Chapter 29: Oh, Death
Loki learns much of Eleanor by living in such close proximity to the half mortal. She enjoys dried grapes covered in dark chocolate and her own brand of mischief that he finds delightfully subtle. She prefers to wear her hair up in a messy ball at the back of her head, but smiles whenever his long fingers remove the tie from her golden locks. She is quiet, but not shy, and most shocking to the lonely God of Lies, she appears to genuinely enjoy his company.
She likes having him around, and never falters in her little signs of affection, even in the presence of her friends who openly loathe him. She defends him when she is so inclined, argues with him when she's not.
And she is totally insatiable.
As irritating as it may be, her hapless attempts to show him the error in his ways are just taken as another sign that she has yet to give up on him.
Foolish girl.
Yes, in the two Midgardians years since meeting her and the ten months living with her in New Mexico, Loki truly knows Eleanor Tate. Beyond likes and dislikes and tales from her childhood, he has become much more adept at accurately predicting her reactions. And although he does not doubt her capacity to surprise him, Loki is sure that she will be most unhappy when he breaks Odin's hold over their lives.
At first.
There will be yelling and glaring, but once Eleanor understands that this means freedom for both of them, her rage will drain away. When he takes her from this dull realm, showing her the wonders beyond her own tiny world, she will come to thank him.
He does not confide this most recent plan to break the bond to his songbird for she would surely attempt to stop him. In this, she does not know what is best and she will one day come to thank him for it.
There is no possible alternative.
But first he must actually devise a means to undo Odin's magic. Although he encountered bót mannaforráð magic in his past studies, but was never particularly interested in the old and unused craft, so he did not bother to studiously memorize its details, as he's done with other magic.
He looks at Eleanor typing away at her computer, clothed in a long sleeved dress and wonders were to begin.
"My dear," he murmurs, moving his lips near her ear for a little privacy. The shiver that goes through her body as she turns makes him smirk. "You look lovely today. This dark shade is a particular favorite of mine. Whoever suggested you wear such a dress was quite correct in assuming it would enhance your already great beauty."
Eleanor rolls her eyes, but is grinning as if she is pleased by his words even as she endeavors not to be.
"Well, it is part of the bunker wardrobe, so I guess the fashion genius would be you," she teases as he rests a palm on her thigh.
"Genius indeed," he murmurs. "Although I must say I am shocked that SHIELD willingly returned it to you. However did you manage to wrangle back so many of our stolen possessions from Director Fury?"
"Well, there wasn't enough space in the storage room for the piano. When I went to collect it I just started to add things to the list that I wanted. Fury didn't really care about my clothes and instruments. He had linguistics look for anything weird in your Midgardian books before I got those back," she explains. "No way were they giving me your whole Asgardian library."
Loki is pleased that the conversation arrived at the desired topic so quickly.
"Ah, yes," he laments. "My poor, confiscated collection. What do you suppose came of my beloved books?"
"Probably still in the linguistics lab," Eleanor replies, turning back to her computer. "You gave the language nerds enough material to keep them occupied for lifetimes."
Ah, there it is. The linguistics lab holds his answers.
"They best not harm my books," Loki mutters, leaning back in his seat.
He closes his eyes and sends out in invisible fragment of his essence. It moves quickly through the complex, finding the linguistics department with ease. The mortals he finds there are carefully analyzing copied pages of his tomes. Loki changes the symbols they are studying, ensuring that if they do manage to translate the dialect they will find nothing but pornography, no matter what selection they read.
At the back of the workspace is a bolted door. He passes through it without difficulty, relived to find shelf after shelf of books. He spent lifetimes establishing this collection and it is a joy to see it intact now. The selections are stored carefully and Loki is momentarily grateful to the mortals for treating his books properly.
Taking a quick inventory, Loki is pleased to find every work of his collection is present and unharmed.
Looking out through his physical eyes in his physical form that sits at Eleanor's side, Loki studies the Midgardian book in his physical lap. For Christmas, Eleanor bestowed upon him the entire works of one William Shakespeare and now Loki fills the pages of this mortal collection with the words of his own.
All from his seat next to Eleanor, Loki merges all the volumes stored in the linguistics department into a single selection disguised as the Midgardian book that sits in his lap. It takes only a matter of moments to copy the contents of the originals into the one small, Earthly book in his possession.
At his command, the words written by one known as William Shakespeare can be replaced with those of any selection of his personal library. He can search for an exit strategy to this stifling situation or read to Eleanor at her request.
