Chapter 15: All Together Now
"Bow before me and lay tribute at my feet," Tony Stark says, bursting into the kitchen where Ellie and Steve are sharing a mostly silent breakfast.
Since church two days ago, the she's spent a good deal of time with the world's first super hero. Like Ellie, Steve has little to but wait. Dr. Banner and Tony work hard to get the gods home. Natasha and Barton are busy with Fury, doing whatever it is SHIELD does on a day to day basis. Thor rarely leaves the viewing room while Pepper has Stark Industries to run. Ellie is only allowed to spend so much time with Loki.
In the first few days after the battle for New York City, Steve attempted to help with the clear up and search for survivors, but it someone told someone and he was swarmed by press, his presence more of a hindrance than a help. In some ways, Steve is more of a prisoner here than Ellie.
"You sound like Loki," she tells Tony, absently stirring her green tea.
Tony gives her a withering look before taking the seat next to her and stealing a piece of bacon right off her plate.
"I have solved your each and every problem," he informs her, grinning widely. Ellie scowls at him in response. He is well aware of her irritation at everyone trying to tell her what to do.
"Cocky as ever, Stark," mutters Steve.
"What did you do?" demands Ellie.
"I solved all your problems," he repeats through a mouthful of bacon. "I am your savior along with a little astrophysicist named Jane Foster."
Ellie blinks in confusion. The name is familiar, although she can't place where she's heard it before. How an astrophysicist could possibly be the key to figuring out her life once Loki gets taken away is a mystery.
"Thor's girl?" Steve asks, sounding skeptical.
Ah, yes. There it is.
"The one and only," Tony says, nodding. "She's flying in today. Should be here in oh, approximately six hours and thirty six minutes."
Ellie hides her smile in her mug of coffee, thinking of Loki's freaky ability to know exactly how much time has gone by.
"Why is Jane Foster Ellie's savior?" Steve asks with a barely stifled sigh. Ellie flashes Steve a grateful smile. She's already lost interest the blather coming out of Tony Stark's mouth, although it might be important.
She has absolutely no desire to go back to her small, lonely life in her shit apartment, but signing her whole life away to SHIELD is certainly not an option.
"I am Ellie's savior," Stark insists.
"Tony!" Ellie snaps.
"Okay, okay. So I've spent the last week negotiating a SHIELD contract for Stark Industries to repair the Bifrost," he explains, obviously incredibly pleased with himself.
Ellie and Steve share a look, having no idea what Iron Man is going on about. He then launches into an equally incomprehensible spiel about Einstein-Rosenberg bridges and a bunch of other nonsense.
"English, Stark," says Steve.
"Thor destroyed the thing that allows for transportation between worlds when Reindeer Games went all genocidal," Tony explains with a heavy sigh. Ellie winces. "We are going to help repair it from this end."
"I thought you were working with the Tesseract to figure out how to get Thor and Loki back to Asgard," says Steve. "Why do you need the bridge?"
"We are. That will be done in just a couple days," Tony says, waving a dismissive hand. "This is a long term thing. Everyone is spooked by this elusive him Loki keeps babbling about. SHIELD has Thor meeting with all sorts of dignitaries, signing all sorts of treaties and pledges. If more aliens come to Earth, Asgard will have our back, but they need a way to get here."
"This all sounds pretty confidential," Steve says with obvious discomfort.
Tony shrugs. "My building. I know everything."
"What does all this have to do with Jane Foster? My savior?" Ellie asks.
"As of yesterday, she is a Stark Industries employee, heading the Bifrost Project," Tony continues. "And she's in need of a new assistant."
There is a beat of silence. Tony frowns, obviously surprised that no one is bowing down to lay tribute at his feet.
"You want Ellie to be the new assistant?" Steve finally asks.
"Yup."
"I barely finished high school and science was never exactly my thing," Ellie mumbles.
"Oh, I know," Tony says. "I've seen your transcripts. You play a lot of instruments. And Berklee School of Music, huh? That's impressive, even if you didn't end up going."
There is really nothing for Ellie to do but glare.
"This would be mostly clerical stuff anyway. Jane is a genius, but according to her last assistant, she sucks at organization."
"What happened to the last assistant?" Steve asks.
"Promoted."
"How does this help me at all?" Ellie demands, losing patience.
"Well, my plan was cleared by Fury, assuming you accept my job offer. You wouldn't be directly under the thumb of SHIELD, but close enough to keep an eye on. You could still do the whole, medical lab rat bit if you so choose. Plus, you'd be in the know," Tony says, once more grinning.
