Chapter 8: Something That Matters
They are mourning. His father and his mother and his brother – except no, they are not his, not really – stand on the end of the ruined Bifrost. All three cry. They are mourning. They truly mourn and then they are gone, the vision shifting.
She is cloaked in shadow, naked. A faceless man puts a white pill on her tongue and dark bags reside under dull blue eyes. Her hair is brown. The faceless man moves over her, but Eleanor does not smile. She closes her eyes and arches her back, but Eleanor does not smile.
"No, Loki," whispers his father. It is not truly his father but rather a thief and a liar, and Loki wants more than anything to be worthy of this king, to be his, but hope is lost with two words. He failed. Thor is yelling, his face contorted in horror and grief, and Loki let's go. He lets go. He falls. He is swept away into nothingness.
Eleanor is laid out on a bed, draped in Asgardian cotton. She is sweating, panting, her hair sticking to her forehead. Loki is panicking, hands fluttering uselessly around her body but she smiles. She is radiant. "Come here," she says. He does. Her hands shake as she touches his face and her kiss is sloppy. "Look what we made." She beams. "Look what we made."
She stands atop marble steps, biting the inside of her cheek. Her eyes are wide. She is concerned. A gold and emerald crown circles her head and her bright hair is unnaturally tame. She is not pleased. She is overwhelmed, but when she looks at Loki, she smiles. When she looks at Loki she smiles. Eleanor smiles and Loki smiles back.
Thor is dead. His blue eyes stare at nothing as blood pours from his slit throat. The awkward angle of his neck makes Loki heave.
The woman has Eleanor's face, but the features are slightly wrong, mutated. Her nose is longer, her lips thinner and her hair is dark. She sleeps restlessly, shifting on her back in an attempt to get comfortable under the weight of her hugely pregnant belly. An Asgardian crouches over her, whispering in her ear, smoothing back her dark hair and gently caressing her stomach. He is Bragi, God of Song, and he weaves a powerfully spell of protection. When the woman wakes, Bragi is gone.
A monstrous green giant rips apart steel. The red woman cowers, her last thoughts on her lost Hawk and Eleanor is screaming. Screaming.
"I love you," says Eleanor. And he believes her. He believes her. The truth is written in her gaze and as often as she tells him, he will never quite be used to hearing those words spoken in the melodious tones of his wife. And he loves her as well. He says it back with much less frequency but that makes it no less true. He loves her. Loves her. "Fuck, do I love you," she says and oh, does he love her back despite her foul mouth.
She hugs him, calls him son. She is not his mother. She lied. But he hugs her back all the same and feels all right for the first time in a long time.
The child sits at the piano next to her mother. Chubby fingers bang away at ivory and the sound should annoy Loki but it doesn't. Her enthusiasm makes him smile, makes him feel warm. Her hair is blue, her skin is pale, and she has Eleanor's eyes. Her hair is blue. A wild blue mane sprouting from the perfect globe of her head. When she looks at him she smiles and Loki understands that her existence makes everything different. Everything.
Eleanor has run out of screams. The Titan of Death stole even her voice with his blades and fire and words. Most painful are the lies whispered in her ear, the images planted in her head. Eleanor is unmade and remade in his image. Loki knows. Loki was there and now her pain is his pain and he can do nothing, nothing, nothing to free her, to spare her this, even if it means the end, even if it is granting her the blessed relief of death. "End this!" Loki pleads. "Anything, I will give you anything!" He's said this before, offered himself in exchange for Eleanor a thousand times over, but he got nothing back but cruel laughter. "Anything," says the titan now. "Yes I will have your anything, and more."
Loki is in a room with crumbling stonewalls and concrete floors. Great hanging sheets of plastic divide the large space. Men work under floodlights directly opposite him, but he is left alone, sitting on a step. The darkness of the corner makes the Tesseract's glow appear that much brighter.
