Taryn slept fitfully and dreamed in confused flashes of lives not her own. The vision within Loki's kiss grew and grew, a cancer in her mind, vile and malignant. She fought to awaken as his other lives–the ones where he suffered, the ones without hope–reached for her with greedy fingers and fought against that one, bright speck of a life. She fought to cling to that one but the others were so numerous that she couldn't escape them all. She consciously tried to inject the better memories into the mix, but despite her best efforts, she inexorably plunged down into darkness.
… standing before Odin's throne, passed over for Thor, the golden son, the perfect, stupid, proud idiot who would lead the Nine Realms to ruin with his hubris…
… clutching a crystal rose in a dusty courtyard, the red rays of sunset sparking fire through its facets, making the auburn curl within glow as her own voice rose from within–"I love you, Loki…"
… writhing in agony upon those razor-tipped stones, the torment of his body only a bare shadow of the torment of his heart and mind, remembering two perfect, beloved sons running and laughing and chasing each other light-hearted in the sunlight, such hideous betrayal, such helpless, aching rage…
… seeing Frigga standing in his doorway, looking at him with love and sadness in her eyes and telling him, "Thor will always be your brother…"
… fighting Thor, hating Thor, battles in New York and Puente Antigua and London and Asgard and Jotunnheim and every realm in between…
… screaming in the dirt of Svartalfheim, his magic ripped out of him, shriveling, dying, and Thor's desperate face above his, crying, "Tell me how to help you, brother!"–Thor, his brother, his best friend, loyal and trusted…
… no family, no friends, no hope or trust or loyalty, only hate, only poison and jealousy and rage…
… her own face a thousand times, sleeping and laughing and crying and shining with love, a platinum snake about her throat, awed by the knowledge that she'd chosen him, so much love, consumed by it, drowning willingly…
… her face now white and still and bloodstained, eyes dull, body breathing but soul gone, and the rage, the hatred, the driving need to avenge her, knowing that no revenge would ever dull the agony of her loss…
… sailing upon a massive boat crewed by the rotting dead, its sails filled by vengeance, its rudder steered by pain, its purpose destruction…
… falling through the cosmos, through Chaos, and having it find him unworthy–having it rend his magic from his very being, leaving him helpless at the hands of his enemies…
… another fall, but this time Chaos consumed him alive and shrieking…
… falling onto Jotunnheim, landing within the destruction he had caused, and oh, the centuries of punishment for that genocide, the living skin peeled from his body, blades piercing his eyes, brought to the edge of death a thousand, a hundred thousand times but never allowed to cross over and find relief at last…
… falling into the hands of the Chitauri, despair, isolation, torture as they sought to see how much pain a god could survive before he stopped being a god and became a tool instead, dry hissing voices coldly discussing the next experiment, his hands flayed down to bare bones after a failed attempt to escape, every part of him dissected and desecrated, healing only to have it all start again until no I won't became please no more I will…
… falling into new torments, a million times falling, falling, FALLING–
"NO!"
Taryn's scream shattered the nightmares and she bolted upright in bed, heart pounding, shaking like a leaf as adrenaline and horror pounded through her veins until finally she collapsed over the side of the cot and vomited again and again until she feared she'd rupture something internal. When it was finally over she just hung there, half on and half off the bed, gasping, only her fear of falling keeping her clinging to the edge.
Every instant of horror he'd ever felt replayed on an endless loop within her. Good Lord, if that was what was inside Loki's head, it was no wonder that he was insane.
She wondered if going insane would help.
Gazing down at the puddle of sick, the pain within her indistinguishable from impalement or disembowelment or a thousand other tortures, she wondered if she had any choice.
The door flew open before she could decide. "Oh, shit," a man groaned, and a moment later strong hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her into a sitting position. "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Are you sick? Talk to me!"
