Chapter 20: The Lone Star
I am SO sorry about the delay. These past three weeks had not been kind, work-load wise and health-wise now that the semester and fall (my allergies) has started.
Oh, I have a feeling you're going to hate me for this chapter, but if it's any consolation, the next chapter will not take nearly as long. Everything's planned already, so all I need is a little time off from school to finish it up.
Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. You guys have been one of my greatest motivations to finish this over 50k piece of fic :')
"You see that over there? The brightest star seen from Earth."
"Then, why is the moving cluster brighter?"
"Well, that's an airplane, so it doesn't count."
Loki wrinkles his nose delicately, unimpressed by the stunning skyline of the city that never sleeps, gleaming fantastically against the waters of the bay. And Steve can only imagine how Asgard must dwarf New York in comparison—richer, grander, the golden realm of eternal.
The sit side-by-side, backs against the wall, on the otherwise barren roof of Avengers Tower. Loki is hugging his knees, toying absently with the chains binding his wrists. The early autumn air is cool against their skin, and Loki's raven hair moves wispily with the breeze, falling over his eyes. Steve fights the impulse to smooth a rebellious lock behind the god's ear, so instead, he says, "You could've seen a lot more stars back in my time, when everything weren't so bright here on the ground."
Loki hums noncommittally as he rests his chin on his knee, eyes half-lidded.
"What about on Asgard?" the soldier continues, "Do you look at stars?"
"Not within the walls of the kingdom, but outside, it is possible."
"Well, I'm not sure about where you're from—" Steve shifts along the wall until he is half leaning, and half lying down. He can feel Loki's eyes bearing down on him. "—But here on Earth, stars have names, stories."
"You name your stars," the god rather flatly remarks.
"They were named thousands of years ago, by people who saw them as gods and heroes in their myths."
"Is there one named after me, then?" Loki lofts a brow, and Steve shakes his head and laughs, suspecting that the god's inquiry had only been partially in jest.
"Maybe if you had visited the Ancient Greeks. But then again, they were way before your time, I think. You missed them by 1000 years, probably more."
Loki frowns a little but says nothing else otherwise; mind too occupied for idle attempts at pleasantries. Steve wonders if he's selfish for wishing that the god would tear away from his troubles for tonight at least, considering it might well be his last night on Earth. But then again, maybe Steve is the only one who holds these final hours to anything significant.
"Although nowadays," the soldier adds, "New stars are being discovered all the time, so technically, you could still have one named after you, if you want."
That manages to draw a smile from the god—albeit a small one. "So it is a business?"
"Yeah, something along those lines."
Loki leans back into the wall and rests his head, eyes locked to the lone star. "What is the name of that one?"
"Sirius, the dog star."
"It is a dog?"
"Well, it's part of a constellation with other stars," Steve explains, "And if you connect the them, they're meant to give the appearance of a dog—of course, it requires a little imagination."
"Why is this dog so significant to warrant a place in the stars?"
"Because legend has it, Sirius is the dog of the great huntsman Orion." Steve closes his eyes as he speaks, recalling from the depth of his memories the stories he had once read as a child, a lifetime ago, but long forgotten since. "And after the huntsman died and ascended to the heavens, Sirius searched endlessly for him, until the gods took pity and placed the dog among the stars as well, at the foot of his master."
"Pity." Loki states with a furl on his lips.
"Loyalty. Bravery." Steve insists, "And others who recognized it."
"So will the humans place you among the stars, after your death?" Loki smiles wryly, teasing-almost, and Steve laughs.
"We don't do that anymore, and even if you do name a star after someone, it's usually for loved ones—girlfriends, mothers, loved ones—as a gift, or a little something, out of appreciation."
"I see," Loki says, his previously open expression clouding—evident enough for Steve to catch, but too vague to confidently interpret. Perhaps Loki is missing home—or at least the home before his fall, and losing everything.
And in a way, Steve is too.
"My mother had been a very down-to-earth type of woman, very pragmatic," Steve says, "She wouldn't have wanted stars named after her or anything like that."
Loki appears somewhat perplexed at the abrupt turn in the conversation, but voices none of his concerns.
"My mom was a nurse during the First Great War, so she'd been through quite a lot. I guess I was lucky that she was a nurse because—Well, I'm sure you already know that I haven't always been like this—"
He gestures vaguely in the direction of his torso, and the god nods faintly in response.
"I was the skinniest kid in school. Weighed even less than some of the girls, but that never stopped me from getting into fights. I'd go home all bloody and battered, and my mom—we'd argue every time. And she'd tell me to mind my own business, that there's no point in getting into fights I can't win, or trying to protect people when I can't even protect myself."
