"Love me when I least deserve it because that is when I really need it."

–Swedish Proverb

Loki didn't look up when Freyja called him, he couldn't find the strength to do so. He had wanted to speak to her, going so far as to risk using mental projection but had found her chambers empty. When he had finally found her, he saw her dancing with the super-soldier. He had watched as she laughed with him and her eyes lit up the way they did when she was in good company. And despite having to walk away, he had followed them through the city.

He supposed he shouldn't feel envious, as he knew that Freyja would in no way betray him, but he couldn't help it. He wanted nothing more than to take her back to Asgard and make her eyes light up with happiness as they did when she was with the soldier. Then he wondered if maybe he should encourage her to pursue the soldier. He was a monster, after all, and she deserved better. And yet the anger he felt towards the Midgardian did not allow him to linger over such thoughts.

It was only when the man had taken her by the arm, in the way Loki had done so many times before, that his anger subsided to leave only sorrow. What if she truly did fancy the soldier who shared so many of her ideals? He couldn't bear the thought. Wondering what she saw in himself, Loki had pulled away the Æsir illusion that he always wore, that had become almost a part of him now. He hadn't expected her to walk in as he was still in Jötunn form.

"Loki," she called again, reaching for him.

He slid his chair further into the corner, deeper into the shadows, to avoid her touch, "Will you tell me the entire truth? Sparing my emotions?"

"What are you speaking of?"

"I saw you…and the soldier…and I want to know why," he said softly.

"Why what?" she asked, her voice softer than he had expected. "There is nothing to explain."

"I know you saw me watching you. What were you doing in such a place?"

"Tony decided to throw a going-away party as this is my last night on Midgard. He invited the rest of the Avengers and any friends who were willing to come. We had a good time."

"I could tell," he answered bitterly.

"Loki, it was no different than when you, Thor, Sif, the Warriors Three, and I went to the tavern on the outskirts of Asgard. It was nothing serious."

"The soldier seemed to think otherwise."

"Steve was simply being a gentleman. Can I not enjoy the night with a friend?"

"You were dancing with him, Freyja, laughing with him."

She threw her hands in the air exasperatedly, "Are you aware of just how many times I have danced or laughed with someone other than you? Are you telling me that you are jealous of every person who gives me the slightest amount of momentary happiness?"

He shook his head, giving a wan smile, "I am envious of the very sunlight that shines down on you. You truly have no idea what effect you have upon me, let alone upon others."

"And what, pray tell, is that?"

"You draw people in, bring out the most in them. People crave your very presence in the room. Are you aware of how much each one deserves you more than I do?"

"Loki, this isn't about who is the more deserving in my life. It is about who I choose."

He chuckled darkly, "Yes, the discarded Prince of Jötunheim is who holds your favor. I am not naïve, Freyja. I know you too well to believe the half-truths you tell yourself. You look at me and you despise my actions, I can see it in your eyes."

"You were under Thanos's influence," she said harshly. "No one would have been able to fight against what power he was wielding."

"But I was not under his control when I led the Jötunns into Asgard, when I turned the power of the Bifrost onto their homeworld."

She flinched, "Why are you doing this?"

He watched her sadly as he said, "Because you need to stop deceiving yourself. You need to look at the truth of the matter and decide whether you truly want to associate yourself with me after all I've done."

"Odin made the path you walked with his own deceptions and mistakes," she said, her eyes on the ground as she clenched her fingers at her sides. "He tried to use you and so paid for his own folly."

"Freyja…"

"You have killed no more than I have!"

That silenced him, the words he had been prepared to say died on his lips as he met her gaze. There was a sort of silent horror in her blues eyes, one he had mistaken before as directed towards his actions, and he realized that there was something she had been keeping from him. She looked away under his scrutiny as though wishing she had not allowed such a thing to slip out.

"Freyja…I remember the hunt Thor dragged you on when we were young. The only time you actually shot something was when you killed the elk Thor had wounded, and that was out of mercy. You're not a killer."

She met his gaze for a single instant, grief mingling with the shame, and then she turned towards the nightstand beside the bed. Pulling what looked like two golden bands from the drawer, she tossed them in his direction with a small incantation to keep them floating in midair. Loki stood up to get a better look at them and, as he couldn't touch them while only projection, walked around them.

They were obviously Dwarven-made, with patterns of silver vines and roses pressed into the surface. Vanadis was carved into the surface of one and Stigand into the other. Both were titles, he knew, and she had to have received them after she left Asgard. But it was the inside of each that caught his eye. There were rows and rows of lines, smooth and precise in a way that could only mean they had been created by magic, that nearly covered the entire inside surfaces of both armlets. There was something familiar about the marks, as though he had seen them before.

