Beneath

Chapter Eighty-Seven – Nostalgia

The rest of the day was uneventful. After lunch Loki worked with Jane in the Science Lab, which was just as well with him, and he made more of an effort to act normally. At dinner he was invited to join Macy, Tristan, and Zeke playing Xbox. He was tempted – he was curious about the game – but he was anxious to get to Alfheim and Niskit. He was not a mortal, not a true Polie, and it was in his best interest not to forget that. He thanked Macy but declined, claiming he was tired and wanted to go to bed early.

It wasn't that far from the truth, actually. He'd never gone to bed the night before, after everything that had happened on Asgard – he'd been too keyed up and had too much thinking to do – and he'd spent most of today tense and ill at ease. Tonight he would sleep, but it could wait until later.

Tonight he would begin thinking about time.

It was no small matter, this question of time. He'd known Niskit for about four hundred years. Earlier than that and she wouldn't know him. Earlier than about three hundred years ago and he'd appear noticeably younger to anyone who knew him reasonably well. In many ways, it would be best to go closer to the current time. Niskit had grown stronger in the years since Loki first met her so she would stand a better chance at success, and Loki's memories would be more precise, more accurate. And there was the real rub. It would not do to show up at Niskit's doorstep at a time when his past self was on an official visit somewhere, or waiting out Odin's temper in a jail cell for some publicly-known transgression, or appearing in some celebratory event. He did not want Niskit or anyone else to know of his ability to travel through time, and he did not want to have to use magic, if at all possible.

It would have to be before Thor's interrupted ascension to the throne, that much was certain. And in the five years leading up to that day, he'd hardly left Asgard at all. He'd slipped away to Svartalfheim once for two weeks and received a tongue-lashing from Odin upon his return. Apparently Thor could avoid his preparatory lessons and all semblance of responsibility as much as he wanted, but he was expected to be obedient. His presence on Svartalfheim hadn't been a secret; it would not be a good time to show up on Alfheim.

With a sigh of resignation, for this would be a dull task, Loki sat at his desk and pulled out a few of the sheets of paper he'd taken from the Computer Room at some point. He began by trying to recall every trip he'd made to Alfheim in the last two hundred years. It wasn't easy. He'd been there officially accompanying Odin or Frigga or Thor or some combination of them for talks or negotiations or simply informal cordial visits meant to reaffirm relations; he'd attended ceremonies for births and deaths and marriages and even a passing of a throne. He'd gone on his own, or with Thor, or with Thor and his friends for relaxation, adventure, exploration, shopping. He'd made the journey publicly, through the bifrost, or occasionally in secret, through one of the three portals used by the citizenry and disguised in some way, or, far less commonly by then, through the hidden route he'd found.

He quickly found the task to be not only dull, but next to impossible. He could remember going mountain-climbing with Thor. With some effort he could remember the year; it was precisely one hundred and forty-three years ago. He could remember the season – early autumn in the part of Alfheim they'd been in, corresponding to late summer in Asgard – but no matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn't remember the exact dates of the journey, nor even exactly how long they'd been there. Somewhere between one and two weeks, he thought.

It was growing later and he was getting nowhere. He looked back at his list. The visits he could easily recall exact dates for were precisely the ones he couldn't use to see Niskit because they were so public: Nadrith's ascension, the funeral ceremony for Nadrith's father, Nadrith's marriage.

He didn't have to have been on Alfheim, of course. He just had to be somewhere such that Niskit or anyone else who saw him didn't question him being on Alfheim. There were plenty of times that he'd gone off somewhere on his own and kept to himself, when he needed to get away from Thor and from Odin, from the oppressive weight of Asgard that Thor never seemed to feel, even though by all rights it should weigh much more heavily on him. Thor didn't need to bother; Loki had always borne that extra weight for him. "Nadrith's ascension." His eyes lingered on the words. Thor had been carefree, celebrating; Loki had been sober and serious, and made sure Thor didn't become too carefree or celebrate too hard. Afterward, Thor had collapsed in bed to sleep off too much food and too much drink, and Loki had collapsed in bed to recover from the stress of it all. He had no idea how quickly Thor had recovered; Loki hadn't emerged from his chambers for nearly a week.