She claims ignorance to the meaning behind Shakespeare's lines, but she enjoys it none the less. Apparently when he reads the Midgardian prose she hears "beautiful music."
Her wants and needs and smiles are thoroughly distracting from his plans for escape. Loki finds himself seeking her smiles often, whether he uses his words or his touch.
Or his tongue.
When the songbird opens the pages of the book in his lap, she will see the words of this long dead mortal. When Loki opens the pages he can call forth any work in his collection.
Pleased with the effort, he recalls the part of his essence responsible for retrieving the contents of his books.
As Eleanor stares at the screen of her computer, Loki grins wickedly. It is a relief to finally take the first step to removing the damaging bond Odin wrought.
Despite the text now contained in his book, Loki finds himself watching Eleanor. Soft music plays from the speakers of Darcy Lewis and Eleanor's lips move, mouthing the words to the song silently as she types away. Occasionally her brow will furrow and her typing will cease as she thinks hard on something. Eleanor does her job well and it takes her next to no time to solve her issue. The corner of her mouth twitches up slightly as she resumes her task.
Loki is very alarmed to find himself smiling as well.
Focusing once more on the task at hand, he opens his modified book and calls forth the selection of ancient Asgardian law that outlines the exact parameters of the bót mannaforráð magic.
The pathway to his freedom lies within these thousands of pages.
He finds himself looking at her again so he snaps at her and sweeps out of the room to read under the tree in the courtyard.
"What are you reading?"
Loki glances down at the naked songbird lying curled into his side. Her eyes are closed and her breathing remains deep, yet she does not continue to sleep.
"Shakespeare," he murmurs, reaching out to stroke her hair. Eleanor sighs and shuffles closer, her nose coming into contact with his ribs.
Months ago, when she initiated contact he would jump in terror, his body reacting as if he were still back in the Void. In his clear mind, he knows Eleanor is in all likelihood not going to cause him harm physically and he no longer reacts negatively as if his sweet songbird were the titan. Now he is not only used to her touch, he craves her eagerness and willingness to have his skin meet hers.
Eleanor rests her hand on his stomach and his cool skin warms. She is quiet. Loki assumes that she's fallen asleep once more, but then she speaks, her voice a sleepy mumble that is oddly endearing.
"Still?" she asks. "Please tell me you've at least finished The Merchant of Venice. Normally you're a speed reader."
Loki winces. He will have to change the covering tomorrow to keep from further arousing her suspicion.
"Nearly done," he assures her.
"Why are you reading?"
Loki sighs, wishing she would simply fall back to sleep, but her blue eyes are open and studying him.
"I enjoy reading."
"Loki."
"I am not tired," he says. As usual, she makes his unofficial title of God of Lies seem like jest only, something that frustrates Loki endlessly. Lies never seem to take root when it comes to Eleanor, only half-truths and withheld information.
"It's the dreams, isn't it?"
Begrudgingly, he nods in confirmation.
"They're getting worse," Eleanor says. It is an observation rather than a question.
Although the terrors in his dreams never left him, for many months Loki could tell that they were memory only. Even when asleep, Loki was aware enough to recognize that they were in his head only, simply dreams.
For the last few weeks they've seemed so real and he remains convinced that he is truly in the Void until his thrashing wakes Eleanor and she reminds him that they are false.
There is a direct correlation with the escalation of his dreams and the beginning of his work to break Odin's hold on their lives.
"Do you want me to sing?" she asks.
"Not tonight, Eleanor," he says, needing to focus on freeing himself. The lack of progress he's made in the weeks since starting this endeavor is unacceptable and that is mostly Eleanor's doing as she is endlessly distracting. Now he considers performing a sleeping spell, but it left her thoroughly disoriented and chatty last time. "Sleep," he whispers, but the suggestion is devoid of magic.
Her eyes flutter closed and she is silent once more. His hand stays in her hair. The tenderness he shows her should simply be an act to keep her complacent, but he finds himself enjoying the softness she shows him in return. Allowing himself to feel so much for the frail half mortal was a mistake, but one he does not think he has the strength to correct.
When the chill of his skin makes her shiver, he tucks the comforter more firmly around her shoulders and then gets back to his research.
He reads well into the night, attempting to find a means to liberate himself from the Allfather's oppression.
After many hours, Loki's eyelids grow heavy, but he is finally making progress. It is slow going as this ancient work is in a mortal dialect and his Etruscan is rusty. This is one work he acquired only days before Thor's banishment and the information is new. It tells a tale of a previous bót mannaforráð arrangement with the duo residing on Midgard, detailing the toils of the accused to break the bond.
