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Half an hour later, Taryn lay in a much softer bed in a different part of the ship–because it was a ship, an enormous one–and felt the tension drain out of her muscles as the injection Bruce had given her finally began to diminish her agony. "Oh, God, thank you," she breathed, melting into the mattress. Even being surrounded by intimidating strangers–Thor, Captain America (who'd told her to call him Steve), Agents Barton and Romanov, and a dark-haired man she recognized from a thousand tabloids as Tony Stark, the Iron Man himself–didn't diminish her relief. Of all of them, Bruce was the least intimidating, at least until she remembered how frightened they'd all been when his watch started beeping.
But that was a puzzle for another time. Right now, all she wanted was to lie here and let the medicine work its magic.
"I'm sorry it took so long for it to take effect," Bruce replied. He patted her hand and tried to smile, but anger still hovered in his gaze and the tight lines around his mouth. "Unfortunately when pain reaches a severe level, it doesn't respond to medicine as well."
She still hurt worse than she'd ever hurt in her life, but it no longer felt like she was going to die from the pain alone and her discomfort decreased with each passing minute. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply for the first time since she'd awakened in that prison-like room. "Ask me your questions," she said, hardly noticing that the words were a little slurred from shock and exhaustion and drugs. "I'll tell you everything I know."
"Not now," Bruce replied firmly before anyone else could say a word. "Now you rest. Your body's been through an enormous trauma. You need time to recover before any further stress."
She forced her eyes open again, frowning. "You don't have time," she replied, echoing Fury. Much as she hated to agree with him on anything, she knew he wasn't lying about that. "Loki's not going to nicely sit back while you wait for me to feel better."
Bruce clearly didn't like her reply. "He'll keep for a few hours," he insisted. "You should sleep, Dr. Roswell."
"Taryn," she corrected. "And he won't keep. Believe me, I know that much." Oh, how she knew it. "I promised to tell you everything, remember?"
Thor stepped forward, looking uncertain. "Lady Taryn," he said, his thunderous voice now quiet, "do you indeed know what my brother is planning? I am sorry to ask you while you are in such a condition," he added when Bruce glared at him, "but you are correct. My brother will not be put off by the raid on his secret base. If anything, he will accelerate his plans. Anything you can tell us would be helpful."
Bruce abruptly stood and walked away from her bedside. Taryn was sorry to see him go and hoped she hadn't offended him too much, but she really did want to help. "He plans to take over the Earth," she said, blinking rapidly to stave off a sudden surge of lightheadedness that swept much of the pain aside and made what remained seem far-off and unimportant. Oh, yes, he'd given her the good drugs and she wished she could just close her eyes and savor the relief. But she wrenched her mind back into focus. "He will rule us, impose his will on us all, and end all wars and strife. He wants to bring peace by eliminating free will."
Stark whistled low. "That's some crazy-ass logic right there," he said, but he sounded almost impressed. "And it'd probably work, too. How's he plan to do it? I get the feeling his mind-control stick is a one-on-one thing."
"And it's not like the Earth has a single seat of power," Natasha added. "Conquering a planet is not so easy."
Taryn nodded. She felt tired, so tired, but Fury's comment about Loki's three-day body count haunted her and she pressed on. "He has an army," she said, and now even she could hear the slur to her words. "He's creating a doorway with the Tesseract–"
"You know about the Tesseract?" Steve asked, stunned. "That's supposed to be top secret!"
She forced her eyes open and met Steve's for a moment. "I know everything," she said wearily. "He… I guess you'd say he showed me his mind. All his memories, all his lives–this one, too. I know what he knows, but it's really hard to, to figure out what's in there. It's so much."
"You know but you don't know what you know?" he said, clearly confused. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."
She sighed, knowing she wasn't making much sense. "It's all in there and that's the problem–it's like he put the world's biggest library in my head but without any organization. The only way to know what's there is to read all the books. And to be honest, most of what I have seen is not very pleasant. I haven't exactly been eager to go poking around in there."
Thor was frowning. "Loki showed you his mind," he murmured, echoing her words. His big hands clenched and unclenched and he didn't quite look into her eyes when he said, "Did he… also share his thoughts about me?" She nodded reluctantly and his face lit with emotion–hope, worry, longing, and desperate, anxious love. "Tell me, then! Does my brother hold any wish for reconciliation between us?"
