Chapter 15: No Secret
So this is back…
Thank you everyone, for wishing me good luck on my exam! SO glad that they're over with, although I'm not completely out of the waters yet. Apps and returning to work before the semester starts, but I will be updating more regularly (no more month long droughts, at least)
So a long-ish, Stoki-bonding filled chapter ahead. Thank you so much for being patient with me :)
Scientific progression edges along much more smoothly now that the temporary truce is in state between the geniuses, although that's not to say the tower is void of any yelling, explosions, or non-committal threats. The days stretch and blend together, and Steve feels himself growing more and more impatient. He hasn't felt this useless in a long time, with nothing to occupy his empty hands and overactive mind, while everyone around him seems overwhelmed with purpose. They're the difference makers at this stage, and Steve can only look on from afar, and wait—with Loki, the only other person as idle as him.
He wonders if the god is feeling anxious too, if he's worried for Asgard or the imminent war—his uncertain role in it all. But whatever Loki might be feeling, he schools it well, and Steve is well aware that this isn't something he can simply ask and expect a straight answer. To each his own, he supposes, and tries to find some comfort in the belief that Earth, at least, would not be caught in another war, as long as they do their job properly. The reminder brings him little relief, however.
He rejoins the scientists on the third day since Loki's relocation into the tower, for a videoconference with SHIELD. Today would mark the end of two weeks—the halfway mark until Loki's estimated time of the Chitauri's arrival—and Fury naturally has been voicing his doubts and unrest, despite scientists' assurance that everything will be under control.
"If you can close the portal with the same technology from your Bifrost research, then what's the hold up?" A miniature 3D projection of the Director stands in the center of the large round table, eyeing dourly at the room of assembled scientists and Steve.
"The portal, you see—" Jane rises to speak, "Even if the energy frequencies resemble that of the Bifrost traces, we're still dealing with a tear in space-time—the wave amplitudes are much higher and unstable. And to properly close it, we'll need to expend a great deal of energy in a very short period of time. And Tony's working on a way to harness that power."
Fury's opaque eye falls to the billionaire, who waves a vague gesture of accordance.
"And when will you be ready?"
"Tomorrow," Tony says flippantly, with clear intent on being a nuisance, "Or later today. Anytime really."
"We want to keep the portal open a awhile longer," Jane is quick to elaborate, "We believe contact with Asgard is possible through the portal, and we would like a few more days to further research it's properties."
"I thought Stark was working on contacting Asgard," the Director frowns, "And he needed the portal closed."
"That was before we realized the energy expenditure required for closing it," Bruce joins the conversation, almost in Jane's defense, to which Tony snorts. "The city's power supply is going to take a massive drop. We're talking about blackouts, for at least two weeks."
"Back up supply will go to hospitals and research facilities, of course," Jane says, "But we won't have much left to reach Asgard with. And that's why we want to try a different approach, first.."
"We don't have much time to indulge in new theories, Dr. Foster." The Director's tone is reprimanding. "That gaping hole into God knows where is an imminent threat to the planet, and I want it closed as soon as possible."
"Well, what about Loki," Bruce calmly reasons, "We need to return him as soon as possible too."
"Contacting Asgard through the portal would be much more direct, if we can manage it," Jane says, "We're not indulging. We have good reason to believe this can actually work."
Fury takes a moment to weigh the options, his one good eye shifting to each person in the room. "And what are your thoughts, Dr. Selvig?"
The old professor, who had otherwise been silent, straightens himself in his seat. "I stand by the words of my colleagues. This decision is unanimous."
A brief moment passes, before the Director speaks again, wary albeit surrendering to the scientist's reasoning. "How much longer do you plan on keeping the portal open?"
"Five days," Jane proposes.
"And if you can't reach Asgard in five days?"
"We'll close the portal to lessen the immediate threat of the Chitauri invasion, and work on returning Loki a different way."