A smile began to spread over his face. I didn't emerge from my chambers for nearly a week. And I know all the exact dates. As he thought back, he even knew that Niskit had been at home during that period of time, for she'd mentioned it later, and it had formed an image that had stuck in his mind. She'd watched the ceremony projected in her village square, and cheered along with the others, mostly because she'd despised Nadrith's father over an offense she took personally and could never let go of.

It was ninety years ago, and it would be by far the furthest back in time he'd travelled. Ninety years or nine thousand years, it shouldn't make a difference to Yggdrasil.

Loki put the papers back in his desk – even if Jane came snooping, which she'd never done as far as he knew – she would see nothing to suggest his plans.

Ninety years ago. He would've preferred something more recent, but Niskit's advances in magic had happened before this, and there should be little to no difference between what she was capable of ninety years ago and now. If anything she was growing elderly now and her skills may have declined.

The event was perfect, really, Loki thought as he began getting ready for bed. Everyone on Alfheim would be focused on Nadrith; no one would pay him much attention, or question his presence there. The passing of a throne was hardly an everyday occurrence; Alfheim would be the place to be for feasts and merry-making and outright drunken revelry for months.

Loki looked down at himself. The lemon scent clung to his sleepwear, and the black tunic and leggings clung to his frame. Jane had warned him that the Asgardian items might shrink, since she didn't know the fabric and some materials shrank or were otherwise damaged in the dryer. He hadn't cared, and this was the result. He shook his head, not really bothered. The tunic was already damaged anyway, like all his other tunics, and imperfectly repaired with magic.

He climbed up to the bed and turned immediately onto his side, for he was tired. But he felt much better now, the trials of the last two days fading from active thought. He would go soon now. Tomorrow was Friday, his day, and he'd spend it reviewing all the planning he'd done before he'd known about the trap on the bifrost. Saturday was Jane's day. He would go Sunday, most likely, assuming he had his plan fully settled and was comfortable with it.

He thought back to Nadrith's succession ceremony. It was the only one Loki had ever been to on Alfheim, and of their "family," only Odin had been to the last one, as a young man, so upon arrival they'd been met by Minra, a pretty protocol clerk assigned to them, and shown the elevated box-like alcove from which they'd view the ceremony high above the Ljosalf citizens permitted to attend. Minra also explained the course of the ceremony and when they should stand or sit, pointed out the other alcoves and which delegations would occupy them – in all his years this was the first time that Loki had ever set eyes upon Laufey – and then told them about the formal reception and feast, and the numerous less formal events that would follow, which they were welcome to attend if they so chose.

Loki gave a silent yawn, threw up the sound blanket and again struggled to get it to seal on the outside corner opposite his bed, closed his eyes, and settled back into memories he hadn't thought about for many years. It had started off, like so many things, simple enough. Mingling before the ceremony, pretending to be interested in people he couldn't care less about, avoiding the four Frost Giants in attendance – Laufey and his sons and some army leader, Minra had said – but surreptitiously watching Odin greet them formally, noticeably stiffly. He wondered now what Odin had been thinking at the time. "I stole your reject and raised it in Asgard to overthrow your rule, Laufey, but you were right all along, he never proved himself strong enough, worthy enough." Back up to the alcove, sit, stand, sit, stand. "Long live King Nadrith Ljosalf!" Clap politely.

The problems hadn't started until the celebrations grew very informal. Odin and Frigga had left already, and Loki would have dearly loved to leave with them. Everything that happened from there on out would be a risk. There would be drinking and a setting aside of many diplomatic protocols – a dangerous combination, because protocols or no, Prince Nadrith was now King Nadrith, and Thor and Loki were still princes, and somewhere between a hundred and two hundred of Nadrith's friends and family members were also part of these more "private" celebrations.

