Yeah... this one got away from me a bit length-wise. Just remember, it has to get worse before it gets better. But it will get better.
Chapter 18: Monsters Hiding Under the Bed
The hour is late and Loki stumbles into Thor when they arrive home.
No, it is the place Loki's once thought of as home. Back to the Realm Eternal.
Thor's arm comes around his shoulders, steadying him, and for a moment Loki allows it, his attention engaged elsewhere. He stares passed Heimdall to the shattered end of the bridge, all shattered crystal.
Only seconds on Asgard and already he drowns in memory.
No, Loki, and his brother pushing him into nothingness.
"Did he really push you, Loki?" Eleanor's voice rings in his head. The question sounds on a loop in his mind.
Loki stares at the destroyed bridge, easily picturing the golden observatory that once resided there, and he honestly cannot find the answer to her query.
Thor is propping him up. This will not do.
Loki shoves away from his false brother, scowling from behind the uncomfortable and humiliating muzzle. In response Thor actually rolls his eyes.
Where did he learn that? Never before did Thor roll his eyes. This is Eleanor's doing and he tries to hate her as she gave him permission to do.
It proves difficult.
Thor greets Heimdall, and Loki looks away from the Gatekeeper whom he froze upon their last meeting.
The vastness of space was once beautiful to him, but he now knows what lurks beyond the stars. Looking out there proves to be unbearable.
His home, the palace, he cannot look there, nor at the bridge, for they trigger too many memories.
There is nowhere to look.
A group of four approaches, surrounding him, armed as if ready for war. Once, they might have called him friend – at least for Thor's sake – but he sent the destroyer to slaughter them in the small desert community where Eleanor will now be breathing without him.
There is nowhere safe to look, so he closes his eyes and thinks of Eleanor. It becomes impossible to determine if the image is the true Eleanor or the Eleanor of the Tesseract, but it matters not. The thought of her allows him to try, as she requested. Although his speech was prevented at the time, in his mind he promised to try.
A palm connects to his cheek, snapping his head to the side. In his shock, Loki looses his feet, falling back onto the bridge that crackles and snaps with energy in response, as if it knows that it's destroyer is laid out upon its surface.
Sif is above him, yelling about Loki killing Thor and Sif killing Loki. There is a sting to his cheek, but the pain is minimal and this is Sif. He knows there is nothing to fear from her. She will not harm him with Thor so close. Her hair is now dark and he did that long ago but he cannot recall how.
It is Sif only and although his mind knows there is no real danger here, the reaction of his body is pure panic, ever part of him screaming to flee. Fear chokes at him as he scrambles back, heels struggling to find purchase on the slick surface of the bridge, and even seeing Sif above him, it feels as though he is back in the Void, bound with invisible bonds, begging for death.
The panic fills his chest, jaw straining against the muzzle, silencing his scream, as he struggles to breathe, desperate for his body to calm.
Desperate to flee, desperate for safety,
"Sif!" Thor is yelling, placing himself between Loki and the warrior. "Contain yourself."
"He tried to kill you, Thor!"
"My brother is unwell! Despite his crimes, he is still your prince. You will not touch him again."
Sif is furious and silent.
Thor called him unwell and this reminder is enough for Loki to disguise his panic. He will not let the others see him in such a weakened and humiliating state. The tightness in his chest does not dissipate, but Loki manages to hide it reasonable well.
He thinks.
Even so, he cannot help but jump in fear when Thor pulls him to his feet.
"Brother?" Thor asks as Loki shies away, the touch making the instinct to flee that much more difficult to ignore. "Come. We must be inside before daybreak, before any notice our presence."
The journey to the palace passes in a haze as Loki fights the fear. The movements of his five companions make him flinch, anticipating pain with every step.
There is laughter back in his head and as they approach the place he once called home. He is unable to look at anything and once inside the walls they are joined by twenty of Odin's guard.
Loki wants to go up – to his rooms, to his mother – but his path is down, down, down to the white cells and his newest prison.
There is a narrow bed in the corner, far more comfortable than the mat on the concrete floor, but severely lacking by Asgardian standards. The rest of the furnishings are simple but greatly exceed his expectations. Books sit on a small shelf, titles he recognizes as former favorites, but there is no solace to be found within their pages.
Unlike the grey cell, this white one lacks Eleanor.
He sits on the bed, fighting against the panic in his chest and the laughter echoing in his head because Eleanor told him to try.
Thor returns, accompanied by a vaguely familiar healer. Body tensing in anticipation, he watches them warily.
"Brother," says Thor. He addresses Loki with caution, indicating that Loki failed to fully disguise anything. "I will now remove this muzzle. Is that acceptable?"