Ellie stares down into her coffee because this is the most appealing aspect of Tony's proposition, even if Steve is blinking in confusion. Ellie would remain connected to this world of the Avengers. Ellie would have a direct line to Asgard. She will see Thor the moment he gets back down to Earth. Thor will have information on the fate of his brother.
"In the know?" Steve asks.
"Madonna here will get to keep taps on her evil boyfriend," Tony explains. Everything about Steve, from his facial expression to his posture and the vibes he is exuding, coveys just how much he doesn't like the idea of Ellie keeping tabs on Loki.
But she's invested now. She chose.
They are going to lock him up and his psychosis will get worse and she has to know his fate.
"So what do you think, Ellie?" Tony asks.
She just shrugs.
"Just be in the lounge around five," Tony says, standing to strut out of the kitchen. "Come meet your savior. The other one. Who's not me."
He lies flat on his back, the thin mattress doing little to keep the bumps of his spine from digging into the concrete floor beneath. Eleanor covered him with the blanket when she arrived nearly an hour ago. The soft, warm comforter is filled with feathers and is by far the most luxurious item in his cell.
On occasion Eleanor smiles and refers to this one comfort as his security blanket. He does not understand the humor.
Now Eleanor sits at his side, not touching him but close enough that he could reach for her easily. Although their time is rapidly running out – Thor say they will depart in a matter of days – and he should be touching her as much as possible, Loki is too tired to move. The utter exhaustion prevents him from placing his hand on her thigh, but she is close, quietly strumming a guitar and blessing him with her voice.
It is enough.
Today is what Eleanor refers to as a good day.
He knows where he is and how he came to be here. His mind is clear and he is aware that the titan's laughter – cruel and disturbing as ever – is delusion only, one he can ignore with ease, especially with Eleanor singing quietly at his side. It is possible to understand the false world spun by the titan and he sees the differences between the visions of the Tesseract and actual life.
Still, knowing does not make it any easier when Eleanor does not smile for him the way she did in the visions, the way she would if she loved him.
Eleanor calls this a good day but with the clarity come more agony.
The fear and confusion of his delusions are somewhat preferable to the sharp, crippling pain of remembrance.
Eleanor also says this level of extreme lethargy is a symptom of something the Midgardians call depression.
Much of what Eleanor says is stupid.
He is still on the mattress as Eleanor sings, stewing in his hatred. He hates his false family and himself in equal measure. He hates his failure, even if he can summon no real disappointment that Midgard will not be his responsibility. He hates Eleanor because she smiles at him wrong, because he needs her despite this.
But just last week Eleanor chose to stay with him while he remains here within her reach and he has no desire to hate Eleanor.
He will save his hatred for Asgard. Perhaps hating her there will ease the woe of leaving her here.
By simply lying here on his back it is impossible to set aside his hate so he seeks out a distraction, despite the exhaustion that has crippled him all morning.
"Eleanor," he says. She jumps slightly, perhaps thinking he was asleep. "You possess immense beauty."
His words shock Eleanor, and her fingers falter on the strings of her guitar.
"For a half mortal," he quickly qualifies.
"Thank you."
"Have I told you this before?"
"Once."
"Only once?"
Eleanor nods.
"Well, that is the real tragedy here."
With an irritated huff, Eleanor discards the instrument in favor of crossing her arms over her chest to scowl at him. Every two days she sings with forty homeless children, some without parents, all at his hand, and he is claiming the real tragedy here has to do with the lack of compliments he's given her in their time together.
Even with the choice made, she has not stopped being angry with him, nor does he expect her too.
"Do not look at me in such a way," he says with a smirk, turning slightly to face her. "I know you are thinking of your homeless children."
"We should call them your homeless children," Eleanor murmurs.
"You should be thinking of only me," he insists.
"Oh, believe me," she says with a humorless chuckle. "I do think of you when I'm with the homeless children. Constantly."
Loki's eyes narrow as he sits up, crossing his long legs. There is tension in Eleanor's whole body, and after glowering her for a moment he forces himself to calm. Fighting with her will do nothing to cool his misplaced rage.
"In a few days time the Man of Iron and Dr. Green Rage Monster will have completed a means for Thor to drag me back to Asgard, correct?" he asks, as if the matter is of no great import.
Eleanor is not fooled. It is the furrow between his eyebrows that gives him away, along with the way he studies his nails. If he were less exhausted he would be alarmed by the way see seems to truly know him.
"Correct," she replies, frowning. In this moment she looks so distraught. Her sadness evaporates the last of his simmering hate.
"Come here, Eleanor," he says, using the commanding voice that never fails to send a shiver of anticipation up her spine. He knows. He's felt it in her.
