I combined this chapter with the planned next chapter because I am starting to fear that I was boring all of you with my long fluff/whump rants, so have a long chapter of aflaksjdf;laf what. Anyway, much longer chapter because of reasons, consider it an early Thanksgiving gift full of indulgence and binging.
Makes up for the fact that the next chapter will be seriously the strangest crack I've ever written for the Avengers. Take me away from the computer, someone.
On another note, check out my new AO3 story seen never before by either FFnet or Tumblr. Yeah, I think when I stay up to write, things get a little crazy in my head.
Also, Joe Hisaishi's compositions are the best things to listen to when you want to write for a lot of feels. That, and occasionally Coldplay. Mmm, yes.
To my American readers: Have a happy Thanksgiving!
It took Loki a while to realize that he was breathing.
Each breath felt heavy against his ribs and took him much time to draw in air. He wished he didn't have to; it was so tiring, and he slipped in and out of consciousness just trying to take in air.
Then he realized that he was lying down, possibly on a bed.
He didn't remember this. He didn't know what he remembered, truly. Had he not spent his entire existence in this endless, senseless black, hearing and seeing nothing and—?
Thor.
He remembered tattered cloth, shattered armor, blood. Thor. Where was Thor? Was he in this blackness? Was he gone? Loki did not know.
If Loki called, would Thor come?
If Thor would come, would Loki call?
He heard something soft, like a breeze that whistled in the tree leaves. He wanted to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt so heavy and he was so tired. As he listened but could not understand, he became more aware of the heaviness in his limbs, the softness of cloth underneath and upon him. Something smooth and soft combing through his hair.
He took in a breath through his lips. The combing stopped and he wondered if he had done something wrong.
Don't speak, don't you remember?
He shrunk away, but he wasn't sure why.
Come back to me, my child.
He knew that voice.
Where was Thor?
Come back.
This blackness was so comforting, so safe, wrapping itself around him and protecting him. Why would he want to leave?
Please come back.
Who would want him so badly?
The voice sounded so warm, so inviting, so unlike what he was used to.
Was it speaking to him?
Or was he eavesdropping?
Warmth. It was then that he felt it. Warmth around his body, warmth on his head. He unconsciously nestled closer to the unknown comfort.
I'm here, Loki.
Somehow, he knew.
With a shuddering sigh, he finally opened his eyes. The light from above his head made his eyes water, but they slowly acclimated as he lifted his eyes to the hazy face hovering above him. The edges of his vision were shadowy, fuzzed from unseeing for so long. Even so, he knew that face. He knew it.
Warm hands upon his face, and he wasn't sure how he felt anymore.
"Loki," whispered Frigga. "Oh, my son."
This was a dream. This was a vision. It was all a vision. The Chitauri must have put him in a trance again, playing false lives in his mind until he reawakened and realized that nothing was real and all that existed was the pain and shame of his existence. This couldn't be real. This couldn't.
But he could recognize the touch of her hands upon him from anywhere. He wanted to reach out and grab her wrists, hold them tight until the bones snapped and he would know without a doubt this was real. But he was still so tired.
She bent low to kiss him on the forehead and he wanted to scream. Wanted to push her away and disappear and never face her again. This was not what was supposed to happen—she was nothing to him and he was nothing to her so why did she insist on this mothering charade?
(And yet he hungered for it)
You left me, he thought. You left me you lied to me and I did the same to you so why are you here?
Why?
She was so warm and he wanted to fall asleep again.
Is this real?
He reached out a hand from underneath the sheets and gripped her wrist tightly, his long fingers wrapping around her arm.
She paused.
Was she afraid? Did she think he would lash out on her, bite her like a rabid animal she tried to aid, tear her apart like the monster he was? Did she think he would burn her with ice like the rest of his despicable, savage kind?
Did you ever fear me?
Were you ever so disgusted to hold me?
But instead of wariness in her eyes, there was only sadness and softness. He grasped her arm, feeling, realizing, understanding. She was here, she was real, and this sentiment—however skewed or unwise it was—this sentiment was irrevocably and wholly given to him.
Was love still real, did it exist?
(He remembered a baby, wailing alone, and his heart shuddered—)
"I was so worried about you, my son," said Frigga. She resumed combing through his hair with her free hand.
He wished he could hide, bat away that lying hand, but it was so comforting and he hadn't felt anything like it for nearly two hundred years.
"I don't know if you'll ever forgive me for what I've done to you," she said, "but know that I regret every hurt that I have caused you. If I could do it over again and make right my mistakes, I would."
Then you would have never mothered me in the first place.
But he was still her child, and her words made his heart hurt.
He wanted to believe she didn't love him, believe that there was no going back for him, so that everything that he ever did in his rage and hatred was legitimized and not in vain, but he couldn't bring himself to accept this. Not when deep inside, where he was too afraid to admit it, he feared such a truth far more than a love he could not understand.
You lied to me and I betrayed you. There is no trust between us. What is love if there is no trust?
(Forgiveness, my son. There is forgiveness)
How he wished he knew how.