Loki nods and tries not to flinch as Thor crowds his personal space. When the cursed device is gone he stretches his jaw, opening his mouth wide.
Trying to appear innocent, he holds up his shacked wrists hopefully to Thor.
Thor cracks a smile but the cuffs stay on.
This room is excessively bright, leaving Loki far too exposed and vulnerable.
"Will you allow Sigyn to examine you, brother? Perhaps she will be able to determine what ails your mind."
The words are nearly drowned out by the laughter, but it is no longer the bizarre chuckle of the titan but something lower, colder. He tilts his head to the side, recognizing the sound but struggling to place where he's heard it before, to whom it belongs.
Frost coats his skin as the memory returns.
Laufey.
Suddenly it is not Thor and Loki and the vaguely familiar healer in the white cell, but Thor and Loki and Laufey.
The dead king approaches, looming giant and grotesque above Loki, baring his sharp teeth.
"You are dead!" shrieks Loki, jumping to his feet. Instinct has him pushing Thor back, protecting him from the Frost Giant before them because Thor's skin is vulnerable to freezing where Loki's is not.
Thor is yelling, holding Loki back by his elbows as he attempts to lunge.
"I killed you, Laufey! Laufeyson, Laufeyson, Laufeyson. Well, no more. I committed fratricide to ensure that. Frost Giant I may be, but not Laufeyson. You are dead! Be dead! Be dead."
Laufey sobs, covering his mouth. "Frost Giant?" he murmurs, shocked.
"Loki, stop!" yells Thor.
"You made me a monster!" Loki continues to struggle with his brother's grip on his arms, dragging him back and away from Laufey. "You created me this way and then left to me to die. You made me this and I killed you for it. Be dead!"
"He knows not what he says." Thor is speaking to Laufey. It is unfathomable. Thor is speaking kindly to Laufey. "He is no Frost Giant. This is the madness only."
Laufey looks both skeptical and horrified.
"You are no brother of mine, Odinson!" spits Loki, struggling wildly against his false brother. Even in this moment with the dead king before them, Thor is denies what Loki is, failing to be on Loki's side. "You are no brother of mine. I am the—"
Pain slices through his mouth and the words strain against the inside of his lips, unable to escape. He raises a hand to his mouth, feeling the stiches there. His palm comes away bloody.
Understanding dawns even as his jaw struggles to break the thread and he glances around because there is only one who would stitches his mouth together in such a way. Peering out through the transparent wall of the prison he sees gaping guards and horrified healers. Sif is snarling her disgust while the rest of the warriors recoil, repulsed by Loki's truth, but the Allfather is not among the gawkers.
He is close enough to sew Loki's mouth shut, but he stays hidden.
The Allfather is hidden and Laufey is gone and Thor's fingers dig into his elbows.
Loki realizes too late what's he has done, what he has said.
Overcome, Loki wrenches away from Thor and collapses on the bed. The white cell is too bright, exposing him to the appalled crowd. He rolls off the mattress, crawling under the bed to the darkest corner. He closes his eyes and tries to picture Eleanor.
He tries to try.
There are hushed, angry voices, and Loki wonders if this is a dream.
"Why was I not informed the moment you arrived?" It is his mother. She is furious.
"Mother, we decided you needed to rest. And Loki is dangerous. Father said—"
"I am quite tired of the things your father says," she snaps. "Before I was given a chance to speak to my son for the first time in years, your father stitched his lips shut!"
"He could hurt you."
"He will not hurt me."
Loki decides this is a good dream. His mother is here. She is cross with both Thor and Odin, while she defends Loki.
He feels the thread that holds his lips together with his tongue, stinging the puncture wounds.
"Mother, he announced his heritage to the whole cell block! Too many now know what he is to keep the secret." Thor is terrible at whispering.
"I am not ashamed of my son," Mother says, quiet and strong.
"This is about protection," Thor continues. "This news will spread to the public, winning him no sympathy for his trial. And being… what he is may not be a crime, but if Loki was to give up other secrets he would die for it, Mother."
She sniffs and Loki decides that this now a bad dream because his mother is crying.
"As cruel as it seems, the Allfather is protecting Loki from himself." Thor is frantic, barely remembering to even try to whisper. "Mother, if anyone were to know that it was Loki who led the Frost Giants to Asgard, who led Laufey to father's chamber, there would be no choice. The law is clear. Even father would be unable to commute the death sentence for such an offense, no matter the circumstances."
Oh. Death.
Loki finds he is rather impartial to death. He might even welcome an end once more, but Eleanor would not like it.
As she told him of her own attempt at suicide Loki's reaction was a visceral combination of anger and sorrow. He could imagine nothing worse and it now seems unfair to put Eleanor in that position, even if what she feels for him is a laughably small fragment of what he feels for her.