It sits at his feet, humming, brilliant, knowing, and Loki doesn't recall dropping it.
He tries to scream, but there is panic in his chest and it will not escape. Screaming would be a release, but he cannot manage it. He glances around wildly, scrambling to understand how he came to be in this dark corner of this decrepit space.
The Void was so vivid, only a moment ago, and he was not alone with the Titan or the Other. Eleanor was there. Is there still? Did he leave her there?
The thought makes him retch, but he looks at the Tesseract at his feet and he understands.
He was shown happenings in the past and possibilities for the future. Images swirl in his mind and he cannot determine what has happened from what might happen. Squeezing his eyes closed, he blocks it out. All of it.
Or so he tries. Eleanor, tortured beyond reason, unmade, remade, corrupted into something monstrous, something like him – that he cannot forget.
Even when he opens his eyes again and stares at the Tesseract at his feet, Loki is unable to unsee Eleanor in the Void. He is unable to unfeel the panic, the desperation to save her, for in that moment she was everything.
The vision renews his drive, his need to be successful in his plans because failure is too horrible to contemplate. Because failure could very well land them both in the Void.
You think you know pain? He will make you long for something sweet as pain.
Loki believes the Other's words. He well and truly understands all that is at stake now. The one way to guarantee Eleanor's safety and his own is to win, to become the king he deserves to be, to be the ruler the Titan crafted.
He picks up the Tesseract, shuddering slightly. The power tickles his veins, but it is a struggle to keep himself from fleeing to their corridor, to see for himself that she is here, that she is safe.
He is not the creature of the visions, so pathetically wrapped up in a half mortal woman, but his compulsion to have her near and safe is undeniable. He will spare her that future. This is one possibility that will not come to fruition.
Breathing is slightly less difficult and he steadies himself, cloaking himself in the persona of king, of ruler. There is still work to be done on this night. The Tesseract has others with whom to speak.
He delivers the cube to Agent Barton and gives orders for the remainder of the night. Only when he is assured that everything is in place does he allow himself to retire.
She is not in his rooms and the disappointment he feels upon seeing his empty bed is inexplicable, but he should not be surprised, given the way he frightened her the previous night. He quickly turns to her rooms.
He stills when he sees Eleanor lying in her own bed, sleeping soundly, and the tension slowly drains from his shoulder. Breathing becomes possible once more and although he thought he'd sufficiently calmed down as he gave orders, he sees now that he continued to panic until the moment he looked upon Eleanor, safe and sleeping.
She sleeps on her back, face tilted in his direction, and Eleanor is beautiful. He failed to think on it before, but he sees her as she is now. Beautiful and broken and his.
Looking at her makes it difficult to push away all the Tesseract showed him and he desperately wonders what has already occurred and what is possibility only.
He wonders what was lost, a thousand futures stolen by a thousand seemingly inconsequential decisions.
Could she truly love him? Or was that possibility lost when Bragi, God of Song, choose to leave her here on this useless realm. Was that a future only open to them if her father brought her to Asgard after her birth?
He knows her past now, knows her father, knows that she is no simple Midgardian. The satisfaction of being right in regards to her parentage is drowned out by a storm of possibilities.
Will she wear a crown? Will she smile at him in that way?
Will the Titan of Death turn her into a monster?
He kneels on the edge of her bed, pushing her hair back and studiously lying to himself, pretending that he was not shown what he was shown, but when he wraps an arm around her middle he cannot forget the way she smiled for him, the way she did not smile for the faceless man.
Eleanor stirs and Loki panics, startled to be caught in such a tender moment. He is on his feet, looming over her and trying to find the will to leave her be. She loathes him, hates him, and he will not be bogged down by a desire to see her smile in that fashion. Wanting what he cannot have is a useless, painful endeavor, and he will focus on the attainable possibilities.
He will keep Eleanor out of the Void. He will have that crown on her head, and a future of her loving him may have been lost with a single decision from her wayward father, but someday she will smile.