It took him just now to realize that he could feel her magic steadily pouring into him. Panicked, he let go of her wrist, pushing both her hands away. What was she doing, wasting her magic on him?
(Why did he care?)
But Frigga only took both his hands gently in hers and kissed his knuckles like she once did when he was young. He would have pulled away, but he couldn't bring himself to. Deep inside, beneath the layers of anger and hurt, he could not quell the raw hunger, the desperate need for Frigga's love, even if his mind could not wrap itself around it to believe it. His darkened thoughts and bitterness could not stop him from feeling so inexplicably alone.
"Let me heal you, Loki," she said. "Whether in mind or body, any way I could."
It's useless, it's pointless, there's no hope.
But he knew that she knew already yet refused to stop. He held her hands with his weak fingers, overwhelmed and exhausted.
"Loki," she said.
Don't you hate me for what I've done?
"My son," she said.
Don't you despise the traitor you once held?
"I always love you."
Loki did not know if he understood what that word meant anymore, but something within him starved for it and took it in with unmatched gratitude.
He squeezed her hands and this, for now, was enough.
When Thor heard that Loki was finally awake, he raced out of the room, nearly breaking a hole through the wall in the process. Nothing stood a chance between him and Loki's room, and he was certain that several tables and chairs had suffered for standing in the way.
He cared not. The moment he reached Loki's doors, he burst through them, breathless, desperate.
Loki raised his head slightly from the pillow. IVs were connected to his wrist but other than that no wounds were visible. As if he had only been sleeping this whole time, despite the unhealthy pallor of his skin and the green eyes wide with shock at the sight of Thor.
Thor froze at the doorstep, catching his breath. Loki stared at him, an unidentifiable emotion brewing behind those green eyes. When Thor slowly took a step toward him, Loki stiffened and he forced himself into a sitting position. He was biting down on his lip, his eyebrows furrowed and jaw tense. Thor took this as permission to come forth, so he did.
"Loki," Thor said.
Loki's gaze was stony and he bit down so hard on his lips they grew very pale. Thor carefully sat on the edge of Loki's bed, not taking his eyes off of his little brother.
"Are you all right?" said Thor.
Loki did not indicate an answer. His hands closed into a fist. Thor could almost already feel the strikes against his chest, his face, everywhere where he knew he deserved.
"Mother is resting, but she would want to see you again," said Thor. "She wouldn't let herself stop healing you for as long as she could."
Loki closed his eyes and Thor could see him swallow. Thor bowed his head, suddenly ashamed to look at Loki.
"I'm so sorry, Loki," said Thor. "You have no idea how much I regret saying such untrue and cruel words to you."
Loki drew his knees up to his chest; he gripped his knees as if he had to control himself from striking out against Thor.
"You are no monster," said Thor. "Frost Giants are not monsters. They never were and they never will be. No more than an Asgardian. The only monster that ever existed is the monster I was against you."
Thor could see Loki's fingers tense on his knees from the corner of his eyes. He spoke on, feeling as if he was stripping his flesh with each word; honesty always felt so shameful.
"I had never treated you as well or respectfully as I ought to in our youth," said Thor. "Whatever cries of help you made, I turned a deaf ear. I know I made you feel angry, hurt, disappointed, everything no one should entice in their brother, and I regret nothing more. It was I who was quick to judge you when the Chitauri took you, and I delayed your rescue until I realized the truth. I was the one who hurt you and then it was I who—"
Before he could finish, Loki raised his hand and punched Thor on their shoulder. Thor jumped at the sudden and unexpected reaction, looking up at Loki's steely face. Loki's eyes shone with anger and frustration, his thoughts shining so brightly behind the green irises that Thor almost thought he could hear Loki speak again, despite not hearing his voice for what felt like thirteen years and counting.
You're an idiot, said his eyes. You're an idiot. You just almost died for me and you're an idiot.
Thor felt himself smile even though it hurt.
"To be fair, Loki," he said. "You almost died for me as well."
Loki withdrew his hand, his gaze not softening even a mite. Thor sighed softly and shifted a little closer to Loki. Loki did not make any sign to protest, but he did not welcome this either. He turned away, absentmindedly tracing circles on the metal arc on his chest.
"I thought I lost you," said Thor. "I was so afraid I would lose you again."
A twitch of the eyebrow.
Did you mourn?
"I don't know what I would do if you were to actually—if you were to actually lose your life because of me," said Thor. Those words were so difficult to utter even if they were not the truth this time. "If you were to have given up your life because of me, or if you were to suffer for my sake, I would never forgive myself."
Loki narrowed his eyes.
You waste yourself.
Thor pursed his lips.
No, brother, he thought. Never a waste.
"Loki," said Thor. "Do you doubt my love for you, or do you reject it?"
Thor knew he would rather have Loki reject his love than to doubt it, and it hurt his heart to understand that he had every reason to.
Thor placed a hand hesitantly on his own chest, where the Chitauri's weapon nearly blew a hole through. Where ought to be torn skin and powdered bones were instead strong and intact flesh and muscle. Even a healing stone would not have been able to undo the damage, and Loki performed it with only half of his full capacity.