Loki excused himself from a conversation he'd been having with a rather attractive younger cousin of Nadrith's. The man who'd interrupted them had wrapped a possessive arm around the woman's waist and Loki knew it was best to move on. It was a disappointment. Not only was she attractive, she was one of the few people in this expansive drinking hall still capable of intelligent conversation.

He looked around for Thor and easily found him, seated at a large round table, Nadrith's younger brother seated between him and Nadrith, and dozens of others pressing in around them. The proprietor was pushing through them holding a large platter crammed with tall glasses of ale and bowls of smoked meat and nuts, Loki saw when he took advantage of the parting crowd to get closer to the table himself. He'd enjoyed himself with Nadrith's cousin, but it was really wiser that he stay near Thor, who was so comfortable in his own skin and being himself that he rarely remembered to adjust his behavior and speech to circumstances. Loki, on the other hand, adjusted his own behavior and speech so often he sometimes wondered if he knew his own skin, or what "himself" was. He thought of this as he broadened his smile and relaxed his posture and helped pass the ales around the table, grateful at least that it was ale at this location and not mead, as it was at the last. Nadrith had imbibed liberally in the beginning, but quickly began to moderate his drinking; Thor did not know the meaning of the word "moderation" when it came to drink and celebrations. It had been a point of pride for him, centuries ago, to build up his tolerance so that no one could outdo him, and now he could drink anyone in Asgard under the table. Loki, too, was competitive, they'd both been raised that way, but he thought it was an absurd thing to desire being the "best" at. Of course, it didn't help that nothing good had ever come of Loki drinking alcohol. One more thing Thor was indeed better at than him. He hid the thought behind his smile and listened as Nadrith began to speak.

"Were you at the ceremony, Kordif?" Nadrith asked the proprietor as conversation died down over the arrival of fresh drinks.

"I regret I was not, Your Majesty. I thought it best to be here, ensuring everything was properly prepared for your party's arrival."

"You missed a magnificent ceremony," Thor said, raising his glass to Nadrith, who raised his to Thor in return. "A triumphant entry, and every opulence. The choir was majestic."

"Tradition," Nadrith said. "So I'm told."

"We should have it on Asgard," Thor said.

Loki held his tongue against the urge to speak up. He agreed that it was a nice touch, adding a certain weight and beauty, but Asgard had its own traditions, and no need to import Ljosalf ones.

"Your people may speak to the choir director anytime you like," Nadrith said with a laugh.

"I am sorry I missed it in person, Your Majesty, but at least I saw the projection, most of it anyway. Quite the crowd you had there to honor you. Loyal citizens, distinguished guests."

"To Prince Thor!" Nadrith's younger sister said, raising her glass. Everyone followed suit, echoing her cheer, even King Nadrith, and Loki too lifted the glass of kiva juice he'd been clutching ever since he arrived here – the color looked similar enough to that of the ale that he hoped he wouldn't stand out for not partaking with the others.

"To Prince Loki!" Nadrith called, startling Loki, who nodded in polite appreciation when his name too was echoed and drunk to. He wasn't sure how to interpret it, in reality. He'd always liked Nadrith, or rather wanted to like him, but unlike Thor he'd also always been fully conscious of who Nadrith was, and who he would become. Who he had become now. And therefore Loki had never fully trusted him, even though Nadrith had never given him any reason to distrust him other than his destiny.

"To the Dark Elves not causing any scenes!" someone else called, leading to raucous whoops. Nadrith smiled but did not join in that one; even among friends and family, he was now king of a realm at peace with its sister realm Svartalfheim, but never entirely free of tension with it. Loki followed Nadrith's lead, while Thor joined the others, and far worse, Loki feared, he was setting down his glass and opening his mouth to speak.