For a moment Eleanor works her lip between her teeth and Loki fears that she will reject him, that this will be the time she says no and stays away. It would indicate that she has finally gained some fragment of wisdom.
But then his little songbird is on the move, pushing the guitar aside and shuffling towards him on her knees. With hands on her hips, she stares down at him expectantly as he smirks up at her.
"Tell me, my sweet songbird," he croons, voice absolutely dripping with sin. When he reaches out to palm her stomach underneath the fabric of her loose t-shirt, her breath hitches. "Will you miss me when I go?"
She simply shrugs.
"Eleanor."
She bites her lip and begrudgingly nods.
His responding smile is so shockingly genuine. He surprises himself, and Eleanor as well, if the hitch in her breath is any indication. But then it is gone. He will not allow his dependence to grow.
And this, the way she seems to choose him over and over is far beyond his ability to comprehend.
"Why?" He tosses aside the blanket and uncrosses his legs, stretching them out and pulling Ellie to kneel between them.
"Beats me," she whispers, willingly coming closer.
Again, just when it feels as though he will fly into a rage, his whole facade crumbles. With a desperate whine, he pulls her close. Their chests are pressed together and their gazes are even. Eleanor's heartbeat pounds in his ears.
"Why?" he whispers.
She pushes his disheveled hair off his forehead, gently massaging his scalp with her fingertips.
"I don't really know," she whispers. "You ripped me from my life, beat me up, attempted to steal the very essence of my being."
Loki is unable to meet her gaze. He even winces. It is more remorse than he has felt thus far.
"I did not attempt to steal the very essence of your being. I was simply testing the strength of your father's protective magic," he mutters. It seems important that she not condemn him on this one point.
"You failed to tell me about my birth father. You decimated this city in only a few hours," she continues. He is uncomfortable with this truth and does not like the very apparent fact that he's hurt her. "You tore apart families and ruined lives, but… I'll miss you. You are beautiful and broken and we are kindred spirits."
Loki musters a little pride and lifts his face to hers in order to give her what he hopes is an intimidating glare. "You dare compare yourself to a god?"
Eleanor rolls her eyes, totally unimpressed by his little outburst.
"I will miss you, Loki," she repeats. "I am a fool who will miss you."
Loki is quiet for a drawn out moment, and Eleanor stays completely still. She offers no real explanations, but perhaps she has none.
"We have only a few days left before I'm locked away, thrown to the mercies of the Allfather. I would rather you not be cross with me in these final moments," he murmurs, fingers pressing into her spine.
"How would you rather spend these final moments?"
Loki is pleasantly surprised to realize that she teases him and he smirks with delight.
"Why do you insist on clothing yourself in the manner of a man?" he whispers, teeth grazing the shell of her ear as one hand snakes up the seam of her ridiculous blue pants. Her hands tighten in his hair and she lets her eyes drift closed.
Both his hands go to the back of her knees, and he pulls her into his lap, wrapping her thighs around his waist. She chirps her surprise once more but keeps herself anchored with his hair.
"If not for your ridiculous attire, I could be touching you," he cups her with a palm, "intimately," he rubs her, "right at this moment."
He makes it a game, a test to see just how long she will allow this to continue. He'll push her to see the amount of time it takes for her to remember that there is a camera in each corner, that enemies keep a weather eye.
This is a game she started with her teasing, but he will escalate it.
"Dresses," she whispers.
"Yes," he replies, lips moving towards hers. "Good girl."
His kiss seems to have the same effect on the songbird as the scepter had on his "minions," but he gives up something of himself, he forgets pieces, forgets that her love is a long lost possibility.
With arms circling her waist, he encourages her to grind into his very obvious erection. She does so with relish as he kisses her.
He denied them both this before, in the bunker, and he deeply regrets it now. Perhaps he was trying to avoid getting too close, too dependent on his captive. Perhaps he did not wish to further soil something as talented as Eleanor with such an intimate touch of a monster.
Regardless of his past motives, he regrets the decision to ban kissing immensely.
Those last few days spent in the bunker Loki learned her body, her every dip and curve and crevice. He knows her rhythms and what each needy little sound indicates. He knows her taste.
Her body is his, but the same cannot be said for her mouth and there is no time left for him to learn this part of her as he should.
The thought has panic rising in his chest, ever as he continues to kiss her, but he is unwilling to let this "good day" end.
With hands on either side of her face, Loki tilts her face, slanting his mouth over hers. His desperation is rewarded with a gasp from Eleanor and she wriggles closer, palming his collarbones as she continues to move her hips.