Then he remembered Brokk and Sindri. He remembered watching them prepare the forge after making the bet, remembered them rolling up their sleeves to reveal scars in the same pattern. It had caught his attention, as Ivaldi and his sons had never had such scars, and he had been horrified by the reason behind them. But these were more than the brothers had sported, more than Loki could count at the time.

"What have you done, love?"

The words were barely louder than a breath, but he could see Freyja flinch at them. She sat down on the edge of the bed, not bothering to meet his eyes, as she spoke.

"Thanos knows the beliefs of my people, knows our religion and our vows, and he also knows that I can't bear the sight of others suffering," she said, her voice harsh and cold. "Every time he gets close to where I am, he does what he can to draw me out. I have watched him bathe the starways with the blood of the innocent all because he wants my attention. And I have let him, justified my inaction by thinking that a few hundred lives are not worth billions.

"But I have kept them with me. I never allow myself to forget their sacrifice, for they remind me of what I can protect and what I cannot. The truth, however, is something I push away for I cannot bear to think of it. I could stop them if I wanted. I could have stopped them long ago."

Loki shook his head, walking towards her, "You are powerful, love, but you and I both know you could not defeat Thanos on your own."

"But I could stop it," she hissed, and Loki nearly missed the fact that she was crying. "I could stop it, I've known I could for so long, but I am not brave enough to do so. I cannot face my own-"

Her words broke off, a strangled sort of sound escaping her lips, and Loki realized what was happening. He had seen such a thing before, back when they had been children. It was an anomaly that only occurred when she tried to speak of something which she had vowed never to repeat. There were secrets she kept, she had told him that time, which she could not speak of unless it was entirely unavoidable.

He reached for her, but his fingertips slipped through her shoulder and his projection wavered. Her body shook as she sobbed, unable to speak freely and explain, and Loki felt helpless to help her.

"I wish I could say," she managed to say. "I wish I could tell you, if only to feel less alone, but I cannot. Not yet. Perhaps not at all."

Loki sat down as best he could on the bed next to her, wondering once again if he would ever know exactly what Njord had demanded of Freyja. It was no secret to Loki and his family that the Vanaheim king had been quite cruel to his daughter, though they rarely brought it up, but he was never sure just how far Njord had gone.

He remembered the time they had learned that Freyja didn't respond to pain. It had been one of the rare moments when Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three had managed to drag him out onto the training field. She had gotten too close just as Thor had been getting angry at Loki's illusions, had been in exactly the wrong place when Thor had brought his mace back, and Loki could still hear the sharp crack as the metal shattered the bones of her wrist and forearm. Blood had run down her pale skin, but she had stopped Thor from seriously injuring Loki in a rage.

It had been then, as she had held back the eldest prince of Asgard with her radial bone visible and blood staining her tunic, that they had begun to realize why Freyja had left Vanaheim. It was common knowledge that the Vanir were the weakest species physically among the Nine, but she hadn't so much as flinched at the impact of the mace. It had taken months afterwards, after a lot of uncomfortable trials and many trips to the Healing Room, for her to finally begin to respond to pain as any other person would.

But Njord had been dead for millennia, his life snuffed out with the destruction of Vanaheim, and yet he was still tormenting Freyja somehow. It hurt Loki to think that she was still facing things which he could never know and there was nothing he could do to help. He could not even comfort her, confined lightyears away in the prisons beneath Asgard for an indefinite amount of time.

"Freyja," he began softly. "I don't know what it is that you believe you could do to stop this, but believe me when I say that if there is a reason why you have not done so already, it cannot possibly be because you are a coward. You are the bravest person I have ever known."

When she didn't respond, her expression hidden behind messy waves of crimson curls, he continued on.

"And it isn't just myself who thinks so. Fenrir told me once, not long after you had left, that he wanted to be as brave and strong as you. Even Hela thought so, often telling me that she would remember the confidence you held in your actions – even if others looked upon them with disdain. Jormungand was no different. Norns, they idolized you after you were gone."

"What happened to them?" Freyja asked suddenly, her voice still soft and shaking. "After I had gone?"

Loki smiled, knowing she was trying to cling to the distraction in order to feel better. If he thought of his initial reason for speaking to her, he pushed it aside, for it could wait until a better time. Their fate was still unknown. If they ever got to that bridge, they would cross or burn it at that time. But not now. Not yet.

"They grieved at first, as we all did," he told her. "But then they began to think more on the times you had helped them rather than how you had gone. Jormungand threw himself into his studies when he became a sorcerer, became as good with magic as any Vanir. Fenrir dabbled a bit, but he focused more on diplomacy and politics, even traveled the Realms when he came of age. He's in Alfheim last I saw him, living with his wife and son."