"Closing the portal should buy us more time, correct?" Fury looks at Steve, who nods and feels terribly out of place now that all eyes have fallen to him.
"Thanos can only travel through dimensions when there is already a weak point at the other end, or at least, that's what Loki says." He wonders maybe the god should join them in these status reports. After all, they're all working towards a common goal—as transient as it might be—and Loki's expertise would certainly be more reliable than Steve's second hand knowledge and tentative deductions.
"And Loki. Has his recent behavior suggest any ulterior motives?"
"No," Steve says blandly, although he doubts his words have any weight at all, to convince the others of Loki's authenticity. Even Steve still has his distrusts.
"Five days then," Fury says tight-lipped, "I will place my trust in you—the experts—to resolve this issue as neatly as possible. However, if we do end up with another invasion, I want us prepared. I want the Avengers assembled and ready long before the month mark. Barton and Romanoff will return at the end of the week, and until then, I want continuous updates on communications with Asgard. We're all counting on you, team. And Captain, don't let Loki out of your sight."
And with these parting words, the Director adjourns the meeting, his holographic image flickering before fading into nothingness.
###
Overseeing Loki becomes more or less routine for Steve, with surprisingly little adjustments on the soldier's part. Steve lives an orderly life—seldom in breaking his self-imposed routines—and having Loki around only means he'd have company whenever he eats, which is manageable enough. And during these meals, Steve manages to learn quite a few of the god's preference in food—not just in taste, but in handling and appearance as well. Loki hates messy food, believes it's beneath him to eat with his hands, so sandwiches and burgers are almost always frowned upon. He appears indifferent towards Italian, wary towards Mexican, and more tolerant towards Asian cuisines, the variety of spices vaguely characteristic to certain kinds on Asgard. And much to anyone's surprise, Loki likes sweet things, so dessert will always earn the soldier a few bonus points.
It's the morning of the fourth day since the relocation, and the god had just emerged from his shower, waiting patiently for Steve to finish making breakfast. Loki is always polite during this time, never complains about the quality of Steve's cooking, even though the soldier knows it's nothing special. Although, Loki never voices any gratitude either, or offers any help with preparation or cleaning-up, which makes Steve feel almost as if he's catering to the god, which isn't so bad, considering all other possibilities. This is Loki he's dealing with, and the god could make their arrangement much more difficult if he wished. But for now, the mutual tolerance is pleasant enough, and Steve isn't about to challenge his luck.
He sets a plate down for the god, who makes no haste in claiming. He had been studying the photographs again, quickly shifting his eyes away once Steve had approached. Neither of them say anything while they eat, and Steve suspects that it's no longer fleeting curiosity if the god is still peering at those photos by the fourth day.
The soldier sighs as he sets his fork down, reminding himself that trust is a two-way street. And it's something they should be building towards—trust—even if the notion seems impossible (at least to the fullest extent).
"They're my old team—my friends—from during the war," he says, just as Loki's eyes lock with his, not one emotion apparent in them. Steve shifts to the seat beside the god, perhaps closer in proximity than he intended, feeling the other tensing slightly. He takes the frame off the tabletop and holds it at an angle so that the god has a good view.
"That's Dum Dum, all the way to the left. And Colonel Phillips next to him, my former commanding officer." Steve opens up, and continues with the rest of persons present—Gabe, Jim, Jacques, Montgomery. It wasn't a formal photo by any means—taken whimsically for memento's sake—and it tore at Steve's heart to stare into the eyes of those brave young soldiers, bright-eyed and battle ready and utterly clueless to the travesty to come. The photo was taken a few days before their deployment to the Alps, before—"And that's Bucky, next to me, there. He was my best friend, my only friend, for a long time."