His heart rate picks up with excitement as he reads a little faster, but then his skin grows glacial and his very organs seem to vanish as he finds his answer.
Death.
Death will grant him what he seeks.
Her death.
The thought is unreasonably disturbing and far more shocking than it should be, given all he knows about ancient magic such as this.
With slow, silent movements, Loki shuts the book and sets it on his nightstand. He slides down to lay beside his songbird and pulls her into his arms. She comes willingly and with a contented little sigh.
Her behavior demonstrates just how easy it would be to obtain his freedom. She may not fully trust him, but she is comfortable enough in his presence to sleep by him nightly and her confidence in her command does the rest.
Although Odin's magic attempts to guarantee her protection, given the time and desire, a magical work around is highly likely. There are ways, holes in her single uttered command.
Yes, he could certainly ensure her death, or at the very least allow it to occur.
Odin would know almost immediately, but Loki would have time to flee and cloak his movements. He knows of pathways that remain hidden to the Allfather and he could finally be free of Odin's influence.
Perhaps he could even find refuge from much more sinister threats.
But the cost would be Eleanor's life.
His attraction to her grows daily and this alone should compel him to seek her timely demise. The power she holds over him extends beyond the magic Odin bestowed upon her.
The strength of his feeling for her is comparable to what he once felt for the false family that ultimately betrayed him and nothing could be more dangerous than allowing her to lull him into a similar position of weakness.
She is a threat to both his long fought independence and his heart. It is unacceptable and her elimination should be his highest priority, yet he hesitates.
Over the centuries of his lifetime, Loki never once encountered any to want him as Eleanor does. It may very well be a lie, as most good things are, but if that is so then it is a beautiful, an addicting falsehood.
From their very first meeting, she wanted him. She selected him.
Before, he was perpetually a second choice to the golden prince, from his family to the various Aesir who caught his interest sexually and the people at large, but one with such beauty and talent as Eleanor chose him.
It is a feeling Loki is loath to relinquish, falsehood or no.
Eleanor is simultaneously sweet and strong and she chose Loki. She did so upon their first meeting and then again when she came to Asgard.
He kisses her temple and closes his eyes.
"I will find an alternative solution," he whispers, promising her something.
He dreams of a world without Eleanor, something that proves equally unsettling to the terror of the Void.
"What's wrong?" Eleanor demands as they tumble along in her vehicle as is their current routine, her paltry job awaiting them. Loki will spend the day searching out a solution that spares Eleanor's life.
"Wrong?" he asks as if her question confuses him.
"You're super quiet," she observes. "And you didn't even freak when I told you that Steve is coming to town."
"What?" he snaps. "You are forbidden from so much as acknowledging his presence."
The songbird rolls her eyes. "I knew you weren't listening," she grumbles. "What's wrong?"
"I am obviously thrilled to be subjected to yet another entertaining day watching your companions toil fruitlessly," he drawls. The goal is to coax her into an argument where she convinces him to partake in the research, but she refuses to be distracted.
"Come on," she continues. "What's up? You look like you're coming down from a good old cuddle with the Tesseract."
"You claim my actions are monstrous, but I am not inherently so. Correct?" Eleanor parks in her standard spot by the laboratory, but makes no move to exit the vehicle.
"Yeah," she replies, sounding thoroughly suspicious, but nowhere near as surprised as Loki himself. He just willingly referenced a conversation he thought to have banished from his mind. It seems her ludicrous views on social hierarchy – or lack thereof – took root somewhere in his mind for him to use it as a distraction now.
"I hurt you," he continues, surprising himself further. As Eleanor frowns, Loki reaches out to gently stroke the smooth column of her throat, where he left so many bruises. He thinks on the only current solution to destroy the bond and he is sickened.
"Yes," she whispers.
"Are these not the actions of a monster?" Something deep within his chest feels uncomfortably tight.
A monster would kill Eleanor.
"The monstrous actions of a lost, desperate soul," she corrects, taking his hand. Her soft smile is so damn understanding and it fills Loki with such rage.
"There is no difference," he snaps, yanking his hand from hers and slamming out of her terrain vehicle. For one moment he fears that he truly is monstrous enough to seek an end to her life.
"You know there's a difference!" she yells after him as he stomps off towards the laboratory. "You're the smartest dude I've ever met! Of course you know there's a difference!"
His footsteps falter and looking at her makes him feel ill, but at least he succeeded in distracting her.