Taryn winced. Even without looking directly at her, she could easily read the desire for his brother to return to him on his face, and she closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to watch that hope turn to pain. "It's… it's really complicated, Thor," she whispered, hoping he would take that for an answer.
But another part of her, a part that felt kinship with Loki instead of fear of him, urged her to tell him–tell him everything, make him hurt because he deserved it. Taryn wasn't entirely sure if that was her own urge or not. She didn't want to feel kinship with Loki in any way, but this didn't feel like it came from outside herself. It felt like it came from the years she'd spent as the least popular kid in school, Carrot-Top, nerd, geek, and all the other names hurled at her by bullies.
Thor was a bully–no doubt about it. But he was also the one who'd broken down that door and saved her from torture. It would be pretty damn poor of her to repay that debt with pain.
His voice, deep and resonant for all its hesitation, interrupted her internal debate. "I would still hear it. Please."
She sighed, realizing he wouldn't be put off. So be it. From the memories Loki had shared with her, Thor deserved any pain he felt at the revelations, but she still felt like shit for destroying his hopes–after all, she wasn't a bully, and she derived no pleasure from the pain of others. She struggled for words for several moments, trying to find a way to express all the complex emotions Loki felt for his brother/not-brother, before finally realizing that no words could ever be enough.
You have a touch of magic as well… Loki's murmured words echoed in her mind and his memories abruptly told her exactly what she needed to do.
Taryn reached out to Thor and he took her hand after an instant's hesitation. The magic came to her with stunning ease, as if she'd done this a million times–the benefit of Loki's absorbed knowledge. Then, the bridge to Thor's mind created, she found that adamantium box she and Loki had constructed to hold his memories, took a deep breath for courage, and opened it.
Just a crack.
Thor went rigid, gripping her hand so tightly it should probably hurt but for the whopping dose of pain medication Bruce had given her, and she saw and felt it all anew with him:
Excited to show his big brother the spell he'd just mastered, a child Loki ran to find Thor on the practice fields–he was always there now, always training with his new friends, never had time for his bookish little brother now that they no longer shared a nursery, but even he would like this. "Thor! Look!" he called, and called a fireball into his hand–his concentration slipped a little in his eagerness and the fire seared his hand–he ignored the bright flash of pain and threw the fireball. It sailed past Thor and hit a practice dummy in an explosion of heat and flames and destruction. Panting, proud, magic IS a worthy weapon, you have to see that now!, Loki beamed at Thor and waited for praise that didn't come. "I can do the same with a lit arrow. Perhaps you could too, if you would take time to learn a man's arts instead of a woman's," Thor scoffed, dismissing him, turning his back, utterly uncaring of the hours, the weeks it had taken to learn this spell, and oh, the stab of pain, of anger, of humiliation in Loki's breast! One day I will MAKE you recognize my magic, he vowed, hiding his emotions–oh, he was just a child and experience had already taught him to lie so easily–laughing at the jests of Thor's friends as if it didn't matter, as if he wasn't bleeding inside…
An early-adolescent journey to Svartalfheim gone bad, just Thor and Loki hunting bilgesnipe for sport, but one of the gigantic beasts had gotten lucky and trampled Thor before he could lift his sword and kill it. Loki had slain the thing with a tiny thrown dagger laced with a spell that stopped its massive heart–his magic had grown in refinement and strength over the last hundred years and he was certain that one day his skill would be unmatched by any witch or sorcerer in all the Realms, yet now, still young, he swayed from the power it had taken to extinguish such a large life-force. Taking no time to rest, he stumbled to his wounded brother's side, aghast at the splinters of bone glimpsed through torn, crushed flesh. Thor had spat mouthful after mouthful of blood as Loki drained himself past all good sense in healing him, exhausting his remaining strength and drawing on his own spirit to finish knitting together all the broken things inside Thor's body because even his condescending older brother couldn't deny this, until Thor sprang to his feet, good as new, and sneered down at Loki as he knelt panting and shaking on the ground, "You're meant to be so clever, why didn't you just call for Heimdall to send the healers? Now look at you! I'll have to carry you home like a fainting maiden…"
