A/N: Hi!

This chapter is a bit more Loki-centric, but has got some good (bad?) feels and a nice little cliffhanger. Just cause I love you. Ha!

gemma: Yes. Yes drama. Much drama. I'm glad you liked the dream sequence! And the fights are gonna be epic. ;)

matioschka: Your reviews always make me so happy. They are so genuine and always make me smile so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I am so glad that you enjoy it. Hope you like this chapter just as much.

Note: I am informed to tell you that my little sister DOES NOT endorse this chapter and, when learning what was going to happen, stole my laptop and refused to give it back. Needless to say, I won the battle, so... here is the chapter.

FIFTEEN

Say something, I'm giving up on you
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you
Anywhere I would've followed you
Say something, I'm giving up on you

And I will swallow my pride
You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye

- "Say Something," A Great Big World

So she stood there, feeling as if she was about to break down, the two parts of her warring against one another.

Let him leave or make him stay?

What he wanted, what she wanted, what to do?

And she just looked at him. Looked at him, and saw his fingers trembling. Saw his chest rising and falling unsteadily.

Is he scared that I will make him leave? Or scared that he will have to stay?

She wanted him with her. Wanted him. Needed him.

And it scared her.

An hour ago she had called him a monster, a murderer. Ordered him to leave.

The memories ran through her mind. Him pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, formally, like the prince he was. Him whispering to her in the night, soft and low, when he thought she was asleep. Little things. Small things. His expression every time she told him that she loved him. The way his fingers would curl through her hair. His eyes when he woke up, sleepy and yet so alive, and how they would brighten when she kissed him good morning.

Turn back the clock. Make it then, not now. I don't like now. I want then.

But then was gone and she could not pretend that things hadn't changed.

Everything had changed.

"Loki…" she said finally, and he looked straight at her. "This isn't – this isn't what I wanted for you."

"And what did you want for me?" he asked her softly.

She sighed. "I wanted you to be loved."

A small smile worked its way across his face. "I was."

She winced. "Loki, please, please, don't use past tense. It's not – I don't – "

His hand covered hers. "It's all right, Alana."

His eyes saw deep into hers, and she knew that he could read her decision. "It's all right."

She gently pushed his hand away. "Loki, son of Laufey," she began, feeling as though it should be formal, even though she was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, "I release you."

He took her hand and kissed it. "Thank you," he said simply.

She ran back to the house before he left, and came out holding her old sketchbook.

"I hid it before," she said, "but I forgot where I hid it." She smiled a bit sheepishly, and offered it to him. "It's for you."

"Alana, I can't take this."

"You're going to," she said, pressing it into his hand, but stopped him when he tried to open it. "Not now. Look at it later… when you want to remember."

He gazed tenderly at her. "As if I could ever forget."

She looked down, foot scuffing the dirt. "Loki - " she began, and then she ran to him and pressed herself against him, arms around his neck. "Is it too late to change my mind?" she whispered.

He chuckled and pressed his lips to her head, smoothing her hair with his hand.

The embrace seemed to last forever and only a second, all at once.

As they parted, he looked her straight in the eye. "If you ever need me, Alana, if you're ever in trouble or just need another fighter by your side, I swear I will come. It might take… a little while, but I promise I will be there as soon as I can." His fingers pulled at the chain of her necklace, warm from her skin. "Call for Heimdall. This necklace shields you from his gaze, and his hearing, so you'll have to take it off first. But tell him you need me and… I will come."

Her brow knit, trying to make sense of all the information. "Who's Heimdall? And Loki – where are you going?"

He met her gaze. "I'm going back."

"Back where?"

He just looked at her and her heart dropped. "No. No. Loki, you can't go back there, you can't! They'll just put you back in prison!"

He nodded slightly. "Yes. They will."

She punched him in the chest. "Is this what you meant? About – about making amends to me, Loki? For what you did? No. You can't!" Tears welled in her eyes, and she pounded on his chest again and again. He caught her wrists easily. "Alana. Look at me."

She did, her eyes watery, her lip trembling. "Don't go back," she whispered. "Please."

"I have to, Alana."

He enfolded her in his arms again, every second making it harder to pull away.

He could feel her trembling, her hands clutching at his armor. "It's all right," he whispered to her.

"It's not all right, Loki. You - you'll never come back from there."

He stroked her hair. "Alana. I promised you. I will come back when you need me. I swear."

"But I need you now," she whispered. He smiled. "And I am here, am I not?"

She let out a watery chuckle, then stiffened. "Loki… what if they kill you?"

"If I am for the axe, then for mercy's sake, just swing it." His words from long ago rang in his ears, when he thought he had nothing to lose and everything to gain from his death. But now he had her, and he had his promise.

"I swore to you, Alana. I will return."

"No." She shook her head. "No, no, no, I take it back, Loki, you can't go. Not if they're going to hurt you."

He gently pried her hands from his chest, although his body cried out when her touch disappeared. "What's one more life to me, who's killed hundreds?"