"To the Frost Giants not freezing us all where we stood and immortalizing your ceremony for the ages!" he shouted, lifting his glass again. The crowd was all Ljosalf except for the two Odinsons who'd gotten to know Nadrith while he was training on Asgard, and due to the course of their own history, the Ljosalf did not find the Jotuns nearly as objectionable as did the Aesir. Still, they were in good spirits and Thor was well-liked – they laughed, raised glasses, gave good-humored cheers, and drank. Even where they were not abjectly hated, the Frost Giants were not exactly beloved.

"Why did you invite them, Nadrith?" Thor asked, and Loki cringed on the inside and began trying to come up with something to say to unobtrusively change the topic. "It was such a distraction. They were staring at us the entire time." Thor was laughing, but Loki knew he was also serious. He'd whispered it several times during the ceremony. Loki agreed – it did feel like they were staring, and it was uncomfortable, and Loki too had wished they weren't there – but he had the good sense not to be whispering about it during the ceremony. Or bringing it up at their foreign host's table. Their foreign host who outranked them now. So he stepped in.

"Obviously the newest king among the Nine Realms was merely attempting to demonstrate equanimity and benevolence to all the realms, to include everyone in his glorious day."

Nadrith raised his glass then sipped from it; Thor laughed lightly and started to speak again, so Loki quickly continued.

"However, he has unfortunately failed miserably in this."

Not everyone here knew Loki, so the reactions were mixed – there were spluttered drinks and wide eyes, but those who knew him, including Nadrith, wore smiles of various shades. It seemed the entire hall had fallen silent to hear Nadrith's response.

"Please explain, Loki. How exactly have I failed to demonstrate equanimity and benevolence?" he asked, cautiously, eyes narrowed, as though prepared to be deeply offended.

"Why, Your Majesty, has it truly escaped your attention? You have not invited the Midgardians."

Laughter rose up from the hall, and all eyes again went to Nadrith.

"I am indeed aware of this failing," he said after a moment. "But you see, my engineers tested the alcove designated for Midgard, and they unfortunately determined that despite the reliability of Ljosalf construction, the combined weight of over two thousand kings, perched on each other's laps and shoulders, would have sent the whole thing crashing to the ground."

The hall erupted in laughter, and Nadrith's brother grabbed the new king's arm. "Can you imagine how many succession ceremonies that would be? More in a month than we would see in a hundred thousand years."

Thor's somewhat indelicate comments were forgotten, and Loki relaxed and joined in the laughter.

His memories began to drift with impending sleep. It hadn't seemed so at the time, but life had been simpler then. He'd resented the role he felt he was forced into – the serious one next to Thor's frivolity, the quiet one next to Thor's boisterousness, the sober one next to Thor's drunkenness, the careful one next to Thor's impetuousness. The second son next to the heir. The smaller one hidden by the long shadow.

The second son, he thought, images from later over the next couple of days coming randomly to mind. Was it really so terrible? He fell asleep on a wave of nostalgia for good times he could rarely remember as good while awake, and was soon dreaming of rafting over rapids on Muspelheim with Thor. It was the dead of winter but the water was still a comfortable tropical warm. They'd learned to work well together in watercraft over the centuries, as Loki's childhood fear of the water faded; both loved working up a good speed, and neither feared a soaking or bruises and scratches.

Loki laughed, and Thor, sitting in front of him in the rigid narrow raft, shook with laughter as well. Warm fine spray dampened his hair and left it hanging flat and dripping droplets down his face. Ahead of them the river parted in a white rush around sharp black rocks jutting up above the surface. "Right!" Loki yelled as soon as he saw it, just as Thor shouted, "Left!" Loki was already trying to steer them toward the right with the rudder he controlled at his right foot, but quickly adjusted his strokes and the rudder to steer them left instead to put him in synch with Thor. Thor turned around and glared coldly. "Know your place, Brother!"

Loki stared in shock and his hands went slack on the oars.

"You need to learn your lesson, Little Brother. You never listen, and your every breath is a lie."

Loki shook his head and felt anger rising. He had listened, and there was nothing to lie about.