It was the man from before, Barton. Taryn didn't know how to answer him. Was she sick? Yes indeed–her brain had been infected by whatever mad virus Loki's kiss had inflicted upon her. She giggled at the thought and the sound was more than a little crazy–and had there been a virus? Something magical, something released over a city, something that made people laugh and laugh and laugh? Yes, oh yes–the image of streets and streets of helplessly laughing people, laughing until they collapsed, until each new burst of laughter was agony, until their hearts burst from the strain and blood sprayed crimson from rictus grins–it all seared her mind and Taryn's own laughter turned to tears, then to moaning and rocking, cradling her too-full head in her arms.
She couldn't handle this. These weren't her memories, this wasn't her life, she couldn't deal with this! "No more, no more, no more," she moaned over and over, unable to stop. "No more, no more, no more…"
"Fuck me sideways," Barton whispered, and one of his hands left her–she slumped to the side, her body not really obeying her right now, and he quickly braced her before she fell off the bed. No, not falling, not falling! She heard the static hiss of a radio being activated. "Control, this is Barton. Tell the big guy his guest is in serious distress and he needs to get down here now."
… control, yes, touch the heart with the tip of the staff and any human would be his slave to kill or die at his whim. Complete control, complete and utter control, so intoxicating to finally have control, and it had only cost the destruction of his own flesh and blood and will to buy it…
There was an electric charge and the taste of ozone in the air and suddenly Loki's voice was right beside her. "What did you do to her?" he snarled, and Taryn lifted her head to see the enraged god grab Barton with one hand and fling him bodily across the room.
She screamed when he crashed into the wall–violence, so familiar, comforting as mother's milk–NO, she fought that, clawing for at least a single moment of clarity. "Nothing, he didn't do anything!" she cried, terrified for Barton, and that made no sense because he was one of her kidnappers, wasn't he? Why should she care one whit if he got the shit kicked out of him? But she did care, and that caring came from her, not from the madness poisoning her every thought, so she grabbed hold of it and clung hard. "Don't hurt him!"
To her shock, Loki stopped immediately. Barton got cautiously to his feet, wincing but seeming to be mostly unharmed, although he favored one leg a little. "If you desire his life, it is yours," Loki said, banishing the vomit with a wave of his hand and kneeling beside her cot.
But the offer triggered another surge of flashbacks and Taryn was drowning again.
… lives are things to be bartered, worthless mortal things, insects, unworthy, insignificant, it hardly matters how many I snuff out…
… my life is not mine, it has never been mine, destruction is all I am made for, so I will destroy the universe and laugh as it burns…
… blood and fire beneath my feet, stepping on the bones of the dead, trailing destruction in my wake, Yggdrasil itself blazing around me and the cries of billions of dying souls in my ears…
Taryn shut her eyes and clapped her hands over her ears and screamed, screamed until it drowned out Loki's agony in her mind. She barely felt his hands close around her wrists, only became aware of his touch when he finally managed to wrench them away from her head and instead cradled her skull between his own cool, long-fingered hands.
A wave of ice enveloped her thoughts, freezing them all, and Taryn shuddered with the relief of it. "Make it stop," she whispered, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. "Make it stop."
She felt him in her mind then, an alien presence examining every frozen thought. She saw them with him, felt the madness, every life full of anguish, all his suffering now infesting her. His regret passed through her and receded. "I am sorry, Taryn," Loki murmured. "I wished only for you to understand. Your distress was never my intention."
She understood–she truly did. No one who had been through so much agony could ever be sane, and he saw her as the only good thing in any of those lives. But she could never, ever be anything good with all this in her head. Even now, even frozen, those memories had edges sharp enough to flay her alive, and she was terrified of what new horrors would emerge when they thawed again.
There in the ice, the faces of two perfect little boys, laughing, playing in the sun, greeting Odin's soldiers without fear when they came to take them away…
The horror that awaited those beautiful children sent bone-deep anguish through her. "Make it stop or kill me," she whispered, "please, Loki."
"You will not die," Loki said, his voice as cold as the wasteland in her mind. "I did not endure the Chitauri to come here and find you only to lose you to Hel's realm."
