Me.
The single word echoed in Loki's ears. Staring at her standing there so proud and so totally unafraid of him did something dangerous to his equilibrium. It was the last thing he needed because he was already struggling to keep his balance after the revelation that his plan for her to await his triumph safely in SHIELD custody had so spectacularly backfired.
… shot in the back and tortured…
A thousand years of memories assaulted him when she'd spoken those words and hadn't yet released him. Oh, Loki knew torture, he knew pain and torment and helplessness, he knew more ways to break a body and crush a soul than any ten generations of mortals put together, and that knowledge itself tortured him now. What had they done to her? She wouldn't tell him–he saw that in her eyes, steady and unyielding, but that only meant that his imagination was free to fill in the blanks. That cursed, hated word throbbed with his heartbeat, tormenting him, enraging him.
… tortured… tortured… tortured…
And on the heels of that, now she offered the one thing at which he could not scoff. Grasping desperately for balance, for the cool intellect that had always served him so well but had now been scattered to the four winds, Loki bluffed as best he could. "You, for an entire world?" he said, but it didn't come out scathing. It came out winded, as though he'd been punched in the stomach. Perhaps she wouldn't notice, or would take it for another trick. He pressed on–it was all he could do. "You value yourself highly, my lady."
Taryn shrugged, standing before him in black jeans and a white button-down blouse, as regal as any queen in silks. The hem he'd torn hung unevenly in the back. The sight of it brought back the warmth of her smooth, unmarked skin beneath his hand, the softness… again, he wrenched his thoughts back from temptation, and just in time to hear her reply. "No, Loki, I don't. But you do." And she said it with perfect confidence, utterly assured that she was correct.
And she was, damn it! Loki stared at her, mind working sluggishly when he needed it to race, to find a bridge between two contradictory absolutes.
He needed the Earth so he could present the Tesseract to the Chitarui–that was absolute. They would never stop hunting him if he did not deliver on his end of the bargain they'd struck.
And he needed Taryn to save him from another endless life of misery and pain–he could not forsake her. He could not!
"Speak your terms," he finally rasped, dropping the faux-carelessness. Taryn was too smart and she knew him too well–his own damn fault, giving her those memories–and she would never believe him unaffected. She, too, knew his absolutes.
"You will stop your assault on the Earth," Taryn said calmly. "You will not attack the Earth again in the future, nor incite others to do so. In return…" For the first time, she hesitated, took a deep, steadying breath. Then she met his eyes again. "In return, Loki, I will no longer resist you. I won't ever try to escape you. I'll go wherever you go, and help you in any way I can with anything you ask. I'll understand you, and I'll share your home and your bed." She paused, took a deep breath, and finished, "I will choose you, Loki, and stay with you until the end of my human life."
Every word shot temptation and exhilaration through his veins, chased with such pain that he almost cried aloud with it, but Loki couldn't stop himself from pressing. "And love, Taryn?" he asked, knowing he shouldn't but unable to choke the words back. "Will you love me?"
She spread her hands, a helpless gesture. "I can't promise love," she said, and although he'd expected her honesty, it still cut him. "But I will try. I… you know there's a physical attraction between us already, and it might be possible that I could love you someday if you treat me well and–and stop killing. I can't promise more than that."
But by the Tree, that was more than enough. Her stipulations were less than nothing–he could no more treat her badly than he could uproot Yggdrasil, and if not killing was the price of her heart, he would pay gladly and never regret it.
Not that it made the blindest bit of difference. He needed the Earth, and he needed her, and if there was a way to have both, he couldn't see it.
Cursed Norns, Loki thought viciously, spinning around and slamming both hands down on the marble bar. In that moment, he hated the three Fates more than he ever had before. You damned holy interfering bitches! To present Taryn to him like this, so close and yet so very far out of his reach!
If he chose Taryn, the Chitauri would forfeit their prize and would never stop hunting him, and she would almost positively be injured or killed in their bloodthirsty revenge. But if he chose the Chitauri's way and conquered the Earth to claim the Tesseract, the only way Taryn would ever stay with him was if he used the mind-control power of his scepter on her–and that was not enough, damn it! He squeezed his eyes shut, still trying to invent a way around this.
There was one surety no matter what he decided, and that was that the Tesseract would open the portal. Not even Loki could stop that now. The device Selvig had created could not be shut off at this point. The doorway would open and the army would come through, but what happened next was up to Loki.
If he chose to use the Chitauri army to conquer the Earth, Loki's victory would finally prove that he was a force to be reckoned with, a power Asgard couldn't ignore, a true warrior not just despite his magic but because of it. Ruling his own realm would put him on equal standing with Odin in Asgard. He'd finally free from his not-father's terrible power. And not least, the deal he'd made with the Chitauri would be satisfied, thereby freeing him from that dire obligation and the threat of endless torment it carried.