This is no longer a game to distract himself, to test Eleanor's confidence in her choice. It is no longer about anything but their combined need.
She is beautiful. She is his. She will soon be well beyond his reach.
Disregarding the potential consequences and the effect such contact with the monster will have on her already precarious position with SHIELD, he revels in the way her teeth scrape his button lip, the slide of her tongue against his.
Eleanor kisses with single-minded enthusiasm and she pushes close, as if she would crawl into his chest and it still wouldn't be sufficient.
Fingers tangle in his hair and make him groan. He touches her under the loose white shirt, drifting down to encourage the circular motion of her hips.
Loki kisses her and kisses her and kisses her. It is superior to matching her breathing.
He kisses her and pretends to be someone else.
A true prince of Asgard, stealing kisses from his betrothed, The Goddess of Song. They are somewhere else, anywhere else – his chambers, a secret corner of the royal gardens, on a beach bathed in moonlight, in a hidden tunnel under the palace known to no other – it matters not as long as they are not here, with no possible future.
It is Eleanor's voice that abruptly ends the fantasy.
"Hi," she squeaks, somewhat embarrassed. He does not know who she's talking too, does not care. His lips find her throat and she shudders against him, but otherwise she is still.
"Well, I'm never going to feel up to eating ever again," mutters a male from the doorway. Loki doesn't bother to look up, hoping that the interruption is a delusion, in his mind only.
Eleanor giggles and gently pushes on Loki's shoulder. He lets out a growl but still refuses to acknowledge their company.
"Brother," stammers Thor. "Please remove your lips from Lady Eleanor. Her presence is required on the upper levels."
Loki stills his assault, but his arms tighten around her waist.
"Loki," she reprimands when he won't let her stand up. Gently tugging on his hair, she forces him to remove his face from her neck so she can look at him. "I've gotta go."
He gives her a deadly look that would leave most mortals quaking, but the songbird simply kisses the corner of his mouth. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gives him another hug.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she whispers in his ear.
"Tomorrow?" he spits out. "Why not tonight?"
"I have to meet Thor's girlfriend."
Refusing to watch Eleanor walk away, he stares down at his lap.
Her departure is a common occurrence. SHIELD limits the time Eleanor may spend here and she fills her days with pointless activities – singing with Loki's victims, dining with Iron Man and his paramour, attending church service with the loathsome Man Out of Time – that serve to remind Loki of the vast distance between them.
Tonight she will meet the woman who changed Thor so thoroughly.
He remembers his threats on her person, remembers hating the Midgardian for altering his brother into someone fit to rule. Although he continues to hate this stranger on principal alone, he has no desire to punish her. Much has changed since then and he has no energy to spare on Thor's Whore.
Eleanor kisses his temple and then she is gone. The intensity of his distress is as alarming as it is unacceptable. The panic is back in his chest, growing even as he curls tightly upon himself and remembers Eleanor's breathing.
The blanket smells of her and the panic increase.
Only a matter of days past, he was pleading his case and demanding she choose.
Far from denying his pathetic dependence on the songbird, he acknowledged it and told her to come anyway, choosing himself to be with her and damn the consequences.
There is panic in his chest and the reality of the situation makes him rethink his foolish, self-destructive choice because without Eleanor there will be no one to choose him, no one to teach him to breath, and no one to speak true.
This time when the titan's laughter rings out, it takes Loki a full five minutes to understand that it is all in his head.
"Is that what you've been doing when you sneak down into the basement for hours on end?" Tony whispers in her ear. They are gathered in a lounge area, indulging in before dinner cocktails and awaiting the arrival of Thor and his lady friend. "I was unaware they were conjugal visits."
Ellie rolls her eyes, sipping on the delicious fruity concoction Tony mixed her himself. She's not exactly embarrassed about the earlier incident, but she certainly isn't proud either.
Everything she feels for Loki is so conflicting. All this hate and sympathy and arousal swirls in her, and she doesn't need to deal with the judgments of the Avengers on top of everything else.
But they are there. With or without her little episode this afternoon, they would judge her, some more than others.
"I mean, damn! That was some serious tonsil hockey going on there," Tony continues, trying and failing to keep his voice down. Steve scowls at them from across the room before turning back to talk to Banner and Agent Romanoff.
Ellie waggles her eyebrows and sips her drink. Normally, she's more of a beer and wine lady, but this fruity thing Tony stuck in her hand tastes like candy.
"You're tap dancing with the devil, Miss Tate," Tony says, pouring more amber liquid into a glass tumbler.
"Does it even matter?" she says with a sigh. "It's going to be four, five days until Thor takes him away."