She froze as he used her own words against her. "Loki, that's – that's not fair. I didn't - "

"But it was true, Alana. I am not afraid of death. I have suffered too much in this lifetime to worry about the next. If they kill me, so be it." His thumb stroked her tears away.

"Loki - " she began angrily, but he cut her off, saying, "However, I doubt that they will kill me. I expect my previous punishment to stand."

"Which was?" she asked. Her tears had stopped now, replaced by anger. At whom, he wasn't sure, but he was determined to leave, more than ever.

"Life imprisonment."

She scoffed. "Life imprisonment? Sure. Okay. So you'll just say, 'Hey! Guard! Could you let me out of here, 'cause my girlfriend back on Earth needs me. What? I'm not allowed out? No kidding! I thought when they meant life imprisonment, it was more like an on-again-off-again thing.'" Her tone was laced heavily with sarcasm, but a small smile worked its way across his face at her words.

"So you're my girlfriend now?" he asked teasingly, then shuddered. "Ugh. That sounds so… Midgardian."

She blushed angrily and said, "Damn it, Loki! Can you take me seriously for once?"

"But I do," he said, suddenly solemn. "I understand your argument. But I must go. I'll find a way back, if you need me."

She took several deep breaths. "All right. All right." She looked up at him. "How will you get there?"

"The easiest way," he replied. He removed the spells he had cast on himself to make him invisible and unheard by Heimdall, then shouted, "Heimdall!"

Alana's eyes were wide. He looked away. "It won't be long, now," he said.

Her hand came up, touching his hair. The corner of her mouth twitched a bit. "Tell them to give you a haircut."

He looked offended. "Excuse me?"

"It's getting a little long." He looked askance at her. She just smiled.

A silence filled the air. What could he say to her, to reassure her, to reassure himself? Was he making the right choice? He loved her with all his soul, maimed and tattered though it was, and to leave her again was to mutilate it further, to voluntarily torture himself.

But if he did not leave, he was not worthy to love her. If he did not leave, he could not convince himself that she would be all right.

Because the tingling sensation on his spine kept returning, like someone was watching him… watching her.

She would be safer without him there.

He couldn't read the expression on her face, a jumble of emotions, but he could tell that the memories were confusing her, making her feel things that perhaps were not the truth.

His eyes roved over her face, memorizing every line and curve, to keep her with him forever, and his hand gently tucked a wind-swept lock behind her ear.

He stepped away from her. "I love you," he said.

And then the sky opened, the rush of colors surrounding him, sweeping him away, and the last thing he saw was Alana reaching out her hand to him, crying, "Wait!"

"Wait!" she cried, reaching out for him, but then the light was gone as quickly as it had come, and he was gone.

She stood there, next to the runic knots seared into the earth.

A bird chirped in a nearby tree.

"I love you," she whispered.

But there was no one there to answer her.

Being transported via Bifrost was usually a pleasant experience. The light would caress and carry you, as the stars rushed by.

But this time, it was uncharacteristically harsh, as if fingers were grabbing and pulling him in every direction, and the stars were dark.

As the Bifrost pulled him back to Asgard, he clutched at the sketchbook, her last gift to him.

They would not take this last piece of her from him.

He finally landed, and Heimdall's impassive face looked back at him as he withdrew his sword, pointing it straight at him.

"Do you surrender?" His deep voice rang through the chamber.

"I do," he said.

"The Einherjar are on their way."

"Very well." He idly walked to one of the walls, his fingers tracing over the intricate designs etched in the metal.

Heimdall only looked at him. "I must confess, I did not think you were foolish enough to return here."

"You did not believe that I was dead."

His golden eyes looked through him. "I had my doubts."

"Why?"

Something flittered in Heimdall's eyes. "I could not see her. She was before me, and I could not see her. Only you were able to hide yourself like she was."

He smiled, still facing the wall.

Heimdall continued. "Who would have thought both princes would fall in love with mortals?"

He turned, seeing a faint glimmer of a smile in Heimdall's eyes. "Heimdall, I need your help."

"I cannot help traitors to the throne." And the smile was gone as quickly as it had come. "Do you intend to fight?"

He would not break his gaze from Heimdall. "I do not ask for your help for my sake, but for hers. There may come a time when she is in need of me. If that moment occurs, I ask that you send for me. I swear to return to Asgard once I am no longer needed there."

He could hear the pounding of hooves on the Bifrost, getting closer and closer.

Heimdall regarded him. "I can do nothing without the command of Odin my king."

"Heimdall, please - " he began, but the Einherjar had reached them and swarmed him, slapping cuffs on him, and he let out a breath as his sixth sense was removed.

One of them – a new captain, I see – unrolled a piece of paper. "The Allfather has given instructions for you to be moved to the dungeons until your hearing, at which your permanent fate will be decided before the Council."

"Not even in person this time?" he muttered as he was led out to the horses.

Heimdall watched them go, then turned back to his watch.

He could not see her.

The clink of chains echoed in the hall. How familiar, he thought with a twinge of sarcasm.

Except this time, Frigga was not there. The Council was.