But if he sent the army back and chose Taryn, what then? Yes, he would have the understanding and devotion he craved, but practical issues had to be considered as well. For the most basic of those, where would they go? He could walk the pathways of Yggdrasil as no other ever could, but he immediately rejected the thought of forcing Taryn to follow him on an endless, homeless path through the realms. No, somehow Loki would find a safe place for them to live, perhaps on Vanaheim, or Alfheim. Norns knew either realm held those who owed him favors not easily repaid. He could trade on those to create a home for them. His fingers curled into fists as he imagined a real home–a place of safety, of laughter, a place where Taryn welcomed him into her arms and into her bed, where she tried her best to love him.
And not because he'd used the power of his scepter to make her so. No, she would be with him because she'd chosen him. Loki's knuckles ached but he couldn't seem to open his fists. The last person who'd chosen him had been Odin, and it hadn't been for any merit of Loki's–it had been as a hostage of war, a thing to be raised and brainwashed and used. But Taryn… she had his memories, she knew his mind as no other ever had or would again, and she would go with him and stay with him of her own free will.
The temptation… it was almost more than he could bear.
"If you choose me," Loki rasped, still seeking a way to have both, "I will make of the Earth a gift to you, and the Sun and Moon as well. They will shine only at your command. The world will be yours to control."
"Oh, Loki."
He heard her move, drew a slow breath as she hesitantly put a hand on his tight forearm. Just that small touch froze him. No one should have such power over me, he thought fiercely, but it didn't seem to make a difference. His head was filled with memories of that other life, that other Loki and Taryn and the love they'd shared which had changed everything, and he wanted that peace and happiness desperately. "The world will be yours. I give you my word upon it," he whispered, and finally opened his eyes and looked at her.
Her brown eyes seemed deep enough to drown in. "I don't want to rule the world," Taryn replied softly. "So many people would have to die to–"
But Loki was speaking before she could complete the thought. "As you will," he said, his voice utterly calm in contrast to the storm raging inside him. He should've known she wouldn't agree to that. Perhaps he didn't know her as deeply as she knew him, but he had hundreds of years of memories of her other life and that Taryn would never have agreed to rule her homeworld in chains. It had been a foolish thing to offer.
And then his gaze fell upon the hand she still rested on his arm. It was small, delicate, and wounded. Her smallest and ring fingers were crooked and bruising.
… tortured… tortured… tortured…
But in the next instant, he knew SHIELD wasn't to blame–Thor had healed all the damage they'd done. This, he realized, had to have happened when she'd slapped him and half hit the metal of his cheekguard. He abruptly tore off his helmet and threw it one-handed against the wall hard enough to crack it. Taryn recoiled from the unexpected violence and Loki held out his hand to her. "Give me your hand," he said impatiently when she didn't seem to understand what he wanted. "You're injured."
Taryn bit her lip–made him want to bite it himself. "It's nothing," she started to refuse, but stopped when he glared at her and hesitantly put her wounded hand in his.
"They're broken," he growled furious that anything of his had hurt her. He lifted her hand to his mouth, then parted his lips and took both fingers inside. She gasped but not from pain as he swirled his tongue over the delicate fingers, letting his magic surround and penetrate them. Slowly he drew her fingers out of his mouth again, whole and undamaged, and he swallowed her brokenness and pain. "Now it's nothing," he murmured when he was finished. Somehow, unexpectedly, the act of healing her had calmed him.
"Thank you," Taryn said, flexing her newly healed fingers within his grip. "That was kind."
"It wasn't kind," Loki snapped, and he tightened his fingers around hers. "It was a trade. You owe me."
She raised an eyebrow, wary. "I didn't agree to that."
He mimicked the expression. "Do forgive me, dear lady. I can rebreak them for you if you'd prefer," he offered with a mocking little bow.
… tortured… tortured… tortured…
Of course it was a lie. He could never bring himself to harm her, but perhaps she didn't know that. "Or you could save yourself the pain and merely grant me two small boons."
She tugged fruitlessly at her hand. "Two, for just one healing?"
"One healing of two fingers," he pointed out, not letting go.
Finally she sighed and bit her lip again. "I'll hear your requests," she said warily, "but I agree to nothing yet."
"I will hold them in reserve for now," Loki said with his most charming smile, even though he already knew what he would ask of her. "But now, you should know that I have made my choice."
Really, it was the only thing he could do. He just hoped he could live with it.