"Probably close to three. It makes you sad," observes Tony, totally baffled.
"I've always had a weakness for the tragically broken."
"He's the villain here, Ellie," Tony insists. "He's evil."
"The world don't function in absolutes, Tony," she whispers, looking out the window as the sun dips passed the horizon over the healing city. "Nothing is absolute evil. Nothing is absolute good. How many deaths are you responsible for, Iron Man, with all those weapons you used to make?"
Tony Stark looks pained, making Ellie feel guilty.
"You're a good man," she assures him. "Or at least you're trying to be. Loki deserves a shot at redemption too and I couldn't live with myself if I don't do what I can while he's still here."
This is only a very small facet of all she feels, but she's not going to go into all that adoption business with him all over again.
Tony nods, looking pensive and making Ellie think that after all her explaining, she is finally getting Iron Man to understand her actions. Although why this seems important at all is beyond her.
"So you make out with him? Does that help him?"
"That may have been for me," she admits. The physical stuff, her lust, it's the one thing about Loki she truly understands.
Tony obviously does not.
"Ew, it's gotta be like tonguing a snake. Is it like tonguing a snake?" Tony asks.
Ellie sucks on the dregs of her drink until all the liquid is gone and then silently shoves her empty glass into Tony's chest. It clinks against the thing keeping him alive but he gets the message, accepting the glass and moving around to the other side of the bar to make her another.
"The guy does seem pretty legitimately insane," muses Iron Man, at her side once more. "I'll give him that."
Ellie rolls her eyes. "He's had the godly version of a psychotic break."
"Huh."
"Fuck, he would hate that we're having this conversation," Ellie muses.
"He's not the only one," says Pepper, sliding up to Tony. He immediately wraps an arm around her as she melts into his side. Ellie feels a little pang of jealousy, wanting something that normal and affectionate.
It's not something she's capable of, normality.
"What?" Ellie asks, confused by Pepper's statement.
"You two should really mingle," she answers.
"I hate mingling," Ellie says, eyeing Romanoff and Barton in the corner.
But then Tony kisses Pepper and Ellie makes her way to Steve's side. She doesn't say much and she's too busy thinking about Loki's impending departure to be any sort of a conversationalist.
Twenty minutes later, Thor emerges, huge arm draped over a small woman. She is absolutely vibrating with excitement. She is beautiful and bright and potentially Ellie's future employer.
Introductions are made, and Ellie understands the appeal of Jane Foster. She is so genuine and enthusiastic. The astrophysicist is full of questions, many directed at Tony and Bruce. They are the only ones in the room on her level when it comes to the science stuff.
Jane regards Ellie with curiosity. Thor probably gave her all the sordid details of Eleanor's relationship with Loki.
Dinner ends and with it the technical discussion. Thor demands a celebration of his reunion with Jane as well as the progress on the device that will take him and Loki home.
Ellie is not in a particularly celebratory mood, but her companions are and she finds it somewhat infectious. It has been a month and a half since the invasion. And for the first time the Avengers seem able to relax.
So Ellie drinks. She has never been one to turn down a drink.
Tony makes it his mission to get Thor and Steve hammered. Steve winks at Ellie from across the room as he throws back yet another shot. Apparently Cap failed to inform Tony that he is unable to get drunk.
Ellie laughs and lifts her glass in a silent salute to the world's first super hero.
Jane joins Ellie on a couch, handing over a shot similar to the one Steve just downed with a slight grimace.
"Hi," says Jane Foster, astrophysicist, girlfriend of a god, and lightweight.
Ellie gives her a smile and a nod.
"So can you believe this?" she asks, gesturing to the laughing, drunk super heroes.
Ellie shakes her head because her whole life has taken on a feel of the impossible.
"We have to stick together, Lady Eleanor," she continues, her words slurring together slightly.
Ellie rolls her eyes. "Call me Eleanor. Or Ellie. Whatever."
Jane giggles. "Okay. As I was saying, Ellie, you and I have to stick together. We are the only normal ones here so we have to stick together."
"You have the brain the size of a planet and I am may be half god, so there you go," Ellie replies.
Jane giggles again. "Still, we're the most normal ones," she insists.
Ellie shrugs.
"To us," Jane says.
Ellie nods and lifts her shot. They clink and drink. Jane winces. Ellie doesn't.
Jane chats in Ellie's ear for a while until Tony puts on some music. He twirls Pepper around the room next to Natasha and Clint. Bruce slips out. Thor collects Jane and Steve takes her spot next to Eleanor.
"I didn't know you were so devious, Cap," Ellie says. "Tony's going to pass out just trying to keep up with you."