Another excellent plan, executed flawlessly.
"Eleanor," he says through a clenched jaw. It is exceedingly difficult to keep his eyes and hands on his book with Eleanor kissing his neck and removing the tie from his hair. "Stop this at once."
"Why?" Her voice is a breathless purr and holds such promise. Deft fingers play with the lacings of his trousers, purposefully teasing and tempting him. She truly is a glorious creature, not ashamed in the slightest to enjoy his body as much as he does hers.
On Asgard, women tend to be shy little flowers, pretty and demur. They never failed to make him feel like a rutting, animalistic fool. And the men are far worse.
Eleanor grazes her teeth against the lobe of his ear and he closes his eyes, stifling a groan.
"I am not in the mood," he manages.
Eleanor's answering laugh is throaty and so very appealing, but he remembers his research.
"I said I'm not in the mood for you," he spits out, pushing her off with more force than necessary. She bounces slightly on the couch, but catches herself on the arm of the sofa before she can tumble to the floor. The scowl of absolute loathing that mars her beautiful has an apology coming to his lips as if it is automatic, but he holds back.
"What the fuck?" she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. A thin strap of her dress falls down her arm, but he does not dare touch her to fix the garment.
"I am reading," he explains.
"All you've done all week is read," she snaps, hands waving around her head in exasperation. "No sex. No mischief. No fun. Just reading."
Loki does not reply. He just goes back to his reading.
"Have you discovered a passion for Midgardian literature?" She has a gift for impersonating those around her and her mimicry of him is uncanny.
He rolls his eyes, but otherwise ignores her. If only she knew that his research may very well let her live and grant her freedom. Then she might give him some peace.
"You are normally so slutty."
"Slutty?" He raises an eyebrow.
"You know what I mean."
"Hardly ever."
With a frustrated howl, she gets off the couch and stomps off to the bedroom.
"I'm going to sleep!" she declares before slamming the door behind her.
And Loki has his peace.
Hours later, he finds himself frustrated and revolted. Over the last week he's uncovered several avenues to break the shackles of Odin's magic, but all solutions have the same destructive end.
In his frustration Loki throws the book against a wall with enough force to rattle the framed pictures that hang there. For one horrifying moment, Loki reminds himself of Thor.
He shudders at the thought.
Needing an outlet for all the tension in his limbs, Loki gets up to pace the length of her small front room. He has studiously avoided thinking on this option to break the bond through death, but as he comes to understand that there are no alternatives, he forces himself to consider the unthinkable.
His need to protect Eleanor wars with the absolute necessity of eradicating Odin's influence from his life. Undoing the bond feels just as dire as keeping Eleanor for his own, both equally necessary to his own survival and he knows not what to do as he exhausts his last hope to find a solution that allows him both.
Was this Odin's intention? Is this the true nature of his punishment?
How Loki hates the Allfather. Even after all that has occurred in the last few years, Odin refuses to cease his manipulations. Still he tries to shape Loki in his image. Now Odin uses Eleanor to make Loki like them, like Thor.
Although Loki cannot understand it, Eleanor appears to be an innocent, but the Allfather corrupted her, uses her, and now she must die for Loki to be his own again.
But the thought of killing his songbird is repugnant. Even if it is a beautiful lie, she belongs to Loki. She is lover and companion and after all he's done to hurt her, still she remains at his side.
He made the promise to cause her no more pain.
But monsters lie as they kill without pause.
Surely, silencing a voice as extraordinary as hers would etch an enduring mark on his hard, black heart that would be truly unbearable. He would cross the line into true evil, the one he has been dancing near for the entirety of his life. Admittedly, as of late, the majority of his time was on the far side, but never like this.
There are moments Loki allows Eleanor to convince him that he is not so monstrous, that despite the destruction he's caused he is not the evil, vile thing he spent his childhood fearing beyond all other evil, vile things. An end to Odin's oppression means allowing Eleanor to die, and that would forever mark him as a true monster, beyond redemption.
He was not even aware that he desired the option of redemption before this moment.
Beyond that, Eleanor would be gone. Loki would be free, Eleanor would be gone, and then what? He cannot bear the thought of losing her, but accepting the power she holds over him feels like death also.
Another frustrated, panicked wail escapes his lips. He staggers, stopping his pacing and fisting his hand in his hair. Ragged breaths rip through his chest, he feels himself slipping from reality, and then –
"Loki?" The timid voice has the fog lifting from his vision, but does nothing to calm the panic and terror that rushes through every facet of his being. He forces himself to look at her and once their eyes lock, Loki cannot look away, despite the sickness in his stomach.