"I'd rather not die." He attempts to tell Thor and his mother but the words do not come out and he grunts in frustration.
Suddenly Frigga drops to the floor, lying flat as she stares at him under the bed. Her appearance is startling and Loki shies back, whimpering as she reaches towards him.
"Mother," Thor scolds, still on his feet. Loki's gaze flicks to his boots before continuing to stare at his mother. "I told you. Announce your movements. It helps."
"Oh, Loki, she says through her tears. Loki regards her outstretched hand warily. "My son. I love you. I am so sorry."
Her words are best ignored. He simply stares at her.
"Thor," she says, turning away for a moment. Loki is disappointed to lose her attentions to his older brother. It is a familiar feeling. "The key."
"That is not wise. Mother, he could hurt you."
"The key!"
She returns a moment later, watching him again. "Loki? I would like to remove your shackles. May I?"
He squints at her for a moment, wondering if the next time he blinks she'll turn into Laufey or the titan or some new horror.
He blinks.
She is there still, his mother.
He extends his wrists slowly, flinching when her fingers touch his skin but there is no burning and there is no pain.
Still, when she frees him from the constraints he pulls back, squeezing into the corner. The movement has his mother frowning, but she makes no comment.
"Loki, you are safe."
No, he is far from safe.
"You are home."
He has no home.
"I will let no further harm come to you."
Doubtful.
"I love you."
Impossible.
"And I will lie here as long as you'll have me."
Acceptable.
"Will you teach me?" Her voice is the auditory equivalent of ripples, each syllable echoing in his mind and rebounding. It is beautiful, but listening to it is difficult to bear.
It is too much beauty for one pair of ears.
"Teach you, my dear?" That is his voice, low and serpentine as always.
He does not recognize their location. It is as if they exist in a world painted with thick brush strokes and bright colors. The sky is purple, but Eleanor wears green.
The music of her giggle bounces off mountains and she pushes him back in soft grass, throwing a leg over his waist and coming to rest on his stomach. Radiating light, she leans down until they are nose to nose.
"Magic," she whispers.
"Teach you magic," he repeats.
"Teach me to sing."
It is Loki's turn to laugh. His hands are in her hair, holding the mess back from her face and his own.
"You already know how to sing, darling."
"Not all at once," she whispers. "Teach me to sing all at once."
The meaning of her words is unclear, but Eleanor is happy and she is with him. Her happiness makes him happy in turn, happier than he can ever recall being before.
He returns her smile.
But suddenly she is sitting up. There is a furrow between her brows as she frowns.
"Loki?" she asks, troubled.
"Eleanor?" He props himself up on his elbows and she steadies herself with hands on his chest.
"Are you trying?"
"Trying to teach you to sing all at once?"
"No."
He sits up fully now, her concern now bringing him concern. She is weeping and no matter how often he wipes at her cheeks they will not dry. The world goes grey.
"Are you trying, Loki? Please, Loki, you've got to try."
The world goes white. He is on a floor, under a bed. Eleanor is mist.
"To keep my mind," he murmurs. Except no words come, just a mumbles escaping the seam of his lips.
"Yes. Try."
And she is gone.
He is back in the Void.
Loki finds himself trapped where it is all fire and terror, crippling loneliness and tangled words. This is a world of his own making, a memory taking on life of its own, but it feels real and more often than not he believes it to be so. He believes the lies created by his own head and turned against him. He tells himself it is not real, but the pain and terror have him forgetting.
He is imprisoned in a blinding white cell, huddled under the narrow bed, trying desperately to hold on to any landmark that will keep him firmly in this reality, away from the Mad Titan and his Other.
He is with Eleanor, sitting in the sunshine and she smiles and she loves him.
And always he returns to the white room with its modest furnishings and its untouched books and its great glass wall. Loki huddles under the bed, reminding himself that this is truly reality because this place is the only constant. He is alone and imprisoned far beneath his childhood home.
He is safe.
For the time being.
Thinking of Eleanor assists as he desperately attempts to stay firmly in this reality and he hates her for it. A little speck of a woman with no greater significance in the wider universe has power over him and he absolutely loathes her for it.
Occasionally, his mind conjures images he first witnessed in the Tesseract. Eleanor lies at his side, under the bed, smiling in her crown of gold and emerald. At such times he desperately attempts to stay in the delusion, to stay with Eleanor.
But she never stays long and he always finds his way back to the white cell, alone until the Queen of Asgard comes. This delusion is equally painful, but in a much different way.
"This is a pollution of the mind," says the healer. It is a different healer, not the one who turned into Laufey.