"Your magic was exceptional," said Thor. "I…thank you, brother. For healing me."
Loki did not appear to have heard.
"If it weren't for you, I would have been dead," said Thor.
If it were for me, you'd still be dead, said Loki's eyes.
Thor shook his head. "And I would not regret it. What I said was true. I swore to protect you, not because of obligation or duty, but because…because you matter to me so much, and you're worth all those pains and tribulations."
Shock. Disbelief. Suspicion. Thor was getting better at reading Loki's silence.
"I speak the truth," said Thor. Loki turned sharply, his eyes wide. "Even with what has come between us, you deserve safety. You deserve peace, you deserve happiness, you deserve love."
Not death? said the quirk of the eyebrows.
"Not death," said Thor, his voice soft and fragile. "More than anything, I want you to live. So you can find your peace and rest again, find your love, your joy…even—even if you do not return home to Asgard—our family—to me."
The words made his heart and tongue sink, but he let them fall from his lips anyway. If he could be the one to help Loki, to bring him back to the light, he would ask for nothing else, but he knew that he could not force himself into Loki's redemption or recovery. In the end, his brotherhood with Loki was dear and precious, but Loki himself needed his healing in the best way he could, even if it left Thor out.
"I want to help you and be a part of your life again, Loki," said Thor. "But your pain runs deep and our past, as golden as I thought them to be, is riddled with our faults. My faults."
Loki bowed his head so Thor could not see his face. Thor reached out a hand to grasp his shoulder but Loki raised his to stop him, meeting him halfway.
"I know that in the millennium we were brothers, I have wronged you, and you have grown to hate me," said Thor. "But know that all that time, I loved you ceaselessly, wholly, and I was a fool not to show it."
Loki's hand tensed.
"If you—if you so wish it," said Thor as his voice began to shake. "If you so wish it, let us start from the beginning. Over again, without memory of the past. Even memory of our brotherhood that you deny and I desperately cling to. Because I want to be your brother, to bring you back to the family again. But I want nothing more than your happiness—your own path to true peace and acceptance, Loki. If our family you once embraced brings too much pain…too many wrongs, I'd rather you start anew with us however you wish, meet us like strangers who want to be your closest companions and let time start over. So long as you mend, both mentally and emotionally, then I want nothing more…even—even if you do not want me to be a part of it."
Why do you say this, he asked himself. Why?
Because he is my brother, and I love him.
"Loki?" said Thor.
Loki kept his head down, staring at his hands curled on top of the covers. No part of him moved a single millimeter and for a moment Thor had questioned if he had petrified into marble in the meantime. Thor wanted to hold him, but he stopped himself, he pulled back—it hurt to do so.
"Is…is that what you would want?" he said.
Before Thor could say anything else, Loki crawled toward him and rested his forehead against Thor's shoulder, his hands holding Thor's elbows. Thor nearly jumped back, shocked, but he stayed absolutely still, afraid that any sudden movement would drive Loki away like a frightened bird.
Stay, said Loki's hands that squeezed Thor's arms. His dark head rested against Thor's neck, just a hair underneath his chin. Stay.
Thor wanted to cry—out of joy or emotion, he did not know. He held Loki tight, and while Loki's shoulders hunched at the still unfamiliar sign of affection, he did not pull away. Thor could feel his heart break inside and rebuild again, break and rebuild, like a phoenix among flames. His brother, his lost brother, was reaching a hand to come back.
"Oh, Loki," Thor whispered, holding Loki close.
And that was all he could say.
Clint paced across the board room again and again—he was never much of a pacer, nor was he even one to fidget, but he felt all his frantic energy bubble in his fingers that if he didn't move it would erupt from his pores like a volcano. He could feel Natasha's eyes on him as he tried to disguise his pacing with admiring the posters of Stark Industry's booming business that Tony plastered all over the walls ("For moral support for the workers, of course.") or flicking off a piece of dust from the blinds. He was never much of an actor, and it didn't surprise him when he would let his gaze pass Natasha and see her skepticism.
It itched within him—he didn't want to call it fear or suspicion or even wariness, but he knew it was a combination of all three. It itched on the back of his head until he scratched it vigorously as if he could feel eyes watching the back of his skull. It itched in his chest until he would look down occasionally, fearing to see a metal scepter pointed to his heart and sucking his loyalty.
This was stupid. Loki wasn't supposed to be a threat anymore. Him being awake changed nothing; he was still powerless, still weak, still mute. And all the other Avengers were in the room so if anything happened—no, nothing would happen. There was no possible way he could—
The door slammed open and Clint spun around, his hand jerking towards his absent bow. It was only Steve coming into the room. Clint tried to pass off his sudden movement for scratching his back. Even Steve frowned confusedly at him and Clint berated himself.
Logic. When fear was in the same picture, logic was powerless.
He glanced at the woman sitting at the boardroom table and he pressed his lips into a thin line. He could see a little bit of Thor in her, in the golden hair and strong jaw, but her calm and almost foreboding form resembled Loki. She looked a little drained from her healing sessions with Loki, but she still struck potency in her poise.