Loki had done proper research during his first visit to the planet, was well aware of Bruce's anger, Tony's pride, Clint and Natasha's intimate relationship. And surely, he would have discovered the fate of Bucky Barnes in his investigation of Captain America, the soldier out of time. Although Loki never used Steve's tragedies against him—never had the opportunity, or perhaps the need—but Steve tells himself that it's okay, to talk about this. He's entitled to his vulnerabilities, just like everyone else. And strength isn't about hiding your weaknesses, but recognizing them for what they are, inside and out, so no one can twist your fears into anything more. So Steve lays himself bare like he always have done, fully conscious of the risks but unwilling to settle for anything less than what he had always believed in.
Loki offers neither sympathy nor scorn, and Steve isn't sure what he should have expected, if he should expected anything at all from either of the two extremes.
"And Peggy," he speaks with finality, his thumb inadvertently smoothing over where the beautiful officer stands. "She was—a good friend. They all were."
Loki sits beside him in silence, hands folded and expression unreadable, although Steve can detect a hint of unease because, after all, it's not like Loki asked Steve to share any of this. The silence between them hangs heavily, and Steve grimaces, wondering perhaps the gesture isn't as brilliant as he had thought.
"They were some of the bravest people I know." He returns the frame to the table, before sinking back into his seat. "And waking up after all those years, and realizing that they're gone, that was the hardest part."
"Sometimes, I'd think to myself, if I were given the option to go back to my own time, would I do it?" He continues after receiving nothing from Loki still. "But then I realize how pointless it is to dwell on things I can't hope to change. My team was like my family, and I think about them, and miss them every single day, but it doesn't mean I can overlook the fact that I was given a second chance, that I'm alive when everyone thought I had died. Not many—mortals, at least—get to live as long as I have, and it took me awhile to realize, but I have a purpose here, too. The lives of this time are just as important, and heroes are still needed to protect them, maybe even more so given the circumstances. So maybe it's good—that I'm here."
"How very noble of you, Captain," Loki speaks for the first time, and Steve feels almost surprised, at the reminder that he indeed has an audience. Loki's tone is flat, although the stiffness of certain syllables suggests a hint of insincerity, and Steve wonders whether he had been too self-indulging. Perhaps, he should have spoke of something that the god could more readily contribute to, or find easier to relate to—although losing everything you could possibly hold dear seems more than relatable, in retrospect, than anything. Maybe too relatable.
Steve remembers waking up in the 21st century to the broadcast of a baseball game he had already attended, and learning from Fury that all his friends were gone. For a long time, he wished he were still in the ice, and maybe Loki had thought something similar after his fall. Did he know that he was going to survive?
Steve wants to ask, but no words would come out, although something must have shown on his face, because the god frowns viciously as if reading the soldier's mind, and naturally misinterpreting his intentions.
"I know not what you wish to gain," Loki says tautly, lips twisting, "But this is by no means a bargain. Do not expect disclosure on my part, simply because you felt needlessly compelled to share your secrets."
"They're hardly secrets," Steve defends, feeling slightly betrayed, "You knew already, practically everyone does. Look, I'm not trying to trick you into spilling anything you don't want to—"
"I never asked," came the icy response, and Steve feels something snap inside. It took an effort to remain composed.
"I know you didn't ask," he says through gritted teeth, "But you've been staring at those photos for the past four days, and I just figured that maybe—you wanted to know something about them, about me. And I don't mind telling you because, like I said, they're not secrets. There is nothing to hide or to be ashamed of. I meant everything I said, and it wasn't just to—"
He breaks off with a frustrated groan, before sagging into his seat in defeat. Loki is still looking at him with that air of obstinacy, as if everything Steve is claiming is completely unfounded.
"Maybe I was reading too much into something I—" he says, feeling rightfully foolish, "—Just forget it, alright? Maybe we can—"
"Peggy Carter," Loki speaks suddenly, "She was your betrothed."
Steve halts as if someone had pulled the switch, and for a moment, he simply gapes at the other man. He supposes this is Loki's way of deeming the conversation topic suddenly acceptable, but something is still not quite…right.