She is rumpled and perfect in the doorway, hair a wild golden halo, legs bare.
"What's going on?" she whispers.
"I… I…" He sounds like a stuttering, whimpering fool, so he closes his mouth, focusing instead on ceasing the shaking in his hands. Eleanor says nothing more and he appreciates her affinity for silence.
Closing the distance between them with slow, even paces, she touches the back of his hand, questioning. She knows of his weakness, knows how sudden movements startle him, knows how physical contact occasionally makes him jump.
And she should die given all she knows. She makes him weak and she should die because of it.
He tentatively laces his fingers through hers, allowing her to lead him to the bedroom, standing passively as she strips off his trousers and pulls his tunic off over his head. He lies on his side, facing away from her.
It feels like an eternity, but Eleanor curls herself around his back, dainty little hand splayed out against his stomach. When he holds her hand it is difficult for him to keep from crushing her bones with his grip.
Eleanor sings softly and he closes his eyes.
When he finally sleeps this night he dreams of the Void, but the isolated figure swallowed by the darkness and the silence is not Loki.
She is held suspended by invisible bonds, limbs splayed and vulnerable.
It is him, the Titan of Death, melting the flesh from her naked frame. Eleanor's screams are met with nothing of silence, giving the illusion that she is hopelessly and forever alone.
It is as if Loki observes his own memory, made that much worse by Eleanor's presence, and he struggles for a way to intervene but he appears to have no form.
The titan moves around her diminutive, quivering body, leaving the charred flesh of her front to take a blade to her back. Eleanor begins to sing about Mary and her lamb, the voice hallow and tormented, by far the worse sound ever to enter Loki's eardrums. It seems to slice through Loki as true as his blades.
Loki is helpless to do anything but watch in horror as blood from a thousand gashes paints her soft skin red, only there is no skin left, save for her tear soaked face.
She loses the will to scream and with it, the will to live. She will do anything, become anyone, think anything, to be blessed with the mercy of an end, but the titan wants nothing from Eleanor, not like he demanded transformation from Loki.
The titan disappears, dissolving into the utter blackness of the Void, and Loki suddenly has form. He rushes to her, cradling her face in his palms, pleading with her in a most unbecoming manner.
"Don't leave me alone," he whimpers. The words do not feel like his own. "Do not go."
Desperately, he tries to tend to her wounds, to heal the burns and stop the bleeding on her back, but they are too great in number.
With her last breaths Eleanor speaks, and the panic threatens to overtake him.
"You're free, Loki," she manages to whisper. "You are free."
And then she's gone, just like everything else he ever loved.
"Loki!" she screams, shaking his shoulders, desperately trying to rouse him. The whimpering started twenty minutes ago. This is nothing out of the ordinary for the traumatized god, but when his body starts convulsing fifteen minutes after that, Eleanor nearly breaks down.
"Wake up!" she screams. "Please, wake up!"
She has him propped up against the headboard now as best she can, given the shaking. Eleanor is crying and panicked as she slaps his face and brainstorms ways to get him out of this really fucking bad dream. She is a moment away from calling Jane because Jane knows everything, when his eyes fly open.
"Eleanor!" he rasps, reaching out to cradle her face, eyes searching wildly. "Do not go! Do not leave me alone."
"What?" She is as confused as she is relieved. "I can't," she tells him because it is a physical impossibility. "I won't," she says because she doesn't want to. "You don't leave me alone either."
With a suddenness that makes her squeak, Loki sits up and pulls her into his lap. She straddles his thighs and tries to understand.
"Loki, wha—"
The question gets cut off when he abruptly pulls her t-shirt off over her head. His inspection of her body is clinical rather than sexual. Eleanor gapes at him as his hands travel over skin, searching out something.
He's done this before, back in Stark Tower at the height of his crazy. It scares her.
Fingers pause as he scrutinizes her nearly faded tan lines. Loki pulls her close to his chest so hands and eyes can explore the smooth planes of her back.
"You are unhurt," he mutters, the movement of his hands shifting into a caress. She is really crying now, but manages a nod in response. So many questions pop into her head, but he has scared her so much already this morning and she is unsure if she wants the answers.
"Hush," she murmurs, stroking his hair and attempting to calm them both. He hugs her tighter, and Eleanor closes her eyes, finally calming but then he's touching her with long, knowing fingers and her breath is picking up all over again.