"No one trusts you. We all know what you are. It was in your nature from the beginning. In your very blood. Mischief. Trouble. Evil," Thor said, rising to his feet. The boat rocked; Loki gripped its edges. The oars had somehow vanished. He looked down and gripped harder; the water surrounding them was beginning to bubble and steam.

"You lie, and hide your true nature in this false skin." Thor bent down over him and though he did not wish to appear weak before Thor, he found himself leaning back away from him. Thor wrapped his hands around Loki's neck. His eyes bored into Loki's. "What happens to you in the water…Frost Giant? Do you melt?"

Loki's eyes bulged from horror and lack of air. He had no leverage to fight back. He raised his shoulders and twisted his neck to relieve the pressure as he'd been taught, but it brought no relief. He kicked out at Thor's knees but Thor did not react. He grasped at Thor's enormous arms but could not make them budge. He caught sight of his own hands – they were Jotun blue. He released Thor's arms and shook his hands as though to shake the blue off them.

"That won't work, Brother. You can't shake off your true self. You can't change what you are."

Loki's lungs burned. Enormous rocks rose up behind Thor. They were seconds from striking them. "Thor," he wheezed.

"You can't change what you are," Thor repeated. He let go of Loki's neck and stepped smoothly off the moving raft and onto a rock.

Breathing heavily, Loki forced himself to his legs and jumped. He hit the water with shock and it stole his breath away again. Seconds later his lungs filled and he exhaled with a scream. The water was boiling. He shook violently, every nerve registering pain. The blue skin of his hands was bubbling and peeling away.

"You melt," Thor said with detached interest from atop one of the rocks, Odin now by his side, an approving hand on Thor's shoulder.

"Thor, help me!" he shouted. "Father, please!" His clothing was disintegrating. His entire body was blue and boiling. Something tugged at his legs and he was suddenly submerged. His arms flailed about – the raft and the rocks were gone. His hand brushed his head. It was bare. He opened his mouth to scream again and scalding water rushed in. The pain was unbearable, sheer agony as his organs cooked. With every last bit of strength he tried desperately to pull himself to the surface. Instead he was pulled deeper and deeper. His muscles began to go slack.

Then he was falling. He hit the stairs in the private wing of the palace, a wet sopping mess, gasping for air. He immediately felt embarrassed. He shouldn't be seen like this. He looked up and down and saw no guards. Footsteps began pounding toward him, up the stairs. Loki stood and waited, dripping onto the wood.

"You're not going to start up again, are you, Loki? Why do you always have to try to spoil everything?" Baldur asked, coming to a quick stop. His mop of light blond curls was disheveled.

"I don't want to spoil everything," Loki said even as he tried and failed to turn and run. His feet were stuck. "I just want you to stop this foolishness."

"I'm still having fun. Why would I stop?" he answered with a laugh.

"Don't be an idiot. You'll get yourself killed." Loki reached out to take hold of Baldur's arms, but he jerked away.

"I'm so tired of this argument. You're worse than an old woman. If you don't want to play, no one's forcing you to. Why don't you just go practice your magic out in the forest or something all by yourself where none of us idiots can bother you?"

"You little brat." He seethed with anger, yet at the same time he wanted to cry.

Baldur shoved him aside and ran up the stairs.

Loki stumbled and fell back, hitting the ground hard. He pressed his hands into the dirt and scrambled back up. All around him was cheering and laughter. And lavender. No, no, no, not this, not this, he silently screamed, squeezing his eyes shut against it, fighting it. He saw anyway, as though his eyelids weren't there. His right hand wasn't empty. He fought it the entire way but his gaze slowly dropped. The arrow formed from mistletoe was clutched in his palm.

The crowd fell silent. Baldur stood before him in nothing but a simple yellow tunic and brown cloth pants.

"Shoot me, Loki. I know how much you hate me. I know you want to. Just shoot me. Do it, Brother. Look me in the eye. Do it."

/


/

Jane rolled over in bed and rubbed a hand up her face and back through her hair. She'd been dreaming something…something about a hockey game on skis in the dark under red spotlights. It faded quickly, as her dreams usually did. She then heard a knock on the door, and realized this was what had woken her. She glanced at her clock; it was just past two in the morning. The knock came again, along with a loudly whispered "Jane, are you there?"