"No, not exactly," he manages, and looks at the photos fleetingly, wondering how much the god would know of Peggy, when the nature of their relationship is so difficult even for himself to characterize—brief but profoundly significant, sharing only one kiss.
He returns his attention to Loki just in time to catch a ghost of a smile, and Steve finally realizes the severity of the trap he had constructed for himself. His personal life, and all aspects of it including the rare romantic encounters, are suddenly fair game—that is, if he wants to preserve any of the previous points he had so sanctimoniously declared only minutes before.
"But she was your lover," Loki says wryly, smiling openly now, almost cat-like in playful cruelty. Steve looks at him sternly, almost wanting to caution the god with his choice in words henceforth, since the soldier is still his only ticket to basic necessities, like food. Although he doubts that he would ever starve Loki just for a few scathing taunts.
"No," he frowns, discomfort clearly evident, although Loki makes no suggestion of backing away. "But I could have loved her."
Steve sighs, a corner of his lips lifting to a sideward smile, knowing that he can be nothing but honest. "We were supposed to meet up for a date, although I ended up being 70 years too late. She returned to the UK, got married, had children, grandchildren. She lived a happy life, from what I heard, which is good. She deserved it."
Loki frowns slightly, as if the sadness and sincerity in Steve's response rendered any teasing too inappropriate, even for the god (or at least, Steve hopes). But regardless of his reasons, Loki holds his tongue, and seems willing to drop the subject of Peggy all together. "Who is your betrothed, now?"
"No one," Steve says stiffly, and winces. "Here on Earth, at least, usually you meet someone first, go on dates—the movies, dinner—get to know them first, before you become—well, engaged."
"Fine," Loki accepts the clarification, although makes no effort in actually using the word engaged in lieu of betrothed, "Do you have—oh, how would you Midgardians call it—a girlfriend?"
"No."
"And why not?" Loki grins, and Steve wonders if the god actually plans these mind games or just improvises as he goes, because they all seem to fall perfectly into place in the end. Steve wouldn't be surprised at either.
"I just haven't met anyone yet," the soldier mumbles a little, feeling self-conscious and woefully stupid.
"But surely, there are plenty of fair maidens keen on dining with Captain America."
Steve allows himself a smile. Loki is teasing him, although not unkindly, and he decides his lack of romantic interests (and whatever insecurities they might entail) is nothing compared to losing Bucky, Peggy, and the rest of the team—if Loki is planning to use any of this against him later on. Steve has always been cautious with his heart, and it's not a weakness easily exploited, and hopefully, not even for Loki—despite these recent turn of events.
"Well, maybe that's the problem. They'd want to meet Captain America, and without the suit, I'm just Steve Rogers."
"Steve Rogers," Loki repeats almost methodically, and the strangeness of his name on the god's tongue is astounding. Steve inwardly grimaces at the incongruity of his claim, considering he hasn't worn his suit at all since Loki's arrival, and not once had he insisted the god to call him Steve. But in his defense, Loki is a prisoner here (despite the home-made meals, and book discussions, and what-not), and perhaps, the title is warranted. And if Loki had a title that was more colloquial than God of Mischief or Prince of Asgard, then Steve would gladly have refrained from using first names.
"And I'm not sure if I can live up to all their expectations," the soldier continues with a shrug, "I can't be Captain America all the time."
A brief moment passes amidst this strange heart-to-heart, and Loki speaks just as Steve is growing twitchy. "Your self-doubt is unwarranted." The vacancy in his expression and flatness of his voice made it sound more like a reprimand than a reassurance.
And Steve, in turn, is effectively thrown off. "I guess it's because I hadn't always been like this, physically. Before the serum, no one even looked at me twice, let alone expected me to save the world. And having been on both ends of this spectrum, I know how important it is to find someone who likes me—for me—and not just—"
"Your self-pity is also unwarranted." Loki's tone is undoubtedly sardonic this time, and Steve actually laughs. He supposes there really is no point in bemoaning his fate, when he is blessed with the power to make a difference in the world, to be a protector. In fact, he should be infinitely grateful.