Frowning, he attempts to determine a way to crawl into bed without disturbing her. She's left no room for him and her lack of consideration makes him angry. He prods her.
"Loki?" she mutters. Her voice makes him jump, but she doesn't notice in the dark. "Why are you poking me in the back?"
"Make room, Eleanor." His voice is harsh, irritated. "You take up the entirety of the bed."
He realizes in this moment that he cannot leave her alone, not with the image of her voiceless and blooded in the Void so fresh in his head.
Yesterday her sleepy groan might have offended him, but on this night he smiles. She rolls over, away from him, making room. Far too much room, but Loki does not hesitate to join her.
He tries to get comfortable, but she is far too far away.
"Eleanor," he whispers.
"Er?"
"Now you take up too little of the bed."
"Sleep, Loki."
He wants something from her, needs something from her, although what, he cannot say. He murmurs her name twice more, but she is asleep. It seems a good sign, that even after everything she can fall asleep with such ease in his presence.
He touches her because he wants too and for once does as she says.
She wants to cook Dr. Selvig and Agent Barton breakfast, so he humors her. They see her in next to nothing, and it reminds him of what the Tesseract showed him, of all the faceless men before.
Rage boils in his veins, but he does not tear apart his so called "minions" with his hands. It would happen slowly, painfully. He wants to. He is dizzy with the need to hurt any who have touched her, seen her, but he is able to hold onto his priorities.
Dr. Selvig and Agent Barton are necessary for victory and victory is necessary to keep Eleanor out of the Void. The Tesseract spoke to these two. It showed them ancient knowledge and profound truth.
All Loki got was Eleanor and endless questions, endless possibilities. He resents his "minions" for seeing what he did not. They are blessed with peace while Loki is plagued with confusion, with doubt, with Eleanor and he hates them for it.
But they are necessary.
So they eat breakfast.
There is work to be done.
She does not try to kiss him as he takes her in the corridor and it pleases him to see her learning her lesson so effectively after he trapped her hands against the headboard the night before.
But she does ask him about it.
The question surprises him and his sliver tongue fails at this most inconvenient of moments. He reveals too much, calls himself monster and Eleanor notices. Eleanor notices much too much for his liking.
She makes him eat food old food, prepared the night before, but walks straight to his room with no hesitation after their shared meal, pulling her dress over her head and kneeling.
"Eleanor," he says, exasperated. "You tease me."
Absently she waves a hand in his general direction. Dude really needs to work on his patience. There are a lot of instruments here, and she needs a moment to make her selection.
"Eleanor!"
Hand hovering over the banjo, she lets out an irritated huff before finally settling on the acoustic guitar. He much prefers the acoustic guitar.
She sways back over to the bed, definitely teasing him with her naked body. He scowls at her when she sits on the corner of the mattress, out of his reach.
She crosses her legs and pulls the guitar into her lap. The instrument covers up the majority of her torso, something Loki grumbles about.
"Don't you want me to sing?" Ellie asks, giving him a lazy smile.
Loki's blue eyes narrow. "Sing quickly," he demands.
This is one request she would never dream of denying him, so she closes her eyes, plucks out a few cords, and opens her mouth.
Tonight she gives Loki, the reckless god who spent the last three hours making her come so many times she's lost count, an old time song. She learned Train on the Island on countless porches from grizzled old timers, the porch pickers of the mountains of North Carolina. They were once her people.
The song is bittersweet and makes her miss feeling like somewhere was home.
She sways to the music and croons her little heart out. When she opens her eyes again, Loki is out like a light, curled up on his side. The peaceful expression on his face makes him look young and she smiles.
Her voice can knock out a god. It's not a bad feeling.
As she returns the instrument to its place, lined up on the back wall between the banjo and the mandolin, she briefly considers returning to her room to get a few hours sleep. It's got to be close to dawn, but time really doesn't mean much underground.