It's been a very long week and this is not exactly something Eleanor wants in this moment, but Loki is just so desperate. He wants this, needs this in an absolutely necessary, life affirming sort of way.
"Eleanor?" He's asking for permission. It always amazes her when he whimpers at her this way, but when he traps her face between his hands to really look at her, something in his intense expression steals her voice.
All she can do is nod.
"Is everything okay?" Jane's quiet, concerned question snaps Eleanor out of her daze. She jumps as she realizes that while she was staring out the window at Loki pacing under his tree she poured too much coffee into her mug and now there is a mess on the counter.
"Shit," mutters Eleanor, reaching for a dishcloth. "Sorry, Jane."
"Seriously, what's going on?" Jane repeats.
"Yeah, you look like you haven't slept in a month," adds Darcy, helpful as ever. "But Loki looks even worse if that makes you feel better."
It makes Eleanor feel the opposite of better.
These last few weeks Loki's barely been eating. Before her eyes he appears to be transforming back into the gaunt, sickly god that was imprisoned in Stark Tower, this morning events making the similarities between then and now even more apparent.
"It's just been a weird couple weeks with Loki," she admits.
"Did he hurt you?" asks Jane.
"No," Eleanor replies. Not physically, anyway. She thinks of his harsh reaction last night and his absolute panicked need for her this morning. "There's something he's not telling me. I'm worried about him."
Darcy nods like she understands but Jane frowns.
"We should really tell Thor and SHIELD if you think he's up to something."
Eleanor goes back to staring at the pacing god outside.
Despite all her extremely foolish actions, Eleanor is neither stupid, nor is she blind to Loki's many, many, many faults. She knows that there is a possibility that he will try something terrible and sinister. She'll be forced to admit that this was all a dangerous waste of time and he'll go back to Asgard before he hurts more people.
Because she won't let him hurt more people.
But they've done all right these last ten months and she is nowhere near willing to give it up.
"Not yet," she whispers. "Give me a few more days, Jane."
"Do you want some salad?" Eleanor offers the God of Mischief lunch. After hours of maniacal pacing, he settled down against his tree twenty minutes ago.
"I have no appetite," he murmurs without so much as opening his eyes.
Eleanor sits facing him, discarding her lunch in favor of resting a hand against his knee.
"Are we going to talk about last night?" she asks, gently massaging his leg.
"No."
"Are we going to talk about this morning?"
"No."
"Are we going to talk about why you've been so upset all week?"
"No."
"I'm pretty concerned here, Loki."
He just scoffs.
Eleanor sighs but knows just how useless it is to argue. She eats her salad and waits, hoping he'll speak when he's ready.
"What circumstances brought you to Asgard for my trial?" he finally asks, long after her lunch is gone. He is looking at her now and she is unable to hide her surprise.
"I begged Thor relentlessly for days until he finally agreed," Eleanor says.
"Oh, you begged Thor, did you?"
"Loki, don't be absurd," she replies, rolling her eyes. The jealousy in his tone is not something she has the patience do deal with in this moment.
"Why?"
"Why should you not be absurd?" she asks just to annoy him.
"Why did you beg your way into Asgard?" He's getting slightly hysterical now so she gets serious.
"I still don't really know," she says with a shrug. "Closure, maybe? I wanted to help you but I had no hope of actually changing anything."
"Help?" he hisses.
Eleanor pays him no attention, already painfully familiar with his aversion to assistance. "I just had to go, Loki. I had too. In Stark Tower I chose you and I had to see it through."
He looks at her for a long moment. It's a new expression on Loki's familiar face. She doesn't know what it means.
"And what exactly occurred after your arrival?" he demands, composing himself once more. "Did the Allfather summon you? Were you coerced into this arrangement with me? That bit of theater with you leaping to your feet and declaring your objection for all of Asgard to see must have been scripted," he mutters to himself.
Eleanor frowns, trying to understand what he's getting at here.
"No," she replies, speaking slowly and regarding him with suspicion. "I went straight to a guest room and was told to stay there until your trial the next day."
Loki tilts his head to the side, studying her. "You were told?"
"Yeah," Eleanor says, wincing slightly as she remembers Thor's anger. "I didn't listen."
"That was extremely foolish," he snaps, green eyes narrowed. "Where did you go?"
"Just for a walk in the gardens," she mutters, dropping her gaze to her lap. "I met a woman there."
"Did you?" The low, dangerous tone of his voice doesn't make it any easier for her to continue. It's shocking that this had yet to come up and Eleanor doesn't understand why it is so difficult to tell him.