Kneeling again but this time before all of Asgard, his spine unbent beneath the laughter of a thousand mocking mouths and the weight of so many avid gazes, all of them feeding his determination not to move or make a sound. Brokk took out his dull awl and the rough strip of leather, determined to make this hurt as much as possible, and the dwarf smirked as Thor–Thor, the one who'd benefited most from Loki's dangerous scheme, who'd been gifted with Mjolnir!–stepped forward to say loudly, "I will hold you, brother, so you do not dishonor yourself" as though he were the one doing Loki the favor–such humiliation, such rage, seething and terrible! Loki endured the pain of the dwarf sewing his lips together by plotting some suitable revenge upon Thor for shaming him with that announcement, the way he'd made it clear to all that even he didn't believe Loki could accept his punishment like a man–emphasizing the insult by holding him tightly enough to crack his ribs even though Loki hadn't struggled, hadn't so much as twitched, but Thor still denied him the chance to prove his strength and honor to all of Asgard…
The crushing weight of Mjolnir upon his chest as Thor pinned him beneath it a hundred, a thousand times–"I will release you soon, brother, but try, just try, a real warrior could lift it"–pain and suffocation and fury because yes, Thor could lift that damned hammer while Loki could not, but Thor could never have tricked the dwarves into making it–not just creating it but giving it to Asgard as a gift–and Loki had done just that. But of course, real warriors didn't use tricks, real warriors didn't use intelligence and magic and cunning and everything that Loki was, and every time he saw Thor striding through Asgard like a crowing cock with that hammer at his side, Loki regretted ever giving him such a powerful gift and wished he could take it back…
Mocked, always, always mocked, called sister and seidmadr and maiden and worse, until he'd finally found a way to show Thor what that was like and watched him don Freya's dress and flowers and all her bridal finery to reclaim the treasured hammer he'd lost through his own drunken stupidity. But Thor had never been mocked for his cross-dressing or his idiocy–no, when that tale was retold, it was Loki who was mocked for wearing Frigga's falcon dress (never mind that it was the only way to discover where Mjolnir was!), Loki who was laughed at for dressing as a bridesmaid (never mind that the mighty Thor himself was the bride!), and the unfairness, the injustice of it clawed at him and gave him his first taste of insanity…
A thousand jests, a million insults, a billion overheard whispers–Loki will never be a true warrior, Thor, you should leave him at home with the other women–this from Lady Sif, more a man in Asgard's eyes than Loki would ever be because she hacked with a blade while he dared to make use of the magic that saturated him to the point that he would go mad if he didn't use it…
Perhaps you can find a lover here too, Loki–this from Fandral as he lounged in a tavern with a giggling whore on each knee, but instead of pointing at the group of wenches awaiting a warrior's beckon, he'd nodded toward a line of grizzled elders drinking at the bar, old men, and Thor had laughed with the rest of them, laughed so hard he spilled his mead as Loki forced a smile and pretended their disdain didn't cut him, and he cast a little spell to ensure that Fandral's plans for the evening would end in limp disappointment…
It is good, I suppose, to have a spare prince–he'd overheard Hogun saying this to Sif one night in the dark corridor outside the feasting halls after Thor had a particularly close brush with death during one of their quests, the comment more cutting because Hogun said so little and never spoke without thought, so this must be his true opinion of Loki–the Spare Prince, useless, extraneous, unneeded and unwanted…
Perhaps one day you'll join us in the fight and learn what danger is–this from Volstaag, fat, lazy, stupid Volstaag who had no idea, not the slightest inkling of the dangers Loki had faced in perfecting the spells he flung from that "safe" distance. Warriors fighting with steel only had to worry about damage to their bodies, but Loki had fought down beasts who cared nothing for his flesh and would have savaged his very soul–there was no safety in magic–none!–yet they all mocked him, all thought him craven, Loki Cowardson, the Trickster too frightened to join the battle honorably, the weakling who flung blades and spells from a distance…
Some do battle, others merely do tricks–Thor, always the most cutting remarks came from Thor because Loki could not stop caring what his brother thought so it hurt the most when he dismissed Loki's magic, his intelligence, his ability to plan as mere tricks even when they saved Thor's stupid, arrogant life, and oh, I will show him, show them all that Loki is no coward, no spare prince, no one to overlook…