From under the bed he watches pale robes swirl around her feet. Once, a very long time ago, Loki knew her voice, her face, her name, but the memory has been replaced with horrors, vile things like a wide leather face and the difference in smell between his own rotting flesh and the burning variety.
"What plagues the prince is far outside my experience. The Asgardians do not suffer from such mental ailments." The healer's message is clear. Loki is not of Asgard. He is no Aesir.
"But he is deteriorating so rapidly." Nothing could replace the memory of his mother and now her voice is full of sorrow and panic. Loki wonders if this is real, if she is real. "He has been here days. And he no longer sees me. He looks, but he does not see. He isn't here."
He hopes he is not here. How shameful, to hide under a bed like every child's worst fear.
Loki is a languishing nightmare.
"When he first arrived, he recognized me," his mother continues. "Tell her, Thor. He was not like this on Midgard."
"His condition was much improved on Midgard," repeats Thor. "Lady Eleanor was able to talk him through his bouts of insanity. The mortals have such illnesses of the mind and Lady Eleanor has personal experience. It is rather common, from what I understand."
At least Eleanor is not here to witness his shame. This is the one blessing with her so far away.
Although she has endured much worse from him and in all likelihood she's already forgotten him.
"I will research these Midgardian illnesses," says the healer. "And I could try to put him to sleep. He is in much need of rest, but there is little I can do without laying hands on him. He will not allow it."
No, he certainly will not.
"Leave us," says his false mother. "You as well, Thor."
A door closes. Loki drifts, wondering if this is real, wondering where his body truly is. If his body is in the Void than this is a blessing, but he hates to think that he could possibly be missing something with Eleanor.
There are feet at the edge of the bed. He watches them, watches the hem of the blue dress that leave toes visible. He's forgotten the healer's name, but he remembers his mother's toes.
"Loki," she murmurs from above. "I am kneeling down now."
He understands and appreciates her warning. Sudden movements never fail to lead to tightness in his chest.
The Queen of Asgard is lying on a cold, hard floor, the white floor of his white cell. She rests on her stomach, removing her crown to more comfortably place her head on one hand. The other she stretches towards Loki where he is pressed back into the corner.
With his back to the wall, nothing can surprise him from behind.
There is a memory of her in a similar position, but he cannot decide if it truth or lie.
After a few long, silent moments, Loki cautiously reaches out, touching the back of her hand with two fingers.
He jumps at the contact, startled to feel her solid and real. His mother sobs slightly when he lets her lace their fingers together, but he resists the urge to crawl closer, to feel her solid and real arms around him. At any moment she could easily shift into the Other or Laufey or the Mad Titan.
The potential for comfort is not worth the risk, nor does he deserve it.
"Oh, my son," murmurs the queen. "How do we help you?"
This is not occurring in reality. He's given Frigga no reason to care for him. He is unworthy of her help.
"I love you," she continues.
Loki decides to enjoy this comparatively pleasant delusion, as he enjoys the presence of Eleanor. He allows the false mother to hold his hand and she stays for what feels like a very long time.
"Loki?"
The voice is loud and although sleep is an impossibility, Loki resents it for disturbing his quiet. For the first time in days there is no laughter in his head and the booming absolutely ruins the silence.
"I have returned from Midgard bearing gifts," says the far too loud voice. "I have seen the Lady Eleanor. Remove yourself from under this bed and I will give you what she entrusted to me."
Midgard? Eleanor?
The Mad Titan would have him rule Midgard. And is Eleanor the girl from the dream? The one who requests he teach her to sing all at once? In the end she always frowns, reminding him to try.
He cannot recall what she wants of him, what he'd promised.
Oh, Eleanor.
Eleanor Tate of North Carolina, his songbird. A dream and not a dream.
The dream version smiles but he promised the real flesh and blood woman that he would try.
To fight the madness.
And hasn't he just done a marvelous job with that thus far?
"Loki? Come out and I will give you Eleanor's gift. She asks of you."
He does not willingly leave the privacy of under the bed and when he ripped away from here he always opens his eyes to the strangling darkness of the Void, to the titan with his blade and laughter and fire and words.
But Thor can prove stubborn at the most inconvenient of times. Loki has no words to convince him to hand over the gift.
The Crowned Oaf of Asgard has something of Eleanor's and Loki wants it.
With great trepidation Loki emerges from under the bed. He cannot say how long he was there. Thor seems to have aged since Loki last laid eyes on the thunder god. There is weariness in the crinkles his blue eyes, something that speaks of experience and sorrow.
Thor is tired. Loki does not sleep and Thor looks so tired.
Loki's legs are shaky and gripping the bedpost becomes a necessary component to staying on his feet. There are no onlookers now with their noses pressed to the glass of his white cell, greedy for the next horrifying secret to come to light.
Just Loki and Thor alone in the white cell.