"Then I will do it myself," she cried, and suddenly laughed. "I'll tell her daddy says hello!" And then the anguish of being hated by his own daughter crashed over her and she wailed with the sudden pain of it.
"Sir." Barton's voice was hesitant, but even though Loki didn't respond to him, he continued. "Sir, I've seen people go mad, and this is what it looks like."
"I am well aware of what madness is," Loki hissed at him.
"You can't leave her like that," Barton persisted. "She needs help. At least put her to sleep so she can't hurt herself."
His hands tightened briefly at her temples and Taryn whimpered, unsure if she feared his touch or the loss of it more. As long as the ice remained, she could hear her own thoughts, at least a little bit. Enough to know that Barton's suggestion was worse than nothing. "No," she whispered, trembling harder than ever. "The dreams–no."
Barton stepped forward and persisted, "Sir, I know some people, mutants who could get into her head and–"
No one else will see these visions! Loki's instinctive denial in her head came an instant before he spoke.
"You will do nothing without my order. You are dismissed," Loki snapped, cutting him off, and she heard the other man hesitate only for a moment–control, his may be slipping, watch him closely–then leave and shut the door behind him. Then Loki took a slow, deep breath. She felt him impose calm upon himself. "Taryn, open your eyes. Look at me."
She shook her head. In her mind were a million, a billion of his faces caught in the ice, screaming and monstrous and tormented. Everywhere she turned, she looked at him.
His thumbs stroked her cheeks, so gently. "Taryn," he murmured, turning her name into something lovely, urging her softly within her mind, "please, my lady, look at me. Look at me so that I may help you."
Taryn truly, deeply didn't want to open her eyes. Right in this moment, all those agonizing visions were quiet in her head and she feared that the slightest movement, even one so small as a blink, would break the spell. But Loki didn't ask again, didn't pressure her, and finally she gave into the hope of help that he offered.
And when she finally opened her eyes and looked at him, his face was nothing like the ones in her mind–not monstrous, not screaming, not tormented. High sharp cheekbones, strong blade of a nose, thin pale lips, and vivid, inhumanly bright green eyes full of concern–he was beautiful. And what was more, she saw none of the madness she'd expected within those eyes. "Why aren't you insane?" she whispered, the words escaping before she could stop them. "All that pain, all those lives–how are you not insane?"
He stroked her cheeks again. "I live only this life," he replied gently. "I did not intend to give you all the others. I do not carry them with me as you do now–they are like a box I can open or close at will. And that is what I will give to you now, Taryn. You will fill the box with all those lives and close it. Keep the understanding, but lock away the pain. They will become mere stories then, and stories cannot harm you. Can you do that?"
Could she do that? She stared at him, grasping his wrists tight, desperately, and knew she had no choice but to try. "What if it opens again?" The words were barely a breath.
"It will open only if you wish it to. I promise. Are you ready?" he asked, his voice still so gentle, almost hypnotic. Silvertongue. She nodded and he smiled at her. "Brave girl," he said, and despite the improbability of it all–her kidnapper, a god, kneeling before her and offering to magically alter her very mind–she still felt the warmth of his praise. "Here we go."
The green of his eyes suddenly swirled, capturing her, drawing her into his spell.
And at his direction, the ice within her thawed, but it wasn't the catastrophic avalanche she'd feared. Each memory slid away from the massive glacier of madness like the fall of a snowflake, their jagged edges now soft and harmless. Following Loki's silent prompting, she was able to direct each of them into the vast wooden casket that lay before the dark glacier. One by one, snowflake by snowflake, she sent memory after memory into the box. It slowly filled, containing the horrors, and the glacier shrank and shrank until it dwindled to almost nothing.
The last of it finally melted away, leaving nothing within her but her own thoughts, Loki's quiet, gentle presence, and the snow-filled chest. Taryn stared at it for a moment as misgivings suddenly stabbed at her–wood could rot, or splinter, or decay–she concentrated and turned it to stone, then when even that didn't seem enough, to adamantium. Unbreakable. Only then did she reach out and carefully, ensuring that nothing within was disturbed, close the lid and seal the winter within.