Thor and Loki's mother. Clint still had a hell of a time trying to grapple with that in his mind. It was difficult to imagine Thor and Loki as children, much less in need of a mother, yet one existed and here she was. She kept a calm countenance, but he could see the lines of worry in the corner of her eyes and lips. Truthfully, since she arrived this was the first time he saw her; for the days she spent in Stark Tower, she was always in Loki's room to mend his wounds. She already looked so much older in the span of those several days, but at least relief softened her face now that she knew Loki was awake.
"We've got something of a working pseudo-arc reactor for Loki," said Tony. Amazing, he wasn't sitting in an awkward position on the chairs or table anymore—probably to put up a better impression in front of the Queen of Asgard. He stood at the front of the room, drawing up a hologram of the new arc reactor he and Bruce designed. "So far it seems to be effective in curbing effects of gamma radiation when we test it, but we haven't actually tried—you know—putting it on him and trying it out."
"What's wrong with the thing on him now?" said Clint.
"That old thing?" said Tony. "That barely does half the job. That was the barest prototype I could come up with between the testing and when Loki got himself nearly killed. It kept the Mind Gem dull enough that it wouldn't eat up his life, but apparently it's still doing damage."
"Are you feeling better, your highness?" Steve said to Frigga. Frigga offered him a small smile and nodded.
"The Mind Gem's power is not curbed," said Frigga. "While your device has done a good job in keeping the Mind Gem from devouring Loki's life, it still stirs like an offended beast. I fear that should it be given the chance, it will rage even more forcefully."
"Are you saying that the Mind Gem has a—well, a mind of its own?" said Bruce, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Magic is not completely like what you Midgardians consider science," said Frigga. "While your science functions as ours on Asgard, magic takes a step forward. It is more volatile, unpredictable, and manipulated, like a stallion barely broken."
Clint couldn't help but wonder if Tony and Bruce's efforts in creating this arc reactor were all just a waste. By the look on Tony's face, Tony was most likely wondering the same thing. He rubbed his forehead, his teeth gritted in frustration.
"God, I hate magic," said Tony. "Okay. Okay. No problem. So, how many other times has anyone sewed up this—what's it called again?—Infinity Gem into someone's body? Maybe we can get a little pointers, word of advice, a blessing."
"Never," said Frigga. "To mutilate both a living being and an artifact like the Infinity Gem in such a way is damaging. The Infinity Gauntlet is the only object that can truly hold the power of the Infinity Gem; nothing else could ever hold it and expect to remain unaffected, or expect that the Gem will function properly."
"Well, its current function seems to like to take Loki and whoever's touching his chest through a magic carpet ride of horror," said Tony, casting a glance at Bruce. Bruce shifted uncomfortably when Frigga turned her gaze questioningly at him.
"Loki showed us the Gem in his chest," Bruce said, rubbing the back of his head. "But when I touched it, it felt—like I didn't exist, and I was in Loki's head. I think I was in Loki's head, because I heard voices I definitely know I never heard before, but at the same time they sounded familiar. And they weren't talking to me, but to Loki."
"Bruce looked like shit when he got out of that too," said Tony. "As if the Mind Gem decided to feed off of him as well."
Frigga furrowed her eyebrows. "Then the Mind Gem's purpose has been corrupted indeed by this damage."
"What is its usual power?" said Clint. He felt his vexation double its already rising level. Why did these godly people or whatever they were have so many gadgets and toys full of so much Ultimate Power that they could spell out doom for the rest of the world if used by anyone?
"When alone or in the Gauntlet, it gives the bearer the power to access the minds and dreams of anyone," said Frigga. "It may also expand the power of one's mind. Should it be coupled with the Power Gem, its ability multiplies."
"Whose bright idea was it to make these things?" Clint said under his breath. Natasha gave him a sidelong glance and he sighed, looking away.
"Sounds simple enough," said Bruce, "but now the Mind Gem's doing more than that. It's feeding off of Loki, probably because Loki isn't like the Gauntlet and therefore can't contain the Gem. Now I'm not sure how probable it is to use something like an arc reactor to stem its powers."
"You say that after we designed it?" said Tony.
"I'm not saying it's impossible," said Bruce. "Just that if it doesn't work…well, I wouldn't be surprised. What the Gem is doing to Loki isn't because of its powers, but because of its state."
Clint glanced out the window again. He had envisioned this conversation in the boardroom to go a little differently. For one, he did not expect to have a full blown conversation (or at least, listen into one) about Loki and his supernatural mishaps. He scoured the faces of everyone else in the room, only to realize that he was probably the only one having these sentiments.
Did everyone just accept it so unquestioningly?
"It's going to work," Tony said, enlarging the hologram as if maximizing the view by five hundred times would prove his point. "We saw the records, we saw that there were unprecedented pikes in the energy going on in Loki's body that wasn't necessarily his magic. His magic level and the Mind Gem's activity level are like derivatives of each other; if the Gem has actual recordable data, then that means my machines can detach its energy from the rest of Loki's. If a machine can do that, then with proper mechanisms we can design something to comb through all that and suppress that particular source."