"Serves him right," Steve mutters. "He should be focused on his own drinking habits."
"Oh, I'd say he is," Ellie mutters as she watches Tony stumble into Pepper.
Steve nods and they sit in silence for a drawn out moment.
"I don't know how to dance," murmurs Steve.
Ellie just raises an eyebrow. The way he says the simple statement makes Ellie think that they are talking about something more than just dancing.
"I almost learned once," he continues, staring at Ellie with an intensity that makes her uncomfortable.
Ellie's had enough. Steve's sadness makes it impossible for her to hold off her own. Despite her unstable legs, she gets to her feet.
"You'll learn sometime," she tells him before slipping out the door.
Without making a conscious decision, Ellie's fingers skip over the button for her floor. Instead she goes to the basement. The guards don't even say anything when she appears. They simply open the doors.
It's pitch black. She's never seen his cell this dark, but she's never visited him this late either. Ellie stumbles slightly as she crosses the threshold, wishing that she took his advice to change out of her jeans and t-shirt. Man clothes, as Loki would say.
The door slides closed behind her and she stares into the darkness for a moment, trying to determine how to locate him. Finding the wall to her right, she follows it to his favorite corner. Her bare feet touch the edge of the thin mattress and she grins for a moment before crawling in next to him. She spoons herself around his back, spreading out her fingers on the taunt muscles of his stomach. Pushing her nose into the back of his neck, she closes her eyes and sleeps, really sleeps, for the first time since the last time she curled up with him here on the hard concrete floor.
"Eleanor."
The panicked whisper stirs her from sleep, but as her eyes blink open into the darkness, she finds it impossible to determine where she is.
"Eleanor!"
Someone is shaking her shoulders and she remembers through the fog of alcohol and sleep. She's lying on her back and she can feel Loki looming over her.
"Are you dead?" His voice is a rough whimper.
"No, no," she assures him, reaching blindly towards him. Her hands find his hair and she pulls his forehead to hers. "Loki, I'm not dead. I'm right here. It was a dream. Just a dream."
"Where?"
"Stark Tower. You're imprisoned here in Stark Tower," she reminds him, stroking his temples with her thumbs.
"This is real? You are real?"
"Yes. I'm real. You're real, too."
"You're not in the Void. You are safe." A few tears escape her eyes. She really is too drunk to deal with this. "It was possibility only. I did not fail you. Not yet. You are not in the Void."
"I'm safe and so are you," he repeats. Loki shifts, rolling off her slightly to rest his face in the crook of her neck. She pulls the blanket back up, tucking it around his shoulders.
He is silent for a very long time and Ellie's eyes drift shut.
"Eleanor?" he asks quietly.
"Hum?" The noise is low in her throat and she barely is conscious.
"Why are you here with me?" he continues. "Are you locked away as well?"
It takes her a few beats to process his words.
"No," she whispers, hand once more finding his hair at the back of his head. "No, I'm staying here in the tower."
"You failed to answer the question. Why are you here with me?"
Fuck, this is like the only thing he's been asking her all goddamn day.
"I don't know," she mutters, hugging him a little closer in the hopes that his lips pressed up against her skin will prevent him from speaking.
"You chose."
"Yeah." She's not really sure what that means to her, what that means to him.
"Eleanor," he whines.
"Go to sleep," she says, sighing.
"Eleanor!"
"Fuck, Loki. I'm drunk and sleepy and you're going back to Asgard in a few days and this is where I wanted to sleep. So sleep."
He does as she says.
He opens his eyes and her ridiculous mop of blond hair fills his vision.
The room is bright, illuminated by obnoxiously artificial Midgardian lighting. Everything – with the exception of her hair – is grey, from the concrete floor to the metal walls and bench following the length of wall opposite them.
Loki struggles to determine if he dreamed this place, if this is a memory of a possibility shown to him by the Tesseract.
No, he has been here before. Perhaps he never left.
The grey is vastly preferable to the suffocating nothing of The Void.
Eleanor breathes.
His hand rests in front of her nose and her soft, rhythmic exhaling tickles his skin. It is a vastly comforting sensation.
She lives. The breath against his hand should be proof enough, but Loki remains unconvinced.
Moving slowly, careful not to disturb her slumber, he slips his hand under her manly garment, pushing his palm into her chest.
Her heart beats and she breathes.
And she breathes, breathes, breathes, breathes.
Loki matches the pace of her inhales and exhales. It is calming and she is calm and through her, he is calm too.
Match my breathing.
This is something she told him to do once, or perhaps it was something he dreamed, some possibility lost to him the moment his desire to protect the meaningless woman beside him overrode his good sense and Dr. Enormous Green Rage Monster pulverized his bones.
