharp poker to the fire of indignation burning in Jane's gut.
"No! This is theft! We have rights, there must be something— You know what else they took? Thor." She takes a deep breath, "They took my work and Thor. I didn't want to believe it, but isn't that telling enough? They're... They have to be connected."
"Or he could have just been a spy," Darcy interjects.
Jane throws her hands up in frustration. "No spy would act like he wasn't even from this—"
Her words come to a grinding halt. Like lightning, Jane slams her satchel onto the nearest surface, rummaging madly through the contents. Her fingers snag on the prize and she pulls out a thick stack of papers, the old printer stuff, perforated pages zigzagging in a low dip like an accordion sagging to the floor.
"The Einstein-Rosen bridge," Jane mutters excitedly.
"Jane," Erik implores again.
"Skewing the fabric of spacetime," Jane jabs a finger onto the center of the stack wedged in hand. "More commonly thought of as a wormhole. A tunnel, connecting two different coordinates and, theoretically, creating a connection someone could travel through."
"Your point?" Darcy asks, jumping up onto one of the counters and swinging her legs.
"My point," Jane pokes Darcy's knee as she bustles past, dragging the spilling data behind her like a bridal train. "Is what if the Rainbow Bridge is that bridge? What if the— Bifrost?— opens up a tunnel to not another part of our universe, but..."
"The universe of someone else," Erik whispers, trailing behind her and stepping on the papers in his moment of realization. "Thor."
Jane whirls, "Exactly."
"No. No! Jane, it's mythology. Science fiction."
"Uhhmmm," Darcy's drawl cuts in.
"We just need proof, Erik. And this is it. Those charts I sent out for analysis, you know, just before going back for Thor at the hospital—"
"The particle readings?"
"Right here." She smacks the papers. "I almost forgot I had them!"
Glasses are whipped out and balanced on Erik's nose without further pretense. "Well?"
"Take a look."
"Or we could look over this way," Darcy wheedles again with sweeping arm movements.
Jane flicks a hand dismissively (erratically) before one thumbnail is scraping across the cascade of data. "Whatever followed Thor through to this world was made of an element that doesn't exist on Earth."
Erik stares at the readings, flabbergasted. "It's... that's too heavy to be—"
"Uh huh," Jane nods, hair flying back from her face as she runs an urgent hand overtop her head to keep it back. "Not our particles."
"Not our world."
"Guys, I think, you should really see this—"
"Darcy, what?" Jane snaps, only to see awhite-hot streak across the clear sky, barrelling down at an alarming rate.
BOOM!
Smoke and debris slam into the room in a wall of heat that crushes with the weight of a hundred tonnes. Jane loses her breath as the pressure sucks out all the air, and the trio collapse behind a filing cabinet in terror.
There's been a huge explosion at the end of town.
Thor turns his face away, the flush stealing up his neck like a hot brand. But Loki catches him, hand mashing his nose and mouth, thumb holding him by the chin. His ankles pulsate, feeling like they'll burst against the seams which bind. That hard line of flesh, that scar, presses against Thor in a kiss that has him breathing harshly, hot breath washing over his face.
"I," Thor mumbles into the heat, unable to think past the throb consuming his body, his blood. "I..."
But he can't say it, not like this. So Thor presses a soft kiss to Loki's palm. He breathes through his mouth, parted lips stuck to Loki's skin. The ground is falling away from beneath him, a shudder so strong running up his spine as if an earthquake has hit.
"Thor," Loki breathes, voice coloured dark like a piece of coal breaking apart, weighed down by the heat of it. He snags Thor's chin, tilting it up. It's only at the last second manages to Thor turn his head away.
Loki's lips are soft, so soft, against the side of his mouth. The tip of his nose nudges into the Thor's cheekbone.
Thor can't seem to catch his breath, he's panting, hands wet with sweat. Loki lingers, too long, and Thor has to gently pull Loki's wrist to pry his hand away. When Thor gets the courage to look his brother in the eyes, Loki's mouth has gone tight, pursed, a withdrawn look pulling back his features until he looks bored, cold, distant.
"Loki," Thor starts, unknowing of what words could come next— for what could he ever say?— but he can't stand the disappointment so clear on his brother's face.
And then the expression is gone, Loki letting out a huff of laughter, tongue tip pushing against his bottom row of teeth. Thor has no chance to explain, to thank him, for everything, even for always being such a sneak, before Loki half-smiles and strokes one thumb down Thor's nose.