Loki flinches violently when Thor smiles, but the God of Thunder wisely stays on the other side of the room.
When Loki pushes his hair back is surprised to find it so greasy and long and curly. Eleanor brushed it for him in the grey cell, insisting he bathe.
He's forgotten all about personal hygiene. Did appearances once matter? He thinks they did.
"Brother," Thor murmurs. "In this package I have a music player from Lady Eleanor. I will now hand it to you."
Thor slowly does as he says, but there is still too much space separating them and Loki is forced to take a step towards his false brother. He darts forward, wrenching the package from Thor before stumbling back to lean against the bedpost.
In the box he finds a circular device of plastic and metal, headphones, and countless Midgardian power sources.
"She calls it a CD player," his false brother explains, as Loki runs his hands over smooth plastic. "Not the latest in Midgardian technology, but able to regenerate its power with these… um… batteries. The button with the green star will play music. The red will—"
Thor's bumbled recitation of Eleanor's obvious directions cut off abruptly when Loki removes the red star from her music player and flicks it in the general direction of the thunder god. His aim is true. The little red star sticks to Thor's chin.
They stare at each other in shocked silence for a moment before Thor laughs, removing the star with his fingertip. Loki is horrified to feel himself smile in return. Blood leaks from the puncture wounds around his stiches.
"I imagine you would like to listen to Eleanor's recordings in peace," Thor murmurs. "Unless you would rather I stay?"
Even after all that has occurred, Thor is stupidly hopefully.
Loki shakes his head, cradling the music player to his chest.
"Very well," Thor says with a sigh. "I shall return soon, brother."
The white cell is once more his own and in his haste to explore this blessing in the form of archaic Midgardian technology, he lies down atop the bed rather than crawling beneath it. He curls on his side, shoving the buds into his ears and pressing the green star.
When her voice floods his ears, he weeps like an infant.
"Hi."
She seems to breathe the word onto the opening selection. The simple greeting is spoken without confidence, as if she is shy and uncomfortable opening her mouth at all.
"I'm not really sure what I'm doing here, or even why I'm doing it, but it feels important somehow. Can you try to listen? I know you're not very good at it. I know you'd rather all the twenty-seven realms listen to you, but that's just not going to happen."
Loki rolls his eyes. She can never seems to remember that it is nine.
"Can you just try and listen? Remember how I asked you to try and keep your mind? To fight for your sanity? Maybe if you hear my voice you will know that you are safe. Maybe your head won't be so scary."
Loki curls tightly around the blessed machine. He whimpers and recalls her image, clearly picturing the way her lips move around each word.
"Thor says you are alone with your lip sewn shut, which is pretty fucked up by the way. What is the deal with you Norse Gods and the brutality?"
There is no reason for this statement to cause him to smile, but it does. More blood flows from his mouth. He can feel it dribble down his neck, but makes no move to wipe it away.
"Anyway… You are Loki. You are real. I am Eleanor. I'm real too. Right now you are imprisoned in Asgard and I'm on Earth. On Midgard. I'm safe. You're safe too. Well, relatively safe."
Loki remembers his time locked away in Stark Tower after his great failure. These are all answers to questions he frequently asked Eleanor when the fog of the Void lifted.
"Okay, I'm nervous," Eleanor continues. "Usually I don't talk when I'm nervous, but staying silent and sending you significant looks until you manage to decode what I'm trying to convey isn't really an option right now."
Deep breath. Long pause. Loki holds on to the familiar and soothing cadence of her voice, uses it to do as she says and fight the tinkling laughter that is in his mind only.
"Loki, Prince of Asgard, God of Lies and Mischief and Chaos and that really awesome thing you do with your silver tongue."
His smirk is more painful than the smile.
"I am really mad at you. You did terrible, stupid, horrible things. You killed innocent people and have such hate in you it scares me, but according to Thor the old dudes in charge of punishing you are just going to lock you away all by yourself for a couple hundred years, and that's just going to make it worse. You're sick, Loki. Heartsick. Soul sick. Mind sick. And I want to help you because if there's no hope for you, than there's none for me either. Just listen to my voice, all right?
She is babbling. Loki will find the meaning behind her words later. For now he simply revels in the sweetness of the tone in his ear, drowning out the laughter.
"You'll be happy to know I recorded all these songs using Tony Stark's equipment without his permission."
Who is this Tony Stark? How dare he be anywhere near what is Loki's!
"I'll help you listen because you're not very good at it. Some of them are angry songs because I am so angry at you. Some of them are about me missing you, which I do because I'm obviously a crazy person."
Loki snorts. Of the two of them Eleanor is certainly the least crazy.
"Some just remind me of you. Some I just think you will like.