Odin sat on his throne, the Council was seated on low seats in a semicircle, with the Allfather in the center.

He saw familiar faces – mostly ones that came with a memory of childhood, and the pranks he would pull while they were in session.

This time, the Einherjar stayed back, and let him walk by himself.

This time, he knew that he had to live.

He knelt before the throne, to audible gasps from a few of the council members. "I have returned, Allfather."

"Get up, boy." Odin's voice rang out through the hall, and he wanted nothing more than for his hands to be free –

No. He had to remember her.

He kept his head bowed as he stood up.

"Why?"

The word was delivered less harshly than he had thought.

"We thought you dead." This was spoken by a council member – Lord Freyr, one of the fiercest warriors of the realm. "How - "

Odin interrupted him. "Why have you returned?"

"Because it was necessary," he replied.

"Necessary?" Lord Tyr asked, snorting a bit. Tyr, Sif's father, had journeyed into Jotunheim with Odin and helped capture the Casket of Ancient Winters, and had subsequently gained his title. "You could have escaped forever."

"I could have." He met Odin's gaze, now. "And for that reason I ask a favor."

"You have no right - " Lord Tyr began, but he cut him off, this lord would not prevent him from saying what he had to say.

"It may become necessary for me to journey to Midgard."

The council members looked at him in shock. Then Tyr began to laugh. "You cannot possibly think that we would allow you to return to Midgard."

Odin regarded him out of one pale eye, but did not say a word.

"It is not for my sake," he responded, trying to control his temper. Tyr has always been a fool.

"Then whose sake is it for?" This was spoken by Lady Freya, Freyr's sister, who looked at him knowingly.

He clenched his fists behind his back. "There is a mortal who may need my assistance."

Tyr laughed again, and addressed the Council. "What has happened to Loki? Has he changed so much that we are ready to believe his words?"

"Silence," Odin said, and Tyr quieted. "Let him speak."

"I swore that I would return to aid her if she was in need."

Tyr shook his head. "Has the Trickster fallen in love with a mortal?"

Odin banged Gungir on the stone floor. "I said, silence!"

The Allfather stood up from the throne, approaching him. "The one with the healers. Was that she?"

He nodded.

"And the charm, that was you."

He nodded again. "Her memories had been stolen - "

"We have nothing but your word that you would return." Tyr interjected. "Your Highness, we cannot - "

Odin ignored Tyr. "Your crimes are to be punished, not rewarded," he said.

"I do not care what you do to me so long as she will live," he said softly. "Father, I swore that I would return if she needed me."

"This is but a child's infatuation," Odin pronounced. "Your original punishment stands. Guards!" He turned and walked back to the throne.

The Einherjar began to move forward, again, to take him back to the dungeon, he had to do something quickly, or she would be lost -

"And you were my age when you met Frigga!" he shouted.

Odin stopped.

"You told me once that after you saw her, you knew you could never live without anyone else."

There was silence in the hall. "Please," he added.

His heart was pounding, his pulse racing. The Einherjar reached him and began to drag him away, but he struggled against their pull, he could not break his promise to her, he would not.

Odin held up a hand and the guards stopped trying to carry him away.

"A guard will fetch you if it ever becomes necessary."

And with those words, he let out a deep breath, and bowed his head. "Thank you, father."

Tyr exploded behind him, joined by a few other members of the council, but nothing mattered as he was led back to the dungeons, because his promise would be kept and, maybe, just maybe, he would see her again.

Her house was too empty.

Too big, too quiet, too lonely.

She sat on her favorite chair, but no book could interest her, no drawing satisfied her.

"Maybe I should go away for a while," she said out loud. "To New York City. Find a roommate or something."

She slammed her book shut and began to pace the floor, her hand tugging the charm on her necklace back and forth.

It was quiet.

He lay on the simple cot, in his old cell, flipping through her sketchbook.

It was quiet in the dungeons. There weren't many other prisoners there with him, but he was not alone.

Not when he had her.

His fingers skimmed over her drawings, pausing as he reached the page that held her eyes.

He traced the lines with his finger, feeling the marks left by the pencil.

Turning more pages, he came to one of himself, lying asleep, sprawled out on her bed, hair mussed.

He had written I don't drool in my sleep on one corner of the piece. Her handwriting teased back, Yes, you do.

He smiled a little bit.

On the next page, he found a study in hands, and in the center was a pair of intertwined ones – his and hers.

A sunrise. A sunset. More eyes. Birds. Trees. And finally, there was one of her.

It was a simple black sketch, and slightly wrinkled – she had torn it out after drawing it, not satisfied. But he had saved it and taped it back into the book one day.

Why did you save that? she had asked him. It's an awful drawing.

It's beautiful, he had told her. Don't ever throw it away.

He touched her face.

Alana.

Far away, a throne made of rock hovered in the blackness of space. Far away, a voice boomed, "Send the N'itouri."

And the priest scuttled away, transmitting the message that the warriors hidden on Earth had been waiting for.

Far away, Thanos smiled.