"She claimed to be a messenger, a servant. She asked me about you, asked me why I was on Asgard."
"And your reply?"
"That I wanted to help you."
With a disgusted growl Loki lurches to his feet. Eleanor watches him warily as he paces.
"Are you actively seeking an end to your pathetic half mortal life?" he demands. "The Aesir fear and loathe you nearly as they fear and loathe me, yet you wander as if nothing can touch you."
Although she fights it, Eleanor's lips twitch into an unwilling smile.
"Why do you grin?" he asks, slowing to loom over her, every bit the menace in this moment.
She shakes her head.
"Eleanor!"
"You don't want to know."
"I insist you share your thoughts," Loki says, fisted hands resting on his narrow hips.
"The way you scolded me just then sounded exactly like Thor when he found out about my little garden adventure," she murmurs, getting a little thrill of satisfaction when he scowls.
The pacing resumes, although his steps are slightly less frantic.
"Who was the woman?" he asks.
"Your mother."
He actually stumbles.
"I didn't know until later," Eleanor continues. "She gave me a book and forced me to eat this little mint circle thing so I could read it."
Loki makes a choking sound, his eyes bulging as he stares down at her.
"What?" she asks. "Are you okay?"
He nods, giving himself a moment to calm down before sitting with his legs crossed, facing her.
"You consumed a foreign and unknown substance in a hostile environment given to you by a complete stranger?" he clarifies. His blank, disbelieving tone makes her feel like an idiot.
"She wouldn't take no for an answer, okay! She's like her son that way," Eleanor replies, getting defensive.
Loki closes his eyes, jaw clenched as if he is praying for patience.
"You consumed a foreign substance—"
"Loki! Fine, I admit the whole thing was stupid but it already happened and now you're here to make sure I never do anything so stupid again," she says, really concerned for him now.
Loki signs heavily and rubs his eyes.
"Why are you asking me this?" she whispers, feeling as though she'd be happier not knowing the answer. Suddenly her heart feels heavy. "What's going on, Loki? Just tell me."
He won't meet her gaze. That's never a good sign.
"It was Frigga, not Odin that devised this arrangement?"
She nods.
"Damn."
"Odin was pissed about it. He would've said no if not for your mom. He didn't think we'd last this long," Eleanor tries to explain. "It was this or a century all alone, Loki. Your mom recognized what that would do to you. Odin thought I'd freak out and give up after ten minutes."
Loki cracks a smile. "People tend to underestimate your because of your extremely miniscule stature."
Now it is Eleanor that smiles.
"Come here," he says.
She shuffles over on the grass until she's tucked into his side.
"You possess great beauty and talent, my songbird," he whispers in ear. It makes Eleanor feel warm and loved. It has been a very long time since she's felt warm and loved. "I… I've spent these last weeks searching for a means to spare your life. This arrangement seemed unbearable, but the only way to end this magic is for you to die."
Eleanor tenses against him, all feelings of anything even resembling contentment abruptly evaporate. She closes her eyes and berates herself for being so exceedingly stupid.
In nearly a decade the walls of Ellie's heart have not been breached once. She did not trust. She did not allow anyone close and in a fucking decade he is her choice?
What sort of fucked up fantasy world was she living in? Thinking he saw her as more than a charming sort of pet was so obviously wrong.
She opens her eyes again, watching Loki stroke her hair but not feeling it because he was going to kill her. Or he is planning on killing her? Staying connected with her is so unbearable that killing her is a suitable situation.
What the fuck is wrong with her?
The worst part is her surprise. Why is she even surprised? Everyone has told her and told her and told her, but still she is surprised.
"Eleanor?" he asks. "Are you quite all right?"
She pushes away from him, his touch making her skin crawl in a way that reminds her of the night he kidnapped her.
He fucking kidnapped her. How could she possibly have thought this wouldn't happen?
"This surprises you," Loki says, interpreting her facial expression. Ellie nods slightly, feeling so foolish. "It should not. How could you possibly expect anything else?"
And suddenly Eleanor's shock turns to anger.
"Fuck, you're an idiot," she mutters, adding a braid to her hair. He actually hisses at her, offended. "Of course I expect more of you."
"How could you possibly—"
"Just shut up," she says, scrambling to her feet and adding another fat braid. Loki slowly and gracefully stands. She hates how tall he is in this moment. He's got a full foot on her and it would be so nice to look down on him for once. "I do expect better from you, you fucking moron. You are not a monster, despite your current behavior."