"Well, thanks for the pep-talk," Steve says, grinning, although the god hardly seems to share his amusement. Maybe Loki doesn't understand because he was born into privilege, or maybe he understood too well since it had all been torn away. But either way, the god wants to hear none of it, and despite his aloof demeanor, his words can be loosely interpreted as encouraging, which is a consolation on its own. "I—You don't have to say anything if you don't want to—but what about you? Anyone that you might—"
"No," Loki says tersely, in nonchalance, and Steve supposes he should feel lucky that he got a response at all. Asking 'why not' seemed too cruel, because as beautiful as Loki is, would there be anyone in Asgard who could accept a fallen prince, a traitor, a murderer. Steve firmly grounds himself with this grim reminder, and tells himself that his pseudo-friendship—or whatever—doesn't make up for anything. Maybe Loki isn't some irredeemable monster, but he is still a condemned man.
He regrets returning question, but what else was he supposed to follow up with. He thinks about dropping the subject altogether, but the timing is too awkward to flow into another line of thought. And he can't always divert their attention to food whenever the issue gets touchy.
Loki must have suspected something of similar sort, and opts to elaborate, more out of obligation than anything. "I am aware of the Midgrdian myths, which claim that I am father to several children, one of them the eight-legged horse Sleipnir, whom I personally birthed."
"Well, yeah." Steve ducks his head and tries not to appear flustered, remembering the time he had discovered these facts with Tony and Clint, inevitably leading to crude jokes and immaturity.
"None of it is true. The beast had been a product of my mind and magic, created as a tribute on the anniversary of the king. The myths passed to Midgard are nothing but fabrications made by a few of Thor's friends, a childish reprisal in our long lasting feud. And of course, Midgardians are known for their gullible acceptance of even the most outrageous tales told of their gods. However, I, of course, retaliated in a much more noble fashion."
Steve frowns, realizing that these rumors are nothing short of pranks made by cruel school children. And to imagine a young Loki bullied—He wonders how old Loki had been at that time. Teens maybe, paralleling Steve's high school years? God, high school was awful.
"What did you do?"
"I cursed them with a spell which removed every strand of hair from their follicles, from head to toe," Loki grins wickedly, "And naturally, Thor was foolish enough to catch himself in the cross-fire, an inadvertent victim in my justified vengeance."
Steve arches his brows at the god, in a mixture of amusement and sheer disbelief. Something about this prank felt impeccably Loki—although harmless and without actual malice, the act comically shocking, and publically humiliating to boot. This seems like the Loki that Steve can grow fond of—no cruelty, just mischief, sharp laughter, and glimmering green eyes. A part of him wants to believe that it's still true, although the rational part of him reprimands for such naïve, useless thinking.
"All the hair, you said?"
"Every single strand. From head, to face, to…other places." The god trails off, reminiscing almost proudly at his handiwork, "As hairless as the day they were born."
"But that wasn't nice. Cursing Thor too."
"The blundering oaf got himself in the way. Stupidity is punishable by death in certain cultures, and he has no one to blame but himself."
"Well, I'm glad it grew back," Steve laughs, "He wouldn't seem like much of a Thunder god, otherwise."
"Permanent results would have profited a much more severe punishment, on my part." Loki calmly responds, "I decided to cut my losses."
For once, a brief moment of comfortable silence ensues, before Steve builds the audacity to say what's on his mind. "You tell great stories, you know?"
He half-expects the god to twist his compliment into something uglier, but Loki doesn't. He turns away as if something else in the room has caught his attention—and smiles, shyly, and so masterfully discreet that Steve almost misses it. And in the blink of an eye, it's gone.
Again, thank you so much for reading/being patient/being awesome! Please leave a review, and stay tuned! :)