Clint could never understand how Tony could go from a snarky—for a lack of better words—asshole to a scientific genius in five seconds flat.
"I understand that," said Bruce. "But I'm just concerned."
"Concerned about what?" said Tony.
"That this—this capping thing might do something drastic. We didn't think anything bad would happen when you guys put on the magic cuffs that one day you first found him in Norway, and then you said it nearly killed him."
"That's because the Gem switched from his magic to his life after his magic was capped."
"Which was completely unexpected until we found out the details later," said Bruce. "What I'm trying to say is that how do we know that the Gem won't pull another crazy stunt like that if we try to inhibit it? What if it has a failsafe? If the Gem does all that to Loki just because he tried to perform magic, how much worse can we expect from it if it detects that someone's trying to completely cap it? I don't know about you guys, but when I'm thinking of this I'm envisioning cesium dropped into water."
"Like a time bomb," Natasha said, biting her lip.
"I'm sorry—what happens when cesium's in water?" said Steve.
"It goes boom," said Tony, spreading his fingers apart. He turned back to Bruce. "As far as I'm concerned, magic and science need to work hand in hand. Elements can't just change into gold for no reason—the world doesn't work that way. Even magic has to have an explanation. Listen, this is our biggest shot. We try it out anyway, all right?"
"You guys are expending a lot of stress and effort for this," Clint said.
"Yeah, well, we are," said Tony, raising an eyebrow at Clint as if to ask what his point was. "I still haven't beaten that guy in a prank war and I'm not letting him win just because he croaked."
"You have a strange way of admitting friendship," said Steve.
"Guys, do you mind if I ask something?" said Clint.
No one seemed to have heard him.
"He turned my butler into a music man, I am so not finished with him yet," Tony said.
"Look, Tony, we've got to put this into perspective," Bruce was trying to say. "You can't deny that magic has qualities that seem to bend the rules of science—"
"Are you boys really not going to look at the big picture?" said Natasha. "Shouldn't we consider more on how to get the Gem out of Loki and away from Thanos instead of how to treat the symptoms?"
"Guys, there's something that still doesn't make sense," Clint said, raising his voice.
This time he could tell that Frigga was watching him expectantly; at least he had an audience of one so far. Everyone else remained completely unaware.
"If it was purely magic and purely inexplicable, then would my machines have caught a whiff of it?" said Tony. "Just because it's mumbo jumbo and it's Loki doesn't mean it's made of complete bullshit."
"Tony, stop and think—"
"Guys!" Finally everyone heard Clint over their melee and turned to him, startled. Clint gritted his teeth, his irritation starting to get the best of him. "Is no one going to ask how the Chitauri knew to find Loki on Earth, much less in the middle of New York City, when they're supposed to be light years and light years away?"
The silence was overwhelming. Steve leaned back in his chair, biting his lip in contemplation. Bruce rubbed his temples, at a loss of words. It was Tony that gave a heavy groan and plopped himself on the corner of the table.
"I mean," Clint said, raising his voice, "last time the Chitauri needed an entire portal to get to Earth, like some wrinkle in time gig. They're apparently not so close that they could just fly here on their own, and yet a platoon of them shows up and nearly takes down a corner of New York City."
"The Chitauri have extremely advanced technology," said Frigga. "Even without a portal, they would have little trouble reaching Earth with their own machinery."
"Then how did they know how to come to Earth?" said Clint. "Is there a tracking device of theirs on that Mind Gem inside of him that they can tell where he is?"
"That doesn't sound impossible," said Steve, resting his chin in his hand. "It isn't, is it? If Thanos wanted the Mind Gem to use for the Gauntlet, but still wanted it in Loki to—to torture him even more, he'd make sure that if Loki ever tried to run for it or anything he'd still be able to get back the Gem easily."
"It does not seem likely," said Frigga. "The Infinity Gems originally belonged to Asgard before they were lost. If the Gems had such magic, we would have utilized it. That is," she added with a grim tone, "unless Thanos was able to manipulate the Gems in such a way that he would have its power even if he does not yield it."
"Why didn't he come himself?" said Clint. "From what I'm getting about this guy, he just wants to kill everyone; he could have killed two birds with one stone if he came himself."
"Thanos slaughters to satisfy his obsession with Death," said Frigga, her voice grave. "He would have wanted to present his sacrifices to her more lavishly."
"Wait…Death is a person?" said Steve, his jaw dropping.
"Death is a woman?" said Tony.
"We are unsure ourselves," said Frigga with a wry smile. "However, whatever Thanos thinks he has fallen in love with is, he is obsessed to the point of willingly killing entire realms to win her favor."
"This guy's absolutely insane," said Bruce. "Why does everyone that wants to blow up the world have a mind like a box full of cats?"
"Great," said Clint, running his hands through his hair. "Okay. So we have a lovesick warlord coming over any minute to grab that Gem out of Loki and then use it to destroy everything in existence. Okay. We can do this, no problem. Okay."