Did this truly happen?
He wiggles slightly, wincing at the ache.
Yes, he was bested by a giant green monster of science, all to protect the woman currently breathing and alive and calm in his arms.
He dreamed of her.
"Fuck, do I love you."
She said that and she smiled and he believed the words to be truth.
But, no, that never occurred, nor will it ever. It was a possibility lost when he hurt her, first with sex upon their meeting and later with his hands, hitting her, choking her, forcing her.
A familiar and terrifying chortle pierces the silence of the cell, making Loki jump and cower. It is the titan's chuckle, such an odd sound for a powerful being, and one Loki knows well.
Centuries of languishing alone in the dark, interrupted only by laughter so faint, Loki thought to be imagining it and fool he was, he wanted it, wanted anything to disturb the nothing.
But eventually the titan would always appear, continuing to laugh his odd laugh as Loki begged for death, for anything to bring about an end to the pain.
The chortle sounds again and seems to come at him from all sides. Loki whimpers as the panic builds in his chest and he holds Eleanor a little tighter. He closes his eyes, waiting for long, terrified moments for the pain to begin, but there is nothing but that damned chuckle.
It is loud enough to tear his mind in two, but Eleanor continues to sleep.
How can she possibly sleep through such a menacing cacophony?
His mind is no longer safe or clear or even his, really, and it takes him ages to find the answer.
This is false laughter that exists for Loki and Loki alone. The titan will come for him eventually, but not before the anticipation and fear are allowed time to fester and flourish. It will be years, only after he's pushed aside the fear and once more dares to hope for safety, before Loki will inevitably hear this odd laugh in reality.
But the giggle sounds again and despite all logic, Loki quakes and panics as if it is real.
Eleanor is real.
She will not love him or smile in that specific way, but she is real and she is here, asleep in his arms. He ignores the laughter, listening intently to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, pushing his palm into her chest, and forcing his gasping breaths to match hers.
The laughter fades and Loki calms.
"My mind and my magic were once my most valuable assets," he muses.
The words were meant to be thought only, but Eleanor stirs as he speaks in her ear. He moves his hand from her chest to her stomach, marveling at her softness as he traces patterns on her smooth skin. He is creating the design of runes unique to his Jotun form on her body, and he stops abruptly at the revelation.
"Now one has left me to heal the other," he continues. "Perhaps I was never particularly powerful, for my magic does not seem to be healing my mind at all. The trickster duped by his own mind. The fatherless, abandoned by even his magic. Pathetic."
Eleanor turns in his arms and he is surprised by her wakefulness. She blinks at him, expression dull and sleepy and cross-eyes, and then leans back to see him clearly. He does not approve of the distance this puts between their bodies, and he touches her cheek.
"Are you a dream?"
Frowning, she shakes her head.
"No," he says, sighing. "You are not the Eleanor of my visions." When he pulls his hand away she frowns more, as if his statement disappoints. "The Eleanor of my dreams, the Eleanor of the Tesseract, gives me endless smiles."
Her answering attempted smile is dead in the eyes, hallow and so far from what he wants from her. This is a false smile, a sad smile, a smile of one with a heavy heart.
"It fails to reach your eyes," he mutters. But she is trying. Perhaps she simply is in need of assistance.
Fingers back on her face, he strives to arrange his features into the desired expression. He squints in determination and Eleanor giggles – a sweet, tinkling melody in direct opposition to the cackling titan – her eyes bright and alive now.
"You're silly," she says. "I've never seen you silly."
He doesn't understand her meaning but does not ask for clarification.
"What did you see, Loki?" she whispers, sobering. "What else did it show you?"
"Long lost possibilities," he mumbles.
"Are you ever going to tell me? Like, really tell me?"
"Unlikely," he says. And that is the end of it. "If this is no dream, how is it that I awoke with you in my arms?"
"I slept here."
He rolls his eyes. "Yes, I gathered. My mind is not so far gone, Eleanor."
Lie. He is so far gone, so terrifyingly lost.
Eleanor sits up, stretching her arms above her head. He sees the Aesir in her now. It is her striking blue eyes and shinning light hair.
She stands, continuing to stretch. In all likelihood, she probably needs distance between them as well.
"I wanted to sleep here," she says, pulling her hair into a messy knot atop her head.
"Because you were intoxicated?" He can smell the alcohol on her skin.
"No."
"Why, Eleanor?"
"Because you're leaving soon and I'll miss you."