Steve pauses to gather his thoughts. The last person he had mentioned any of this to was Bucky—before the serum, before the war—and it feels strangely liberating to cast it into the void, to willing ears.
"She got sick not long after though, and she was dying. It was the only time I had ever seen her cry, and it was all because of me. Because I'd be all alone, and she was sorry, as if it's her fault. She didn't make me promise to stay out of fights, because she knew I could never keep it, but she did tell me to be smart, to look out for myself and—I don't know. She would've never forgiven me for enlisting in the army, for taking the serum—the way I was back then—but now, I'd like to think, that we're on good terms. That I made the right decisions, and I—"
"Whether by fate or fortune, you are a hero to Earth, are you not?" Loki briskly responds, "What more could she wish for?"
Steve ducks his head and smothers a smile, suddenly remembering whom he's speaking with and almost embarrassed by the unwarranted outpour. "I guess there really wasn't a point—because that's what mothers do, right? Put up with you no matter what."
Loki responds with an absent nod.
"Maybe it's more difficult for fathers." Steve carelessly adds, and the god's contorting expression is all the soldier needs to amend for his mistake, quickly redirecting his previous comment to himself. "I mean, I wouldn't know. I've never met my father. He died during the war and—I've always looked up to him, I guess. I wanted to be brave like him.
"To die a soldier's death." Loki's lips twist bitterly, and Steve can tell that the god is unsettled, and in effect lashing out.
So he takes none of it to heart, and patiently corrects, "No, to fight for my country, to protect others and do my job. That's my purpose."
"And what is a soldier then, without war?" Loki all but sneers.
"The same as he has always been," Steve responds resolutely, "A good man."
The god frowns and shifts closer, eyes flickering dangerously, "Tell me Captain, in this deceptive period of peace, do you miss the chaos of war?"
Steve swallows thickly and props himself to sit, so that the god is no longer towering over him, menacing. "No, I only fight when there is a reason to. I don't condone war."
"So what is your purpose now?"
"I don't know," Steve can honestly admit, "But it's alright. I have plenty of things I want to do, even if they're not particularly grand. I had slept through the past 70 years, and there's a lot of catching up to do. And I'd choose this life over war, any day."
"And here I thought you were the model poster boy." Loki's lips curve to a half grin, distancing himself.
"In a way, I was," Steve sighs and remembers the autographs, the fake photo smiles, and dancing girls on star-spangled stages. It didn't seem right then, and by now, he actually feels ashamed. But then he remembers Peggy's supportive smile, the waltzing light in her eyes, and thinks how naïve they must have been. Sure, they won the war, but it certainly didn't feel like a victory when you count the losses.
Loki looks at him intently, and Steve realizes he never even finished his thought.
"But I guess, there's a lot you don't realize until you've actually fought in a war," he continues, resting his head against cinderblock, "You don't realize you're mortal until you're injured, or the notion of sacrifice until your best friend dies. And you don't realize how pointless it all had been until after the fact."
"And maybe that's why I like Hemingway," Steve turns to Loki with a small smile, although the god remains more-or-less impassive, "Because he writes about war and people the way they are—doesn't sugarcoat or glorify them like picture books. He praises bravery, but not war, and recognizes how unfair it is, that politicians speak while soldiers die. I'm not saying I agree with everything he believes in—regarding drinking, or women, or any of his nihilism—but above all else, he's honest in his writing. And I guess I appreciate that."
Loki rests his chin against his knees, eyes pensive. "I suppose that is something our cultures have in common, teach misconceptions of war to children," he speaks, his voice barely a whisper. And Steve feels slightly strange, hearing these sentiments from Loki, who only a year ago, had carelessly brought mayhem to a planet who had never done him any harm. It's hard to believe that the Loki before is the same as the summer before, and a part of Steve wishes they weren't.
"I—Can I ask you something?" The soldier says after a stretch of heavy silence.
"I cannot stop you from doing so."
"Are you doing all of this—willingly going back to fight for Asgard—for your mom?"
Loki briefly assesses him, wary but not particularly scandalized by the inquiry. "I have already told you, my magic is locked, and only Odin holds the key. I am fighting for my freedom."
"But does she play any part in your decisions, even in the slightest." Steve gently prods, and Loki's tolerance visibly begins to quiver.
"Why should that matter?"
"I'm just curious, I guess. You're not exactly on good terms with Odin or Thor, I know that, but—you've never said anything bad about your mother."