"How did no one even notice those ugly bastards coming into New York City anyway?" said Tony. "I feel like some crazy person would have called the police if they saw their UFO flying around the city."
"The Chitauri are shape-shifting creatures," said Frigga. "They must have pulled on the appearance of mere mortals to hide among the crowd."
"Jiminy cricket," muttered Steve. "How do we know there aren't more of them out there?"
"Hopefully they saw our victory and took the hint," said Tony.
"They knew New York though," said Clint. "Of all the places on Earth, they knew New York. Sure, they must have remembered that was where the battle was, but they wouldn't expect Loki to run there for refuge, considering he nearly flattened it."
"Nor would they expect him to return to Asgard, or at least attempt to," said Bruce. "After that whole—well, you know." He cast an apologetic glance at Frigga, who pursed her lips.
"Maybe they knew Thor would be the one to save him, if anyone did," said Natasha. "And that Thor had an alliance with the people here and would seek our help."
"For all the Chitauri knew, Loki and Thor could be those archetypal enemy brothers that don't give a shit about each other," said Clint. "Unless—unless Loki spilled the beans about us and Thor to the Chitauri—"
"You mean to say Loki revealed vital information about Earth?" said Frigga.
"Isn't it possible?" said Clint. "It's too coincidental that the Chitauri knew where to find him. Obviously he wouldn't expect to be at the short end of the stick if he talked, so he'd say anything." He looked around, expecting anything but the stony looks of doubt that glared at him. "Am I the only one who thinks this might be the case?"
"Look," said Tony, his voice curt. "We know how much you hate Loki's ass, but—"
"Is that what's up?" said Clint. His anger flared and it took much self-control not to throw a chair against the wall. "Is that what you think it is? You think I hate the guy, and that's the only reason why I might suspect that he'd have told the Chitauri about us?"
He turned beseechingly to Natasha—surely she would understand, or at least not assume. Her face was unreadable as always, but he knew better than anyone else how she thought, and his stomach fell at the realization. For a frantic moment he questioned everything he ever said, ever did, ever thought.
"Are you all serious?" he said. "Okay, I get it. I know I'm the only one who's still pissed at Loki for all that he's done. I know that. But that sure as hell doesn't mean that everything I say about him is fueled by that—that hatred. Just stop and think—this guy's been through a hundred or so years of pure torture. Don't you think that somewhere in there the Chitauri would have tried torturing information out of him, and he was driven so out of his mind that he consented? Did you ever think I was thinking that when I was suggesting the possibility?"
He could feel their eyes frozen on him, but his anger made his skin sear so that their icy stares felt like nothing to him. He understood that he was a bad person, he did—but did they truly think that every move he made, every thought that went through his head, every word he said about Loki was purely out of detestation and nothing else?
"Well, just to clarify, I was," said Clint, his teeth clenched. "People will do anything to stop the pain, even if it means telling secrets they shouldn't talk about. I know, all right? I'm an assassin, I make people do these things. I know."
"Clint," said Natasha. "I know. We know. No one's accusing you of anything."
He wished he could believe her, if only he didn't understand that she too thought those things about him just minutes earlier.
"Can't say I believe that one this time, Nat," said Clint, sitting down in a chair. He couldn't help but groan inwardly. Now he made himself look like a complete asshole in front of Thor and Loki's mother, for God's sake.
Steve rubbed his chin and sighed. "You're right, Clint. We can't rule out the possibility and you're right. I'm sorry for thinking otherwise. But even if Loki did give us away, whatever it was, the most we can do is keep our defenses strong and keep calm. There's nothing we can do to punish or to prevent what's already passed."
"Okay," said Clint, even though he did not feel it. "Okay."
He rose from his seat and made his way to the door.
"Where are you going?" said Steve.
"I need a beer," said Clint, not looking at any of them. "We're about to go head to head with shape-shifting, super technologized lizard aliens with a psychopathic lover for a commander. If that's not a reason to get drunk, then nothing is."
He left the boardroom but did not go directly to the kitchen. Instead, he lingered in the hallway, his back against the wall as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Trying to iron out his wrinkled thoughts. Trying to bleach his stained conscience.
He felt vibration in his pants pocket and he fished his cell phone out. A text message from Natasha. It read: Are you okay?
He couldn't help but give a wry smile.
I'm fine. Getting a beer.
He shut off his phone before he could receive the inevitable text of her probing the lie out of those words, or maybe an underhanded apology. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.
He could still feel how his mind clumsily fell into place after he was broken out of Loki's mind control. The dawning horror when he remembered the violence he committed against his own fellow agents—his own friends. The sense of pain and even betrayal of being controlled to hurt others.
Idiot, he chided himself. Idiot. Why can't you get over this? Why are you so weak?
He thought of Natasha and her blackened past. Of Tony and his career of creating weapons. Of Bruce, who quite literally smashed Harlem. Of Steve, who fought a war. None of them were guiltless, but all of them were making good use of their lives, moving on from their crimes and doing spectacular things for others. Did they still toss and turn at night trying to shake off the still vivid memories of the blood they shed? Did they feel like nothing they could ever do could make amends?