Know your place–reprimanded because Loki had dared to speak against Thor's hubris, his determination to pick a fight that could not end well, despite the fact that Loki had planned for Thor to attempt this. Attempt, yes, but not to succeed, because Loki did not want to risk his own skin for these fools, he'd only wanted to show the All-Father his heir's true colors, but then the Jotunn had grabbed Loki's arm and shown him his true colors instead…
I will not fight you, brother!–no, of course he wouldn't fight, Loki wasn't worthy to be an opponent to the mighty Thor Odinson, Odin's true son–never mind that Loki had saved Odin's life, never mind that he had singlehandedly won Asgard's war against Jotunnheim without the loss of a single Æsir life–more than that, without even risking a single Æsir life! Never mind that such a thing was a feat unattainable by steel alone, never mind that his brilliance had handed Asgard a victory so profound the Jotunn could never recover from it–no, Loki was unworthy to face Thor, unworthy to fight Thor, unworthy to even stand in his exalted shadow, always unworthy…
All this and more, a thousand years of humiliation and mockery, a thousand years of being made to feel utterly useless, unworthy, unwanted and alone–Taryn pushed it all at Thor, holding on when he tried to pull away, saturating him with Loki's pain, bludgeoning him with it, until she finally tore a new memory from Thor's own mind and made him see it anew–
Loki standing before him on a bare stone outcropping and Thor, so superior, so condescending, dismissing every instant of Loki's life with one sentence:
"So you take the world I love as recompense for your imagined slights?"
She saw the way the words slapped Thor, watched as he felt Loki's crushing pain, as the golden, perfect son of Odin finally, genuinely knew what it was to be dismissed and mocked and despised and overlooked, and she closed the box in her mind and released his hand. Thor stumbled back and fell against the empty bed across from her, staring in stunned anguish, tears running down his bearded face. "No, it wasn't… we never meant… it wasn't like that," he whispered, shaking his head, blue eyes wide and shocked as he gazed desperately at her as if begging for reassurance.
"It was exactly like that," Taryn said flatly. She wasn't on Loki's side–this was her world, too, and she wanted neither to rule it nor see it burn–but she had suffered too much from those memories and it only seemed fair for Thor to do the same considering he'd caused so many of them. "And that was merely this life–one of his better lives. Would you like to see some of the worse ones?"
He covered his face with his hands. "He hates me," he said brokenly. "He hates me!"
"Yes," she agreed. "And he has reason." Thor's shoulders shook as he wept, a big man brought low, and she could only hope it was because he truly hadn't intended to hurt Loki as badly as he had. But what was worse, she wondered–to hurt someone on purpose, or to mean the best and still destroy a loved one? She thought the second one. Not that it mattered now–intentional or not, Loki was as he was and Thor bore much of the blame. Nothing would undo that.
"Um. Someone want to tell me what the hell just happened? Because that looked like some kind of psychic voodoo and if there's gonna be psychic voodoo going on, I'd like a heads-up next time so I can set up some sensors and analyze the hell out of it."
Stark's voice was an abrupt reminder that she and Thor weren't the only ones in the room. Fatigue crashed over Taryn and she let her head fall back onto the pillow. "I don't know when Loki's going to try and open the door with the Tesseract," she said to the room at large, suddenly wanting this to be over so she could sleep even though she was the one who'd insisted on doing this now. "I didn't see that–maybe I know it, but if I do, I can't find it. But I do know where he's going to attack. Agent Romanov said there's no central seat of power for the Earth and she's right, but think like an alien." She swallowed with an audible click, wished for more ice-chips, then said, "The United Nations in New York sounds like the sort of thing that he'd be looking for, doesn't it?"
"Shit," Barton said, and Stark echoed him. Then Barton said, "Hey, Mean and Green, what's that?" and Taryn opened her eyes to see Bruce injecting something into her IV.
"It's a sedative," he said after throwing the syringe away. He glared around the room as if daring anyone to protest. "I'm ending this now. Dr. Roswell–Taryn–we really do appreciate your help, but you have to rest or you're going to damage yourself," he said, turning that glare on her. "And I need to redress your wounds and find out how bad you're already damaged. You're going to want to be out for that, believe me. It's going to hurt."
She already felt the sedative taking hold–not that she needed much of a push to fall asleep. "I believe you," she said, or at least she tried to say it, but blackness swirled around her like a warm blanket and sucked her down into sleep, followed by the broken sound of Thor's grief.