She glances back at Loki, curled up on his side. Flicking off the light, she crawls back into bed next to him. She wraps her little body about his much longer naked frame, pushes her nose into his back, and spreads his fingers out over the rippled muscles of his stomach.
The large green bed is empty save for Ellie when she wakes and this is becoming a routine.
She shifts over, pressing her cheek into the rumpled sheets where he slept. The spot is cool, but so is his temperature so it really gives her no clue as to how long she's been alone.
There are no windows here underground and her only means to tell the time is the watch she had on the night he brought her here. It sits on her dresser, and she is feeling far too lazy to go retrieve it.
That would require clothing herself, and she's just not quite ready for that yet.
No light penetrates the room, save for the small crack under the door to the hallway, and Ellie rolls on her back to stare up into the dark. The lack of light fits her current mood.
Germany. It has started and he is going to Germany. The thought of him leaving brings her much more sadness than it should but mostly she is terrified of the next part.
She mopes around in bed before her frustration boils over. She hates this situation. Hates him for bringing her here, hates herself for her lack of control over her own emotions.
Mostly she hates the fact that here with him, she isn't so lonely. Before, she didn't even notice but the thought of going back now is terrifying.
Needing a distraction, she hauls herself out of bed, pulls on her robe, and moves to the kitchen. She's not particularly hungry, but cooking is the only activity she can think of cam her frantic thoughts.
As fucking usual.
Waking up alone and cooking a breakfast she doesn't want. Even this routine is preferable to all the changes about to happen.
"I am departing in a matter of hours." Loki finds her rummaging around in the magically stocked fridge, mulling over what exactly to cook.
She turns quickly, startled as she usually is to see him standing directly behind her. For once she manages to not let out a ridiculous squeak and not fall over. It feels like progress.
"Where are you going?" she asks, even though she knows.
"Stuttgart, Germany."
She fixes him with a blank stare and raises one eyebrow.
"Are you familiar with Stuttgart, Germany?" he inquires.
She shakes her head.
"So you have not been to Stuttgart, Germany?"
Another head shake. She's never been anywhere.
She wants to ask why, but even if he would tell her she wouldn't like the answer so she refrains. The end is near. He is leaving in a matter of hours, and she hates it.
"You require sustenance," he murmurs, walking her backward. He traps her gaze with his as her back bumps into the fridge.
Ellie shrugs.
"I do not like you so frail," he murmurs as he runs the sash of her robe through his fingers. With extreme slowness he unties the knot and lets the robe fall open. Her breath hitches and she curses herself for not enjoying his body from the start.
She was damned the moment she took him home from the bar and she might as well have been reaping the benefits from the beginning.
"Do you require sustenance?" he whispers, lips against the shell of her ear. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. His hands caress her and Ellie knows that this is the real distraction she was craving earlier.
When he touches her it is so very easy not to think.
"You are mine, Eleanor," he says, deadly serious. At his frightening tone Ellie opens her eyes. "You are mine now, just as you will be when Midgard's pathetic attempt at resistance is crushed. Mine, in every way imaginable, as you were meant to be."
She fixes him with a blank stare. Despite her strange and complex feelings regarding her megalomaniac captor turned fuck buddy, his is one thing she will never be. She is fundamentally opposed to the concept and even though she doesn't belong anywhere out there in the big wide world, she won't ever belong with him either.
This whole baffling relationship is about survival for Ellie, punctuated with moments of heart stopping pleasure, and really hasn't that been the point of her existence for years now?
The next part, where he attempts to rule the world, that is something she can't hope to survive. She has to help resist because even if he comes out victorious, the guilt of failing all of humanity would crush her. She prays for the victory of humankind, even if she doesn't quite belong with them either.
Survival, self-preservation, is the reason she doesn't verbally deny his claim. Let him think what he wants, until the moment she can somehow figure out how to help the good guys.