("It wasn't your fault," Natasha once said to him. "It was all Loki, he controlled your mind and he forced you to do all of it. It wasn't you. This was nothing like what we were trained for."
But Clint remembered that it was his mind that chose to shoot the gun at those agents, his mind that willingly pulled back the arrow towards those people, his mind told him that he was doing the right thing. The only difference was how easily his heart switched its loyalties.
"They're all heroes!" the enthusiastic survivors had cried into the news reporters' cameras as the television depicted the aftermath of the battle. "They're heroes and they saved our lives."
Clint recalled those words for many nights until he felt sick in his stomach and locked himself in the restroom. If he was a hero, then perhaps he didn't want to believe in them anymore.)
Tired. That was what he was—he was tired. It hung heavily on his bones and made his limbs sag. Loki had forced himself out of his bed already, deciding that letting both Frigga and Thor witness him bedridden was far enough for one day. But he could only let himself droop into a nearby chair, his body still tender and drained as it tried to gather twice as much magic to sustain himself.
Frigga. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. Frigga and Thor—of all the people in the Nine Realms. How they frustrated him—confused him—and yet, his heart ached at the thought of them in such a way that reminded Loki of hunger. Of craving for affection.
He swallowed hard. Affection. It couldn't be trusted. It was golden fleece stretched over eyes, it was the kiss on the cheek before the execution. It was hiding in the dark craters waiting for poison to crawl into him.
He realized that for a moment he was holding his breath and he squeezed the armrests. Thanos couldn't find him here. Thanos could not reach him here.
But the Chitauri found him—was Thanos close behind?
Loki opened his eyes and stared down at his white hands. They were gaunt—skeletal, almost. Not nearly as strong and quick as they once were. He balled them into fists and reveled at how his bones shook as he did so.
Pathetic. He gave himself a very cold smile. Hopeless.
And yet, they were hands that Frigga took so gently and kissed. They were the hands Thor held so tightly for who knew how many times in their millennium together. They were hands that killed, that hurt, that played tricks and lied, and yet upon them they received that love that was so intangible and yet so soft.
He brought his fingers to his lips, wondering if he could taste the metaphorical blood. If he could wipe away the guilty spots. They were cold, the barest tremor still running down the bones.
So weak, he thought. So weak, and yet to Thor and Frigga, so treasured.
Did it not matter to them?
Did anything matter to them?
He let his hand fall to his neck and he squeezed. His temples ached as his airway was blocked. He had an iron grip on his own throat, siphoning out the air from his lungs until the muscles in both his palm and his neck seared.
He wanted to laugh.
Never weak. These hands have done too much to be weak.
He remembered bloodstained rocks, and he would have squeezed tighter if the door did not open.
He immediately let his hands fall to his lap, staring aimlessly out the window as if he had done nothing else. The steps that entered were tentative and he wondered if the person saw. If they did, they turned a blind eye.
"Nice to see you awake again."
He turned to face her and he bowed his head in acknowledgement. A smile played upon his lips; he couldn't help it. Agent Romanoff was too intriguing to ignore.
Natasha stood before the door, her arms crossed. Her gaze on him was meticulous, searching for the most minute of details to use against him, no doubt. He saw how her eyes lingered on his reddened neck. They flashed briefly but she said nothing.
"Mind if I sit down?" she said.
He raised his eyebrows and waved a hand. She was the one who said she could sit wherever she pleased, was she not?
She gave a crooked smile and settled herself on the edge of Loki's bed. She crossed her legs, leaning back slightly, to the point where her professionally stiff posture became nothing but casualness.
Loki noticed there was a scar running down her cheek. It looked rather deep, the skin welting just slightly. He tapped his own cheek questioningly. She raised a hand to trace it.
"It wasn't painful," she said. "It'll just be ugly for a while. But Bruce said it won't be permanent."
Was it from the Chitauri attack? Loki furrowed his eyebrows and scooted his chair a mite closer to her.
"Are you feeling better?" she asked.
He raised his eyebrows. Why did she ask?
"I'll take that as a sarcastic affirmation," said Natasha. "You were unconscious for five days, you know."
Five days, was it? Well, it wasn't as long as it could be. He recalled a time when Thor had a terrible mishap in Muspelheim and didn't wake for nearly a month. The memory of it still soured in Loki's stomach, and the thought of raging fire still sent cold chills down his neck.
"I never expected that out of you, you know," she said. "Risking your life to save Thor."
He bit down on the tip of his tongue. He knew she was driving this conversation further, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to be there when she reached the end.
"Not saying I expected you to be a solely bad person," said Natasha.
Why not?
"But I thought you would have some level of self-preservation to tell when you reached your limit," she said.
It's Thor, he thought with a crooked smile. His being awakens the martyr within everyone.
She must have delved into his mind because she snorted with laughter. "I bet you'd even start a war over him," she said.
Loki rolled his eyes. Warfare was more of Thor's specialty, despite whatever past experience she had with Loki.