"I'm in New Mexico. I like it here. It is warm and the sky is so big. At night I lie down and look at the stars and I think about you out there somewhere. There are all these meaningless little moments throughout my day and my first thought is always 'oh, Loki would hate this,' or maybe, 'Loki would find this hilarious.' It's silly, but it helps somehow. I have this coworker, boss type person, Darcy. You'd want to prank the shit out of Darcy."
Loki sighs, itching to reprimand her bad language.
"Sorry for the language."
He is smiling and bleeding again.
"If… If you still want to hate me that is fine as long as it helps you fight to keep your mind. Hate away, I say. Hate me and don't listen to this. Otherwise, maybe these songs will give you something to hold on to. Okay. Here we go."
He replays this first selection. He replays it over and over and over.
In the white cells of the golden palace, Loki learns of lyrics. He learns to listen.
All those nights in his chambers on Midgard and he never paid much attention to the meaning behind the beautifully sung words leaving her mouth. In the past, he simply let the melody and the tone of her voice wash over him, soothing his tortured soul. He failed to bother paying much mind to what she was actually saying.
A smile tugs at his stitched together lips – followed by a wince – when he recalls her explanation of the very first song she sang for his ears only, a silly number about sheep she attempted to turn into an allegory for divine rule.
Now that he is learning to listen, Loki wonders just what she was telling him nightly in the bunker. He recalls lyrics involving sex and love and hate and freedom. Now that he listens, the depth of her past insolence is revealed to him. For the first weeks of their time together, she mocked him with her every word, her every breath.
The songs on this disk are a very different sort, but he focuses intently on the past.
Those nights, her voice, were once scarred to him, but it was never more than jest and rebellion to her.
How could he be so stupid to think anything better of any he so foolishly allowed close?
It is the doing of her damned music player. He would be better off not knowing all the ways she disrespected him. In his rage Loki pushes away the device, crawling under the bed once more.
For three days he stews in his hatred.
It is something of a miracle that he is able to know that three days have passed since he violently ripped the buds from his ears, cursing her name.
He tries to hate her and he thinks on the revelations brought about by the music device she sent.
The knowledge that she bested him with her damnable lyrics rankles. For three days following the discovery of her betrayal he devotes every thought and dream to making her pay, to bringing her to her knees and asserting his ownership over the very essence of her being.
I will never be truly yours, Loki. I won't ever truly be yours because you can't totally possess someone without giving yourself back in return.
The memory of their last true conversation in the bunker seems to flay his insides, bringing him more pain than The Others ever could, especially when compared with the lost possibilities the Tesseract so cruelly showed him.
He misses her, aches for her, and hates her for this too. She does not care for him. This was her plan for the entirety of their time together. Eleanor made him care, knowing full well the pain that would take him upon their separation.
This is Eleanor's punishment, pay back for the evils he forced upon her.
But despite the unpleasant revelations the music brought, she sent him the player to help. She said as much in her introduction and Loki can't hate her.
His dark contemplation is for not. He has no hope of laying eyes on his songbird ever again. He'll rot away here in the white cell or perhaps on the Isle of Solitude, mind slowly going as a result of the solitary confinement the council is sure to sentence him with, until long after all her mortal years are spent.
Except she isn't mortal. Not totally.
The thought gives him hope. It is a dangerous little light that glows in the pit of his stomach, pushing him to try. He needs her voice and after three days of silence he forgives her for her slights against him with her songs of rebellion.
Now, he regards the music player warily, as if it will be responsible for yet another painful revelation, exposing the true nature of the woman who somehow managed to burrow into his very being.
He is so tired of failing, so tired of being wrong, that he would rather not know. He would rather believe her lie, the one that tricked the trickster into feeling something other than hate. He would rather believe that the visions of the Tesseract remain possible.
The call to hear her voice after three days of silence proves too great. He pushes the green star, curls himself into a ball on the hard white floor under the simple narrow bed, and closes his eyes.
"Loki," she says. "Are we every going to get out from under this bed?"
The stitching around his mouth makes speech impossible, but he shakes his head and she understands.
"You feel safe here," she says, lifting her beautiful blonde head from his chest to look him in the eye. "Out there is too bright, too white. You can't hide out there, with the glass wall and the lights. You feel safe here."
This time he nods. Eleanor strokes his hair and he smiles, barely noticing the painful tug on his puncture wounds.
"I'll stay here with you." She answers his silent plea. "I love you. I love you, Loki."
And he believes her. And he loves her back.
He closes his eyes, hugging her close and pushing his nose into her soft curls, but when he opens his eyes once more she is no longer in his arms.
The blackness is crippling and Eleanor's pale, naked skin seems to glow in stark contrast to the dark. Her arms are extended up and out above her head, legs splayed. Invisible bonds hold her suspended, surrounded by nothing but suffocating nothing.