"How many mortals have you bedded in your short life, I wonder," Loki muses, tapping his chin with a finger. Ellie bristles at the question, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow at him. " A great many, I fear."
She shrugs, in no position to deny the truth. She is not ashamed of her past. For a long time, sex was her only means for human connection and Ellie was always alone again after a few hours of pleasure. But it sure was fun.
No doubt Loki has ruined this for her as well.
He touches her cheek in a gesture that is so tender it makes her uncomfortable and puts her on edge. "I will kill them all," he murmurs in a tone that would be loving if not for the words. "All these faceless men who had your body but not your smiles."
Ellie's mouth falls open with an audible pop and her eyes go wide.
Loki chuckles. "You know I could do this," he says.
She nods dumbly and hopes this is another of his little pranks to get her riled up.
"I will do this for you."
She snorts. "That wouldn't be for me, bucko," she mutters before she can think better of it. "It would be for you, you jealous, jealous demigod."
"Bucko?" he sputters. "Jealous!"
"I don't want you to kill anyone," she whispers. "And since when do you do things for me?"
He just blinks at her before the fury is back in his eyes. As much as she wants to stand up to him, she finds herself cowering back into the stainless steel refrigerator.
"I do plenty for you," he hisses, once again violating her personal space. "My count is six orgasms last night alone, I let you putter around in the kitchen, and I will make you queen of my new regime."
He ticks off a count on his fingers and a strange sputtering escapes her throat, followed by an amused snort. His eyes bore into hers and all humor is gone. Once again her eyes go wide with shock.
"Oh, fuck," she mumbles. "You're serious."
A fist slams into the fridge inches from her head, making her jump. Again, she's reminded of how truly dangerous and terrifying he is. How can she keep forgetting? Even sex with him is freaky, but somehow she keeps forgetting.
She's going to need a damn good therapist after all this is done and over with. Assuming she survives, of course.
"Do not mock me, Eleanor!"
More nonsensical gurgles leave her throat as she tries to find the words.
"It is sound logic," he says, pushing away from her in favor of pacing. He is talking to himself again, the insanity back in his eyes with full force. "Order will need to be established after glorious battle. Glorious, surely, but not lengthy, and at some point order will need to be established over those who survive. You will where a crown and you will smile. I have seen it."
She follows his frantic movements, just wanting it to be over. Closing her eyes, she wishes him away to Germany. He makes no sense. None of this makes any sort of sense.
"A Midgardian at my side would do well from a political perspective, help me consolidate my power, give me insight to this strange, primitive race, and I could abide no other near me. I can barely tolerate your quiet presence."
"Oh, the romance," Ellie quips because she is a total idiot.
"You will get no romance from me," he says with a cruel laugh.
"I want none."
The pacing stops and he stands in front of her, tilting his head to the side to study her intently. She bites her cheek to keep from trembling.
"You are mine, Eleanor. I have seen it."
"Seen it? Why do you keep saying that?"
"You are mine," he repeats, failing to explain.
Even her over active survival instinct can't prevent her from denying it this time. The head shake is so slight, but Loki's sharp eyes miss little. His hand closes around her throat and her head is slammed back into the refrigerator door, right next to the fist-sized dent he left there moments ago. Although she anticipated the violence of his reactions, terror still has her body shaking and stars dance in front of her eyes.
Give him nothing that matters. Give him nothing important.
"You are mine!" he screams, shaking her. "Say it!"
She closes her eyes, forcing the tears there to stream down her cheeks, and then shakes her head once more.
Loki's frustrated growl is accompanied by a tightening of his grip on her throat. She struggles for breath, her eyes flying open to silently and futilely plea for mercy. At some point her hands moved to claw at his wrist, to try to pry him off her throat, but as her fingernails dig into his skin, he doesn't seem to notice.
Suddenly he relaxes. She wheezes and coughs, trying to catch her breath and still her panicked heartbeat. Her grip on the handle of the fridge is the only thing that keeps her from falling to her knees.