"Eleanor—"
"Why are you even telling me this?" she interrupts. "Do you really think I'm so obsessed with you that I'll just willingly hand over my life to get you out of this horribly painful punishment? And what about this command of mine?"
He smiles ruefully. "There are ways around these things, given the time."
"You were going to kill me? Or you are going to kill me? What the fuck are you saying?"
He takes a step closer. She takes a step back.
"I was never going to kill you," he says as if it should be obvious. He seems frustrated, picking at his left hand. "Forget I said anything. There is no need to discuss this."
"Oh, hell no! You better fucking keep talking."
He sighs heavily before continuing. "When my research provided me no alternative, I simply considered all my options."
"Which included killing me!"
"Or orchestrating a situation where your death was inevitable." He shrugs like it is no big deal.
"How is that any different than killing me?" she says, struggling to fight of her tears.
"I suppose from your point of view it isn't."
"What happened? It started this last week, didn't it?" she asks, voice breaking. And Loki is actually looking at her like her reaction is unexpected. "What changed? Why did you start looking to end this? What did I do?"
"Eleanor, you did nothing. This is merely the conclusion I've reached after many months of attempting to free us both from Odin's magic." His words are measured and slow. He speaks to her as if she is a child.
"Months?" she whispers. "You've been plotting to kill me for months? You've been trying to break our bond for months?"
"Odin's bond," Loki corrects. He takes up his pacing once more, picking at that goddamn left hand. "And I was in no way plotting to kill you. I am not explaining myself well."
Eleanor is speechless because she really does understand him, loud and fucking clear. She was wrong about everything. She thought they were something special. She thought he cared for her.
"Originally, when you would not immediately allow me to return to Asgard to remove the bond, I planned to allow my magic to return before taking you up your promise to bring me back to the Allfather," he says.
"This whole time? You've been plotting to leave me this whole fucking time?" For a moment her anger wins out over the heartbreak. She wants to live in this anger, using it to rebuild those walls and keep her from everything feeling anything this awful again.
"I planned to escape the Isle and return," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "But as my sanity returned I realized that there was no way to accurately test my ability to escape. Releasing a bird from an entrapment of my own making certainly proved inadequate."
Ellie closes her eyes, absolutely hating herself for ignoring all the now-obvious signs.
"Eventually it became clear that it would not be Odin lifting this magic, but me. Only I could free us both from this oppressive situation."
"Oppressive?" she whispers.
"But I was lax and complacent. It was only several weeks ago that I commenced my research. There are several spells that will break the bond, but all the magic culminates in your death," he says, slowing his pacing until he is stopped in front of her, hands clasped behind his back. Eleanor's a bit stunned to realize that he's babbling. "Last night exhausted all visible possibilities. I see no alternative."
"To killing me."
"Keeping you with me and breaking the bond seemed equally necessary last night. I had to weigh my options."
He takes a step towards her. She takes a step back.
"You are just so determined to ruin your own life, aren't you?" she mutters. He truly is beyond redemption if he cannot see the potential here between them.
"Pardon?" His brow furrows in confusion. That look was once endearing but he considered killing her because the bond they share is that unbearable, so Ellie doesn't think that she'll see him as endearing ever again.
She just shakes her head.
"I will not do this. I have decided to spare your life," he says, opening his arms slightly as if expecting her to embrace him. "I will stay at your side."
"Oh, well thank you for your benevolence, Almighty One. Allow me to bow to your divine mercy," she snaps, leaning into the anger. Her rage will drown out the loss and rejection and humiliation of being so totally fucking wrong.
He takes a step towards her. She takes a step back.
"You are irate."
"Why would I be irate? You've decided to spare my life. What could I possibly be irate about?" she replies, getting a little hysterical herself.
"I do not understand. You should be pleased about this decision," he replies, speaking slowly.
There is a lot she'd like to say. There are names she considers calling him. She thinks about collapsing in the grass and letting his cool hands soothe her. She wants to demand answers and accuse him of being the monster he thinks he is. Begging him never to leave her is another compulsion she clenches her fists to suppress. Hitting him would feel so good for one small moment because Loki truly has nothing if he doesn't have her.
And he doesn't have her. Not anymore.
Silence is a comfortable old friend and Ellie pulls on the mask like the last two years never happened. Instead of yelling or fighting or wailing she goes quiet, simply shaking her head, turning on her heel, and slowing making her way back to the lab, back to work.
Loki does not follow.