With painful slowness her limbs twist, and he hears the joints pop from her sockets. Her screams nearly drown out the cracking of her bones as the twisting continues.
She does not beg or question. This is her life now and no answer will explain the pain because there are no reasons, but she has not yet lost her voice.
Loki struggles to reach her, to save her, even if it means putting her out of her misery, but he is immobilized, swallowed up by darkness.
Nothing. He is nothing at all but a pair of eyeballs, trained on the broken body of his lover.
And he watches as her pale skin in pained red with her own blood. Her skin is peeled back, layer by layer, but Loki cannot reach her, not until she looses the will to scream.
She crumples and Loki exists again, catching her, trying to hold her in a way that avoids broken bones and chard, bleeding flesh, but it is impossible.
He tries to say her name, but his lips are still stitched together. Tears obscure his vision, making it all the more painful. These are his final moment with Eleanor and he cannot even properly see her.
"You're free," she says, wheezing. Her eyes flicker closed. "Sweetheart, you are free. You are free."
And she is gone. And he would be gone to, if he had any say in the matter. Eleanor is dead and he would give all to join her, to make the pain stop.
"That is where she is wrong," says the amused, disembodied voice. Loki tries to scramble away, but there is only darkness, only Eleanor's lifeless body. "You are far from free. Freedom is life's great lie. Once you accept this, in your heart, you will know peace."
And so it begins.
Yet again.
The fourth song is his favorite. She sings about starlight, reminding him of things she couldn't possibly know, but there is such urgency in her voice and Loki finds himself moved.
There are seventeen in total, each containing Eleanor's voice accompanied by a variety of instruments. Most feature her and the piano. Loki wonders if she knows that this is his instrument of choice, second only to her voice. Several include the acoustic guitar and on one she plays the banjo.
On track twelve she debuts her skills on the violin. She does not sing and play simultaneously, but the music she produces is so beautiful Loki weeps once more.
Loki loses track of the days. All of his time is spent either delusional, his mind back in the Void with the pain and the fire and him, or listening to Eleanor's voice. With her music, Loki struggles to hold on to his sanity.
She asked him to try.
Some days are better than others. There are moments where the memories are clear enough for him to analyze his actions on Midgard and think about the reality of his false life before. In many ways, the completely sane days are the worst because the memories burn him as badly as the fire of the Void.
Without a doubt those delusions involving Eleanor are by far the most painful because they always come to an end.
Still, sanity proves a curse as well. He is a monster and they lied and Loki is left with nothing. Not even his mind remains unscathed.
On these days of unbearable clarity, he turns back to Eleanor's voice for comfort and a means to forget.
The confusion is so frustrating. Loki's strength has always been with his mind and his magic. Now he has neither.
The small cylinders that power the Midgardian music player stop working long after Loki loses track for the days and the pain compounds.
He nearly tears his own hair out in a failed attempt to clear his mind.
Flaming metal rods strip his skin over again a thousand times. Actual blood runs down his throat as his silenced screams pull at the stitches in his lips.
No one arrives to serve as a distraction from pain and memory and delusion.
He seems to suffer in an endless loop for a thousand lifetimes, but then his false brother returns with a case full of powerful cylinders and second disk full of music.
Thirty-four songs in total, plus the track that is simply her talking, and it feels like enough to sustain him for eternity.
He memorized all the lyrics to all the songs. He nearly uses up the second case of batteries. Thor visits are the only way to mark the days, despite his long periods of absence, and sometimes he sees his mother but this is just another delusion, a pleasant one that is only slightly less heartbreaking than Eleanor's appearances.
Then his trial is announced.
It matters little to him.
If his first attempt at suicide were not such a complete failure, he'd once more strive to take his own life. He does not have the strength to fail once more so he does nothing but hide under the bed, like the monster he truly is.
Twenty of Odin's personal guard arrive to escort him to the sentencing. He watches them gather, peaking out from under the bed at their heavy boots. Eleanor's gifts are safely hidden beneath the mattress.
The bed is removed and he is exposed. He curls himself into a tight ball and backs into a corner.
These minions of Odin are speaking to him, but he can do nothing but stare at the gaping holes of their mouths as they yell, demanding something from him. Always demanding something from him.
He flinches and winces but they fail to notice.
Thor is here, announcing his ever movement and getting close to Loki when the others refuse to do so, too craven to even step away from the door. The God of Thunder kneels in front of Loki. A memory of Thor in a similar position flickers through his poisoned mind, but Loki is unable to determine if it is reality or something twisted by the fire of the titan.