She woke up further, threw the covers back, and climbed down. She opened the door and the first thing she saw was a raised fist, ready to knock again. When her eyes focused beyond the fist, she realized it was Ronny Boyd, her next-door-neighbor. "Ronny? Is everything okay?" He was in tan pajamas, and it made Jane realize she'd answered the door in her pajamas.

"I don't know. It's Lucas. He's…freaking out or something. He's making a lot of noise. At first I thought maybe…you know, maybe he was seeing a little action. Then I realized it wasn't that kind of noise. I knocked and he went quiet, but when I went back to my room he started up again. He's…uh…well, I thought maybe you could go check on him. You know him better than anyone else."

Jane nodded, but her mind was spinning. She couldn't imagine what could be going on that exceedingly private Loki would be "freaking out" and letting others hear it. "Okay, I'll check on him," she said, stepping back into her room and grabbing her robe from the back of her chair. She slid her feet into her slippers and hurried out and down to Loki's door. She started to knock, but then glanced back to her right and saw Ronny was loitering by his own door. "Thanks for letting me know," she said, hoping he'd go back in his room. She didn't hear anything from Loki's room now, but if he was having some temper tantrum or something, it would really be best if no one else saw it.

"If you need anything…"

Jane gave Ronny a quick smile, and he went in his room and closed the door. Jane knocked. She still heard nothing. She knocked again. Then she grimaced. Of course you don't hear anything, she told herself, remembering Loki's sound dampening magic. And just like when he'd done that to her room and she couldn't hear him knocking afterward, he wouldn't be able to hear her knock. But then Ronny couldn't have heard anything, either. She wondered if he'd dreamed the whole thing. Jane stared at the door in indecision. She could assume Ronny dreamed it and go back to her room now, or she could open the door and peak inside. If she did that, Loki would either be sleeping – in which case she'd just close the door quietly and leave – or he would be "freaking out." She would be walking in on him while he was freaking out. The first option, walking away, would be so much easier.

"Am I one of your limits?" she'd asked. "Yes," he'd said. No matter what's going on, he won't hurt me.

Jane really wasn't the walking-away type. And Loki had no one else, not who knew the truth. She took a deep breath to steady herself, then turned the door handle and pushed ever so slightly. It was dark in his room. She opened the door a little wider, enough that she could peer inside. She saw a lump on the bed. It was probably him, but… She leaned forward and stuck her head through the door. The silence was instantly broken by heavy breathing. It was Loki, and he was asleep. Ronny had been dreaming.

"No!"

Startled, Jane jumped back instinctively and bumped her head on the doorframe. The word was shouted, but Loki hadn't moved. Some other words came from him, mumbled, muffled. "I don't," she thought maybe he'd said. She froze there for a moment. He's dreaming?

"No, stop this," she thought she heard, followed by some kind of a moan.

Jane clenched her fists and stared into the dark room, trying to figure out what she should do. Loki wouldn't want her to see this, she knew that without a doubt. Loki also wouldn't want anyone else to hear it. In the end she decided she would have to hope that Loki agreed with her that he'd rather give up more privacy to her than give it up to Ronny or whichever other neighbors were somehow hearing him in the middle of a nightmare despite the sound barrier. She stepped in and closed the door behind her. It was completely dark now, but it wasn't like she didn't know the layout of the room, since it was identical to hers. She hesitated over the light switch. She didn't want to jar him awake and hurt his eyes, but she didn't want him to wake up to find her slinking around his room in the dark, either.

"I don't. I swear it!"

The words were still muffled, but clearer now. And his voice sounded…she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she'd never heard anything like it from him. Like he wasn't in control. She was reminded again that the only thing she'd ever seen Loki lose control of was his temper, and then really only once. Jane turned on the light. "Loki?" she said tentatively, taking small steps closer to the bed, where he was on his side, the covers bunched up around his legs. She'd seen him sleeping once before; she remembered thinking how innocent he looked. She could really hear his breathing now. "Loki," she said again, a little louder.