He turned his head and saw the book that he had been reading prior to the Chitauri attack sitting innocently on the nightstand. He frowned; he certainly wasn't reading it during those five days, so why was it here? He lifted t from the table, skimming through the pages. He could feel Natasha watching him closely as he tried to find the place he left off. He knew he never finished it, so why was it that when he reached the end of the play he felt as if he had already knew everything?
"I sort of read it to you while you were unconscious," Natasha said. Loki lifted his eyes to her perplexedly. She shrugged and looked down at her foot tapping on the floor. "I figured you would be bored and I wondered if you could hear me. I guess you could, sort of."
Loki stared at her; the book slipped from his hands onto the ground. Suddenly, he felt very small in the too large room upon the too large realm in this too large universe. It didn't make sense; why did she do it? Why did she care to read to him?
Natasha slipped off the bed and bent down to pick the book off the ground. Just as she rose, Loki gripped her wrist. She stiffened, her eyes defiant and yet questioning as they fixed themselves upon him. Loki held onto her tightly, demandingly, desperately, searching for a lie or an answer on her face.
Why?
He wasn't a fool. He knew that out of all that were in the tower, it was only Thor that helped Loki for the sake of Loki. Everyone else saw it as a favor to be paid for Thor, a duty that they needed to accomplish to rid themselves of a debt, to send him far away as soon as possible. Not because of Loki, not for Loki.
Right?
Do you care?
He didn't dare to ask her this, even in his mind. He never dared to ask anyone this. He had always thought he already knew the answer, but now he wasn't so certain anymore.
Do you care?
And yet it was a question he craved. The question whose answer he wasn't sure he wanted to hear, and yet the question he needed to know. What drove the apathetic Black Widow to waste her time and breath on him?
"Are you thinking of hurting me?" she said. She had not tried to tug her hand away from him.
Loki hesitated before loosening his grip on her wrist. She pulled herself away, carelessly tossing the book back onto the nightstand. She sank back onto the edge of the bed, her eyes glinting with unreadable wisdom.
"Are you that disbelieving?" she said.
He wished he could read her as easily as she seemed to read him, as if he was not a body but a never-ending scroll of words that she could pluck off with her eyes.
He found himself nodding. He didn't understand why. Truth was not his forte; it was not his privilege.
Her pink lips stretched into a half-smile.
"So am I," she said.
He sucked in a sharp intake of breath. A tremor ran down him.
"When you first came around, a month or so ago," said Natasha. "I didn't want to take you in. I didn't want anything to do with you. But Thor wanted it and we owed him, and Fury wanted me to talk to you to make sure you weren't hiding anything from us."
Loki thought he had suspected this already, and yet he couldn't deny that it hurt somewhere deep inside of him.
"Then after a while, I thought I was making old mistakes again," said Natasha. "I thought I was wiping red from my ledger, helping you. Making myself off as a better person. Stooping low, even though I was on no higher of a level than you, if not lower.
"But you know what? Hang it all," she said. He hunched his shoulders slightly in surprise, pursing his lips in confusion. Her eyes were so firm, so steely with certainty, that they earnestly riveted him. "I am fooling myself if I think that's still the case. Even if it kills my pride or my usual way of doing things. I like to lie to myself, but I can't trick myself."
He raised his head higher, bracing himself for what he had thought would be impossible.
"When you get hurt, I get angry," she said. "When you're sad, I feel this heavy weight inside of me dragging everything down. When you're happy—or as content as you can be, even if you won't admit it—I can breathe a sigh of relief. Why? Hell, I never thought I would say it, but it's true. I care about you. In some inexplicable and unexpected way. And like hell am I prepared for that."
She gave a small laugh and rested her elbows against her knees. Loki breathed in, his heart beating wildly. He only just realized that she could perhaps be the first person outside of his family (family? Not family? Family?) that ever admitted care for him like this. His heart throbbed—it was an enthralling kind of pain.
"That's what I wanted to say," said Natasha, staring at the window behind Loki's head. "Just to make sure you're all better and everything—and to get my book back. So don't go running off and doing something that will hurt yourself because if you do, I'm obliged and very willing to kick your ass for making me worry about you."
She rose to her feet and picked the book back up from the table. Before she could turn to leave, Loki caught her elbow—gently, carefully. She stopped and looked back at him, looking at him straight in the eyes.
She was always a proficient liar, he remembered. She had outsmarted him easily. What made now any different?
His fingers jerked back slightly at the possibility, as if he had touched something too hot.
Please don't lie to me.
Not about this.
He looked deep into her eyes, into her mind and her soul, into the part of her she had forgotten had existed—
And saw no lie.
He thought that if he could die this very moment—for the first time in a very long time—he knew he would be sorry of it.
Because she was not bound by the past or by blood, she was no longer obligated or guilty, because she had nothing to gain or lose—and yet she cared for him.
He let his fingers fall from her sleeve. She offered him a small smile.
"You should try leaving the room on your own sometime soon," she said. "Let the others know you're alive and all, you know?"
When she left him alone, he could still hear her voice. Still feel her warmth in the room. Still felt the strength of her wrist in his fingers.
It felt…safe.