One of the guard hands Thor a cloth and a basin of water. Loki can do nothing but blink as his false brother gently washes the blood from his face and neck. Thor has never cleaned anything in his long life, so Loki decides this is just a strange new delusion.
He reaches for Eleanor's music device, but Thor prevents his movements, snapping shackles on Loki's wrists. He closes his eyes and attempts to conjure Eleanor, but it is an absolute failure.
With massive hands placed in the pits of his underarms, Thor hauls Loki to his feet. The thunder god does not let go until Loki is steady enough to shake him off. Summoning all his mental energy, Loki attempts to change this ridiculous delusion. He can do nothing but scowl as Thor pushes Loki's dark hair off his pale forehead, pulling it back and securing it with a tie.
The guard who delivered the basin takes hold of the chain connected to Loki's manacled wrists. He stumbles once as he exits the cell for the first time in what feels like eons, but then manages to find his feet.
Passively, unseeingly, he moves up with his escort. When they emerge from the bowls of the city, Loki is forced to close his eyes in deference to the bright light, somehow different from the white of his cell.
He wishes to be under his bed, with Eleanor.
The group takes the familiar path to the throne room. Loki tries to clear the fog and locate Eleanor's gift, but it proves impossible. He's listened to her songs so many times he has learned each piece by rout so he starts at the beginning, reciting the words of her introduction from the first, breathless "hi."
If he speaks the words out loud or says them only in his head, Loki cannot say.
Loki only gets halfway through the second song when he is jolted out of his mind once more as the guard comes to an abrupt stop. Without turning his head Loki drags his gaze around the golden expanse of Odin's domain.
He ignores the sea of Asgardian upper echelons completely, but when he takes in the royal family and the spot once reserved for him a shiver runs through his exhausted, weakened frame.
For one painful moment he locks eyes with the woman who he once called mother and he feels his cold, dead heart swell before he drops his gaze to his feet.
In his kingly voice, Odin reads of his crimes, against Asgard and Midgard. There is a brief mention of genocide on Jotunheim, but it is obviously not of great concern to the Allfather.
Loki goes back to replaying Eleanor's songs in his head, or perhaps singing the words out loud. Little about the situation holds any interest what so ever for him.
The words drone on and Loki continues to stare at his feet, all the while hearing Eleanor's songs until a particular phrases garners his attentions.
A century of solitude.
This is Odin's solution for the rouge prince. Loki feels the first fluttering of panic in his veins. Before he can hope to recover any of his magic, he must heal his mind. Given the fog in his head, a century of solitude might prevent this from ever happening.
He remembers the crippling loneliness of the Void and the lifetimes he spend alone, rotting in space.
The thought of losing his sanity for eternity is truly terrifying.
Loki sends Odin one pleading look before he remember his pride and once more stares at his feet.
He stares at his feet and wonders how many batteries he would need to power the music player for a hundred years.
His heart rate accelerates and he locks his jaw to prevent the sounds of his distress from escaping between his sewed together lips. This isn't a delusion and once he's led out of the throne room, he won't see another living soul for a century.
Who knows what – or who – his poisoned mind will conjure in a century of solitude.
"I object!"
At the sound of her high, clear voice, Loki's head snaps up with such speed he can actually hear the creak in his disused bones.
Surely she is a delusion. There is no other possible explanation.
Although she is only as tall standing as many Asgardians are sitting, Loki identifies her location immediately. She stands several rows back in a familiar green dress with golden swirls looking both completely shocked by her own words and thoroughly determined.
"I… um… object," she says again, scowling at Odin.
The silence in the crowed throne room is thick and heavy. Loki's lips twist into a wicked smile and he ignores the blood dribbling down his chin as he takes pleasure in the shock of the Asgardians.
Eleanor is nothing but a slip of a near mortal yet she stands before the ruling class of the gods, objecting to the terms of the trickster's imprisonment.
Yes, this is a delusion. Only Loki's twisted mind could possibly have conjured such a situation. Even if Eleanor was standing before him in reality, there is no chance of her objecting to Loki's punishment. He thinks back to the bruises on her neck, the way she insisted she would never be his, all those painful possibilities he saw with the Tesseract that will never come to fruition.
Eleanor has more reason than most in Asgard to hate the God of Lies and even if she doesn't by some miracle, she doubtless wants him punished.
He endeavors to seize control of the delusion by having Eleanor meet his eyes, but his poisoned mind refuses to cooperate.
Loki goes back to singing her songs in his head, thoroughly enjoying the delusional chaos that ensues around him.
So reunion chapter next! Then we'll start to get away from this crazy, tortured Loki business. Mostly.
Big thanks to everyone who is reading this! Triple big thanks to my ever-loyal reviewers. Perhaps I will reply to you tomorrow for now I must sleep.
See you soon!