As soon as she did, exhaustion crashed over her. She gasped as full awareness of her aching body slammed into her. Loki caught her effortlessly and cradled her against his chest as she fought to regain her equilibrium.
"Well done," he murmured, kissing her temple, and even though he also sounded a bit winded, his pride in her was clear. "And surprise surprise, you have a touch of magic as well. Did you know?"
She managed to raise her head–it felt like a Herculean task. But her thoughts were the only ones within it and that sent a huge surge of relief through her. She still felt the presence of the memories in the casket, but as he'd promised, the pain, the demanding agony of them was gone. "What do you mean?"
"You changed the box, made it stronger." He gazed into her eyes, searching, then admitted, "I did not expect you to be able to do that."
She frowned a little, looking at him. "It's in my mind," she said, not understanding. "And it's my mind. I can make it look however I want, can't I?"
Loki smiled. "Indeed you can," he replied, "if you are able to overrule my spell. And there are few indeed who can do that."
Taryn realized two things belatedly–Loki held her as close as a lover as if he had every right to do so, and he looked like hell. She pulled away, mostly to see if she could–he allowed it although his smile dimmed. Relieved that he hadn't forced the issue, she stared at him again, cataloging the changes. As skewed as her perceptions had been before he'd helped her lock his other lives away, she was still pretty damn sure he hadn't been that pale or had those dark rings beneath his eyes before. "What happened to you?" she asked, then could have bitten her tongue.
With the cessation of the visions, she had no trouble remembering that this man–this god–was very dangerous and was holding her against her will out of some mad desire to make her fall in love with him and somehow save him from a life of suffering. The last thing she needed was to start acting worried for him. Heaven knew how he might interpret any gesture of concern.
He raised an eyebrow in a sardonic expression, then winced as he rose from his knees on the floor to sit on the cot beside her. "My dear, that was not a mind trick. That was magic, and quite a bit of it, too–more than I should have used, but again, I have sacrificed for you. You may not realize it, but we have been working at this for more than a day. Perhaps you could appreciate me for that."
Taryn gaped at him. A day? No wonder she felt wrung out, and he looked washed out! She knew nothing at all about magic, but–
–actually, she realized, she did know about magic, quite a lot about magic. From his memories. She shied away from looking at them too closely, wary of landmines, but even the most cursory examination showed that spending a full day locked within a spell was an exhausting task. He wasn't lying when he'd said he'd used a lot of magic to heal her mind.
"And may I point out that you could do with freshening up a bit yourself," he added when she didn't respond, but his tone was teasing, not angry, and she felt herself blush. She imagined just how she looked right now–she'd slept in this suit at least twice, vomited once, had a psychotic break, and then sat hypnotized for more than twenty-four hours. Of the two of them, he likely looked far better right now than she.
Taryn bit her lip, wanting to smile and not quite trusting the urge. Right now she felt like she knew him, but she wasn't ready to trust her impressions. Still, the realization of her physical state wasn't easy to shake off. Finally she made herself say, "A shower and a change of clothes would be welcome. And shoes," she added, because the floors here were icy.
Besides, it would be difficult to make a run for it barefoot, although Taryn was disturbed to realize she was no longer certain she wanted to do so.
But those were thoughts for later, when she had time and privacy.
He nodded, stood, and offered her his hand. "They have already been prepared for you," he replied, helping her up when she hesitantly took his hand. "A meal, as well, and then bed. The changes you made to the box will have drained you just as the rest of it drained me. You will feel better after a sleep."
Taryn shuddered involuntarily. The memory of the swirling nightmares had dimmed, but it still packed a visceral punch. "I… no. No, I don't want to sleep."
Loki looked down at her for a long moment but nodded. "As you wish," he said simply. "Come. This room has seen too much trauma for you. I will take you to a better one."
She nodded–if she never saw this room again, it would be too soon–and followed him out.
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Writing the insane parts of this in the middle of the night sorta freaked me out. And was also hella fun! bwahahahaaaaa...