"Fenrir's married?"

He nodded, "I was just as shocked when he brought Haelga to Asgard for the announcement. Odin looked furious, but Thor and Mother were supportive. Jormungand and Hela have yet to find anyone, unfortunately, but they are absolutely smitten with the nephew. His name is Feilan. And he's a little musician. Give him an instrument he has never seen before and, within five minutes, he will play it as though he's done so for years."

"And Hela? Not still having trouble, is she?"

"Not as much," Loki conceded. "She still gets an occasional problem, but that is my fault. The people are not exactly forgiving towards me. She was most affected by your disappearance, as you were the closest thing she had to a mother. The twins, they knew Angrboda, but not Hela.

"She took everything you taught her to heart. Every belief of compassion and mercy was one she accepted and, after a time, the people began to see past her…physical differences. Had Odin still given out titles at the time, I believe she would have become something along the lines of the goddess of empathy."

"Odin was not giving out titles?"

Loki shook his head, "He never did explain why he stopped. After Vanaheim was destroyed, he simply ceased to do so. Jormungand and Fenrir didn't take it quite as poorly as she did."

"Poor Hela," Freyja said, and Loki realized she sounded a bit more composed. "I wish I could have returned…"

"I understand why you couldn't, so I'm certain she will understand, as well."

Freyja finally looked up at him, her lips tugging into a half-smile, "Have I ever told you that you always seem to know exactly what to say?"

"You might have, but I can't remember. Regardless, it doesn't hurt to hear it again," he said with a smirk. "What else have you not told me?"

"I haven't told you how much I want you to stay here with me," she teased, kicking the shoes off her feet and onto the floor.

A smirk crept across his face, despite his mood, "Really?"

"Will you?" she asked, blue eyes searching his imploringly.

He placed his hand as close to the top of hers as he could without ruining his projection, willing his Asgardian form back into place, "Of course."

She frowned at that, looking down at his hand on hers, "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

She pressed her hand carefully to the side of his face and, even all the way in his prison cell, Loki could have sworn he could feel the warmth of her touch despite the illusion.

"Please don't feel as though you need to hide yourself," she said, her voice so solemn that it almost hurt. "Regardless of what Asgard believes, your skin does not define who you are. You are beautiful no matter what skin you wear."

Shaking his head, Loki gave a soft laugh, "Vanir. Only your people would find Jötunns to be beautiful."

"Only the Æsir would find anyone to be ugly because of their skin color," she countered, slipping her legs onto the bed so that she could lie down.

Sliding down beside her on the mattress, Loki allowed himself to slip back into his Jötunn form. It was, admittedly, more comfortable. It was almost as though he had a continuous mild discomfort when in Æsir form that slipped away as he dropped the façade. And Freyja didn't flinch at the sight of his blue skin, unlike Thor had the first time.

"How long would you like me to stay?" he whispered, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She shrugged, her own eyes closed, as she replied, "As long as you would like. Until dawn, if you wish, but know that I am leaving shortly afterward."

He nodded in understanding, beginning to hum a Vaniric tune that he had heard long ago. She smiled at the sound, a gesture which he almost missed, but made no sound other than to give a contented sigh. He continued to watch her, memorizing everything he could: the way her hair coiled into loose ringlets, the gentle line of her cheekbone, the slope of her eyes, the way her lashes fanned across the edge of her cheeks, and the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. If only he could actually be there, he thought idly. He would envelope her in his arms, pulling her close until her skin almost burned against his, and bury his face in her silken tresses if only to catch the faintest hint of wildflowers and the sea that always seemed to linger around her.

"Loki?" she whispered, shattering his thoughts.

"Yes?"

"I love you. No matter what happens in the future, know that I am eternally yours," she whispered, her words turning melodic as she spoke in her native language. "Whether the threads of time rend apart or the Nine Realms collapse, never forget that you will always have me."

"I won't," he murmured in reply, reverting to Vaniric, as well. "And know that I am eternally yours in return. Regardless of what may come."

"If you insist, I suppose I cannot refuse," she teased, an amused grin playing across he lips.

He chuckled, but said no more, allowing her to drift into sleep. Occasionally, he would shift her memories so that she would sleep peacefully for the night. He wondered idly if there was an incantation that could stop time. Although he knew there was not one, he wanted nothing more than to freeze the moment and spend eternity peacefully with the woman he loved by his side. But he knew that was impossible. He would simply have to hope for the best and pray that their luck would turn, allowing her to come back to him.