"Really, I am to blame," he says with a sigh. His nonchalance is suspect. "I've humored your insolence, overlooked your rampant misbehavior. My own fault, that somehow after all our time here you think I ask a question. You think you have a choice." He spits out the last word, and somehow this hint of emotion is better than his total indifference. "After all I've told you of freedom, you continue to labor under the falsehood you still have yours."
A cold metal object materializes in the small space between their bodies. Loki lazily reaches for the scepter, letting out a sigh as if the contact brings him pleasure and relief. His blue eyes seem to burn brighter.
Fear penetrates every crevice of Ellie's conscious, as she finally understands his intent. She struggles, desperate to get away, to save herself from the horrifying fate of Mr. Cutter and Erik Selvig and the Hawk and countless others.
"Although I did give you fair warning, Eleanor," he murmurs, looking at her again as he presses the point of the scepter into her chest. She feels it vibrate as if it is alive and demanding her very essence. And maybe it is. Maybe that's how this works. "Do you understand what I will do if you will not admit to being my possession?"
She nods.
"Will you say it now?"
She shakes her head.
"Say it!" he screams. Ellie jumps, surprised to hear the fear in his voice. "Say it," he whispers, pleading with her now.
Either way she is lost, but she refuses to give him anything that matters. He'll have to take it by force, all the better that he very obviously doesn't want to do it. Ellie gets some minor satisfaction that he'll suffer too, even as she stares down her greatest fear: losing herself.
Ellie shakes her head.
For a moment she is oddly calm.
A sound that is part growl and part groan comes from the God of Chaos. He hesitates for one moment as she beseeches him with her gaze, but he comes to a decision and presses the pointed tip into her chest more firmly.
Ellie lets out a whimper as a whirring fills her ears. The scepter continues to vibrate as it begins to pulse in time with her heartbeat. The weapon seems to hum, wanting to overcome her spirit. A great heat blooms in her chest, and then there is nothing.
They both stare down at the scepter against her chest for a long moment, before their gazes meet. He does not look surprised. Not surprised at all. His lack of surprise leads to so many questions, none of which she can manage to ask.
"Impressive," Loki says, chuckling slightly. Confusing her endlessly. "As I thought. Very impressive indeed."
Gathering her meager courage and strength, Ellie defiantly raises her chin and shoves away his staff. The glowing blue orb sizzles against her palm, calling to her, demanding something, but she's able to ignore the pull.
"I will never be truly yours, Loki." Ellie's voice is quiet, but the strength and resolve there is undeniable. "I will sing and kneel and do what you say, but that doesn't mean anything. It's all a show. I won't ever truly be yours because you can't totally possess someone without giving yourself back in return. So no, I'm not yours, not unless you are mine too, and who says I would want any part of you?"
Without looking at him to gage his reaction, she moves around him and calmly exits the kitchen.
Ellie is only given a few hours peace.
She sits at her vanity, staring intently at her reflection and attempting to analyze her own actions and feelings. She knows she is fucked up, this is not news, but sleeping with Loki, allowing herself to feel anything at all in his presence, it is more fucked up than she thought herself capable.
Why didn't it work? Was it his failing or is something wrong with her? Something that has to do with her origins? And what does he know about it? How could he possibly have answers he didn't have before?
The door of her bedroom flies open as she pokes miserably at the dark bruises on her neck. Although she jumps in her seat, her gaze never leaves her reflection.
"Eleanor," he says, looming over her. She watches him impassively in the mirror. His hand comes around her throat once more and she stiffens, but her does nothing but gently caress her skin. If she didn't know better she'd mistake the gesture for a silent apology. "You are mine, despite your little out burst."
When he leans down to kiss her, she nearly falls out of the chair. The angle is awkward, but his lips make her dizzy and warm anyway. It's over before it really even begins, and then he's stomping back the way he came, slamming the door behind him.
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