The panic rips through him with a suddenness that steals his air supply. She is across the room, too far for him to match her breath. Soon he'll see the Allfather and his false mother, his false home, and how will he manage to calm his breathing with Eleanor here on this useless realm, alive and alone and breathing without him?
He asked her to choose this and now he cannot breathe.
"Do not lie," he says.
Somehow, this will be bearable if she is lying when she claims she will miss him.
"I'm not," she says simply as if this whole matter is indeed simple.
"You will not miss me."
"Do you think I want it to be true?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't. I don't want to miss you, but I will."
Rage blinds him, replacing the panic. It is a vastly preferable emotion and suddenly he hates her. Suddenly he leans into hating her, blaming her for his weakened state.
He hates her ability to calm him, hates that she looks at him knowingly, with such unbearable understanding. He hates her because she does not smile and he hates her because she will never love him.
His dependence and weakness are her doing.
In a matter of days he'll be dragged back to his false home and Eleanor will leave him alone, just like every person he ever so foolishly allowed himself to care for.
His vision clears and he is screaming in her face, hands digging into her arms and pinning her to a wall. Eleanor shows no fear as she brazenly meets his eye, only a tired sort of resignation and deep sadness apparent in her delicate features.
He will not hurt her, cannot again, not physically, and he lets his hands drop, but he has his words still.
And words can cut as true as the mad titan's blades.
"You are nothing to me but a whore with a pretty voice." This statement does not feel like his own. If any other called her such a thing he'd have the offender's tongue. "You are unwanted, unloved. Unvalued. It is pathetic, the way you cling to me, taking on my problems as a means to ignore your own. All alone."
There are tears in her eyes. They bring him glee and shame simultaneously.
"I could easily kill you and call it mercy." He removes the anger from his voice. He is cold. He knows that Eleanor fears this tone above all others. She loathes his coldness. His inherent coldness. "None would miss you, none would care."
Loki would care.
He cannot decide if he speaks of Eleanor or himself. Regardless, she cries, bringing him glee and shame simultaneously.
This is not elegant. This is not subtle. This is not like him. His words are not carefully planned and crafted, but a verbal explosion. He feels out of control, but he continues to spew venom at her, anything he can think that might possibly hurt.
"Stop," she whispers.
"I loathe you," he says conversationally. "If I could carve out your voice with a dull blade and carry it around in my pocket I would do so without thought. There is nothing about you even remotely worth while, yet you constantly compare yourself to a god, to me. As if our experiences are even remotely similar. I may be a monster but you are a waste. You willfully squander the one gift bestowed on you through your misspent divine heritage, singing in hovels, in dens of lust and inebriation."
"Fuck, do I love you." He closes his eyes and ignores the Eleanor of his dreams.
"Liar," says the flesh and blood version, but she continues to cry as if she believes his words to be truth.
"You even drove the mortals away with your stupidity and insatiability. You fail to recognize the monster, even when he's inside you. I should kill you, spare this world one cockroach, because you fail so epically in comparison to the Eleanor of my dreams."
When he is violently ripped away from his songbird, it is a relief. The horrible and incomprehensible and inelegant jumble of lie and truth stops pouring from his mouth as the overly patriotic mortal's fist connects with his jaw.
He relishes the pain. He deserves so much more.
His false brother pushes him back into a corner, holding him there with a massive hand against his chest.
Uncontrollable sobs wrack Eleanor's body as she watches him with big, wet, hurt eyes. His plan to cause her pain, to hurt her with his detestation, is a smashing success.
She truly hates him now, as he hates himself, but when she drops her gaze to the floor he abruptly changes his mind.
No. This is not right. He asked her to choose him, very nearly begged, and she chose him. She chose not to leave and look what it got her.
He wants the compassion back, wants her understanding. Never again will he push her away if only she'll look at him once more.
"Eleanor," He pleads with her but she only flinches, continuing to state at the floor. He doesn't know how to apologize, to right the wrongs. "I lied. I lied. Eleanor, please to not go."
The Man of Iron appears but Loki ignores all but the songbird he so thoroughly crushed with his words. He opens his mouth to continue begging but is muzzled by a cold metal device. It pinches his jaw and fuses his lips together as it is snapped into place behind his ears.
A low groan rumbles in his throat, but she still does not look up.
The man out of time places an arm around her shoulders and she turns to him for comfort and Loki struggles madly against his brother's restraining arms.
He panics.
Eleanor and her calming breath are too far away and he fights to get to her, to make her understand, as she is so apt to do.
Heavy irons manacle his wrists and Thor bolts them to the floor with a length of chain.
Eleanor leaves, driven away by the monster, another chapter in the painfully repetitive story of his pathetic life.