She got no response, and there was no change in his breathing. If she spoke any louder, she risked Ronny or Hector – on the other side of Loki's room – or someone passing by hearing her say his real name. She crept closer. She could see his face now. His brow was slightly furrowed, and damp with sweat. His right arm was crossed over his left; both hands clutched at the edge of the mattress. On his next exhale something like a deep growl came out with the breath. Jane's heart beat furiously. She was overwhelmed with the absolute certainty that she should not be seeing this. "Loki," she repeated, as loudly as she dared, now right next to the bed.

He still didn't react at all, so she placed a hand lightly over his.

His eyes flew open, and the next thing she knew his hand was shoving hard at her and she was careening backward and crashing into the desk behind her. She grabbed onto it and managed to stay on her feet, then bit down hard on her lip to muffle a cry at the pain shooting out from her hip.

Loki sat up with a groan, blinking against the light, a hand going to his left hip which was suddenly hurting badly. Someone was there, standing strangely beside his desk. Jane. Baldur was gone. Of course Baldur is gone, he realized as extreme disorientation began to fade. It was only a dream. All of it. Memories corrupted by Thanos. By Thanos? Loki immediately asked himself. Perhaps not. It had felt like one of those, that twisting of memory particular to that creature, but those dreams had always ended with a message that was unmistakably from Thanos. This dream had ended with… He tried to reconstruct it – rafting with Thor, the confrontation with Baldur, that day… He heard a small sound of pain and looked up. Jane. He'd already forgotten she was there. Why is she here? She had a hand over her left hip and was now limping back toward the bed. The dream had been interrupted. There'd been no message because it hadn't reached the end before he'd woken.

"Are you okay?" she asked. He looked dazed. Not so dazed he would fling her across the room again, though, she thought. She hoped.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was still largely breathless. "You were…you were dreaming. Ronny heard you, and he came to get me to check on you."

"Impossible. No one could have heard anything from this room. You came in here…why?" Loki asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. What did she see? What did she hear?

"He did, Loki. I don't know how. I couldn't hear anything from the door, but when I came in…you were talking in your sleep."

Loki stared hard at her for a moment, then looked over his shoulder at the corner that had for some time now required extra effort. The corner that bordered Ronny's room and the exterior wall. His eyes drifted closed. The sound blanket had come unsealed there. With some effort he fixed it. What did I say? Was I shouting? He couldn't bring himself to ask. He looked back at Jane; she was standing with her weight on her right leg. His left hip hurt like it had been struck with a tree trunk. The memory was elusive, for he'd still been partly in Thanos's grip then, but it was there – he'd pushed her away. He'd hurt her. Again. He exhaled in a harsh sigh, then got down from the bed.

"I didn't mean to do that, Jane," he said once his bare feet were on the floor. "I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't. It was an accident."

It was an accident… Loki swallowed hard and tried to focus on the present. "Will you allow me to try to heal it?"

She nodded.

He gave her a terse look, then stepped in close and placed both hands over her injured hip, conscious of the rise and fall of her chest – a little more rapid than normal – so close to him. He lacked Eir's strength in healing magic as well as the diagnostic and treatment devices of Asgard's Healing Room, but he already knew from his reciprocal injury that nothing was broken, and he could perceive the heat and general disturbance of the swelling and deep bruising. It took him a few minutes, during which Jane stood still and silent, but eventually he was able to reduce both. He should have been able to do better, but leaning in this close to Jane was beginning to feel awkward. The pain should be no more than a minor annoyance for her now, he thought, and so stood up and stepped back, masking his wince. He would try to heal his own hip as best he could later.

Jane watched Loki as he stepped away; his fingers flexed at his side and he avoided her eyes. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look quite so uneasy. "Thanks," she said, letting her weight settle back onto both legs. Something felt a little sore there, but the hip was no longer actively hurting. "It's a lot better now. Can I sit?"