Loki stares at him for another long minute, and speak with resolute calmness, just as the soldier begins to feel twitchy. "She has not done me any wrong. The grudge I hold for Asgard does not apply to her."
"Is she the only one?"
"Yes."
Steve runs his hand through the front of his hair, cherishing this vital piece of information. He knows he should probably steer the conversation to less dangerous waters, but that would be neither honest nor brave.
"Are you really leaving tomorrow?" he asks instead, and Loki once again appears perplexed.
"If communication is successful, the arrangements should be made immediately. What is wrong, Captain? You do wish me to leave, for the safety of your planet."
"Yes—no," Steve feels his words catching in his throat, "I mean, if its just you—no Chitauri, no invasions, no people dying—Just you, like how you've been for the past few weeks. Then no, I don't mind that you're here."
Steve wonders miserably if he managed to make any sense at all, and even though the god doesn't ridicule him (or display any readable expression), he doubts that Loki understood what he had been trying to say.
"It will never be just like this," came the polite, albeit distant reply.
"What do you mean?"
"This will not happen again."
"Well regardless, I wouldn't mind," the soldier heaves a heavy sigh, "And once you do leave, will you be alright in Asgard, in the war?
"I cannot be the judge of that."
"But if it works out—after everything—can you in any way, tell me?"
Loki turns to him with furrowed, brows mouth twisting with a hint of frustration. "Why should you care?"
"Is it hard to believe that I do?" Steve responds demurely like a silent plea, and Loki falls silent again, turning away, realizing that neither of them is answering each other's questions.
"Loki, look—" Steve shifts across and grabs Loki by the shoulder, urging him to turn around. He wants the god to promise—for what it's worth—to at least make an attempt to get a message through to Earth after the war, even if he has to swallow some pride and ask Thor. But before the soldier can get any of this out, Loki leans into him as he turns around, and suddenly they're close, too close, that all thoughts are instantly obliterated. Loki casts his eyes downward somewhere to the vicinity of Steve's mouth, and Steve knows it's not too late, that he can still pull pack if he wanted to. But he doesn't, and they stay like that for such a long time, much longer for mere assurances.
Loki closes the gap between them, and Steve watches as the god's eyes flutter shut. Their lips meet in a tentative press, and Steve can feel the god's wary breaths against his. Loki kisses him and Steve allows it, mind simultaneously panicked and drawing a blank.
This is wrong, Steve thinks, this is unbelievably wrong, but at the same time, he does nothing to stop it.
And Loki is kissing him like he really needs it—no tongue, just soft presses and nips, almost like an apology. Steve feels cold fingers threading into his hair, and he lifts his hand, wanting to hold Loki by the waist and pull him closer.
But then he remembers the war in Manhattan, the blood stains on the pavement, and memorials for young mothers and crying children. He thinks of the destruction and injustice, the arrogance of gods, and innocent people who paid with their lives. He thinks of the Avengers, Fury's taunts—they're careless people, and they will never learn. And could this all still be a trick, that Loki is simply using him after—everything? Or maybe it's the other way around—Fury's ploy—and Steve refuses to be the leash that holds the monster. And regardless of whether these feelings are true, he morals still stand strong. And this is wrong, undoubtedly so, because Loki is a criminal—a victim—under the Avenger's surveillance—Steve's care—and either way, either extremes, Steve knows he can't. He just can't—
"No, Loki," he whispers, everything halts in that instant, and by the time he opens his eyes, Loki is already gone. Steve stays on the roof for a long time afterwards, eyes fixed upon the long star. He feels like the worst kind of person imaginable right now.
###
"Jarvis, where's Loki?" Steve asks the AI as he descends the steps to the balcony, heading inside. He should've never left Loki alone in the tower for so long but had decided against seeking out the god himself, fearing repercussions.
"In your guest room, Captain," came the impassive response.
"What is he doing?"
"Nothing in particular, sir."
"Is he sleeping?"
"No, sir."
Steve enters his living quarters and sees the faint glow of light coming behind Loki's closed door. He contemplates on knocking but soon finds the fatigue in his bones overwhelming. The evening had felt so elongated, so dream-like, that Steve can hardly believe it had been real. And the soldier eventually decides that perhaps, it would not be the best to confront the god on the same night. He needs more time to think, to convince himself of the gravity and reality of the situation, and maybe then, he'd know what to say. So Steve returns to his room and shuts the light, all the while ignoring the tangling knot in the pit of his stomach.
Thank you so much for reading this far! You guys have been wonderful, and again, sorry for the wait!