"You made me miss."
CRACK!
The door explodes on its hinges, courtesy of a black boot.
And this is the moment an arrow goes screaming through the air; ripping through in a trajectory pointed dead center on—
Loki catches the arrow in one fist, a hair's breadth away from Thor's eye.
"You," Loki snarls. "You DARE attack my—"
"—Hey, you knocked out my boss. Oh, by the way?" The archer retorts, another arrow aimed true, "I never miss."
The arrow snaps in Loki's twitching fist as the second shoots off and Thor barely manages to shove Loki out of the way as it goes wailing past his ear.
"THOR!" Loki bellows, eyes slit with rage, "Don't get in the way."
Naturally, Thor struggles to free his ankles.
The third arrow zooms at Loki this time, sailing straight through his face. The apparition vanishes in a shower of gold sparks and Loki reappears right next to the agent, snatching him up by the neck. Squeezes.
Thor watches as the agent is lifted in his brother's grasp, held high enough that he kicks out frantically, angry mortal face starting to turn blue. Loki rolls his eyes and Thor strains anew, the banding cutting into his ankles tight and sharp.
"Playtime's over now," Loki hisses into the man's ear, "Pity. Thought a little bang on the head was all it took to kill your like."
"LOKI!" Thor growls, teeth bared. It's obvious now, how much of a joke his brother's made of everything. "Let him go!"
The look that overcomes Loki's face is dark, the overhead lighting casting him into shadow. His lips peel back to reveal the perfect smile, and he looks so beautiful, so familiar, so—
"Make me, Thor."
Thor curses, loud. Loki snickers wholeheartedly at that. His arm swoops out in a large arc and a whipcord of magic slashes out across Thor's legs.
The binds break free.
Thor jumps up and then immediately lurches to the side. The ground shakes violently, throwing them off their feet. Loki lands hard against the opposing wall, letting the archer go parting from his clutch. The mortal gasps for breath, scrambling away from Loki as plaster starts raining in huge sheets. White dust cascades down to pile atop a light fixture that crashes to the floor. The cloud of dust that explodes upon impact shields the archer from view.
"Brother!" Thor screams and the ground shakes again, cracks like lightning bolts split the floor. The whole compound seems to sway, vibrations creaking through the metal frames that feel close to snapping like mere twigs.
"Thor," Loki gasps, blinking wide against white clumps of debris clinging to his eyelashes. A smirk rips itself open on his face, "Is that you making a mess?"
"You know it's not!" Thor swallows, lunging across the expanse, palms slipping against the floor which has been tilted on its axis. And just as suddenly the violent shocks subside, tremors rhythmically making the building hum until there is only stillness.
Somewhere in the distance an alarm blares.
"Uh oh," Loki laughs breathlessly, "Then it was me, wasn't it?"
Thor gapes, desperation and confusion clawing at his insides.
"Brother... what have you done?"
Loki's head falls back, resting against the wreckage and for just a moment he looks relaxed, peaceful. His body flickers, as though made of light.
"I hear the Destroyer stops at nothing to protect that which the King commands. Better check on your little mortals, Thor."
It is as Loki disappears that Thor tears out the doorway.
A cough echoes through the rubble.
Barton lets out a frustrated sigh, grabbing Coulson by the hand and trying very hard not to black out as he's pulled up.
Barton groans as the weight of gravity hits him, holding the crown of his head, "Sir, we have a situation."
"Yes, we do." Coulson smiles briefly, a small flicker of ironic amusement despite the chaos that's overtaken the base. He's coated in a fine layer of dust and there's a nasty bump on the high point of his hairline that's starting to look ugly.
"Quake?" Barton croaks.
"No seismic activity recorded before things went offline. All signs point to attack. Data's coming in," He taps his phone. "How's your neck?"
"I'll live," Barton rasps.
"Next time don't go in alone and leave me to catch up on my beauty sleep."
Barton laughs raggedly, "But you need it so badly."
There's a beep.
Coulson exhales. "Attack in town. Some type of suit..."
"Stark?" Barton shakes his head and immediately regrets it. "He's not stupid enough to pull a stunt like that—"
"But one of his admirers might," Coulson straightens his jacket.
"Speaking of admirers," Barton lifts an eyebrow and even though it's painful, jerks his head towards the remnants of the holding cell. "Seems like he's already got a boyfriend."
"Oh," And Coulson laughs. "S'okay, Barton. Holding out for a hero anyway."