"Of course," Loki said softly, automatically, realizing a second too late that he should have told her no, that this meant Jane wanted to talk about whatever it was she'd heard. He needed to think it through, this dream sent by Thanos, born of the memories he'd gained access to while Loki was his "guest." It was his ritual, his method of maintaining his grasp on reality, of ensuring that his memories remained his own and were never corrupted beyond the dreamscape.

She pulled out his desk chair, turned it around, and took a seat. Unlike hers, Loki's room only had the chair it had originally come with, which left nowhere for him to sit, unless he climbed back onto the bed or…she held out a hand to motion toward his stepstool, then watched in surprise she tried not to show as he looked down at it then sat. With his height it couldn't have been that comfortable, especially if he now had her hip injury; it really should have been her sitting there. Maybe neither of them should be sitting here. She leaned forward, clasping her hands loosely and resting her arms over her knees. "When I had nightmares after the accident, Erik used to take me to the kitchen and we'd have a glass of milk and a cookie, and we'd talk." She hesitated a couple of seconds, wondering if she could really go this far with him. "I think there's some cookies in the leftovers fridge."

"I hardly think cookies and milk would do any good," Loki said quietly, images from the dream still burned into his eyelids, there every time he blinked. Cookies and milk to dispel Thanos and his perversions of the past.

Jane watched him carefully. The words were resolute and a bit cold, but he hadn't spoken them with any malice. She thought it was worth another attempt. "It couldn't hurt, though, could it? Let's give it a try."

"Do you remember when you mentioned Baldur?"

Jane felt like her heart skipped a beat. That's what he dreamed about? This was the last thing she'd expected he might bring up, if she'd expected anything at all. And it was, she realized in the next heartbeat, the last thing she wanted to hear him bring up – another spontaneous confession of a murder. "Yes," she said simply, bracing herself for the next I killed him. She'd said she would listen, and she would.

"I killed him."

Jane's stomach dropped. His voice and face betrayed no emotion, unless an eerie emptiness counted as an emotion. "I know," she said before taking the time to consider whether she should.

It took a moment for what Jane had said to sink in, and when it did, he looked at her with undisguised shock. Then it hit him. "Of course. Thor told you," he said, wondering why Thor would have brought that up and feeling a renewed sense of betrayal. It was no business of Jane's, or anyone else's. He gave a short laugh on an exhale, wondering then what had possessed him to bring it up, to voluntarily speak that name aloud.

"No, it wasn't Thor. It's recorded in Norse mythology."

Loki's face twisted up in confusion. Even this is in their mythology? "What does it say?"

Jane shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Here we go. The story I said I would never tell him. "Well…it's not really accurate."

"Just tell me what it says, Jane," he said tightly. He swallowed and made an effort to speak more reasonably to her. "It was a thousand years ago. I'm not going to…to get angry. Please just tell me."

She took a deep breath and nodded. She was skeptical to put it mildly that he wouldn't get angry over this, but she could deal with his anger, especially now when she knew he wouldn't hurt her, not deliberately anyway. "Okay. It's been a while since I read it now, but it's a pretty memorable story. It says that Baldur had a dream about his death and his mother was worried, so she made everything – both people and things – swear not to hurt him. But she didn't make mistletoe swear, because she thought it was too young, whatever that means. So everybody started throwing things at Baldur because they thought it was funny, I guess. But you made an arrow from the mistletoe, and you gave it to Hodur, who was blind, and like I said before, it says Hodur was Baldur's brother. Hodur didn't know he was holding mistletoe, and he threw the spear and it killed Baldur. Baldur was burned on a ship in a funeral fire, and his wife jumped-"

"His what? His wife?" Loki asked, pulled for a moment out of listening intently with great dismay that this horrific thing, the most horrific thing he'd ever done in his life, was recorded in a myth here on Midgard.

"Um, yeah."

"He was eighteen. He wasn't married. It wouldn't even be allowed. There was a girl…her name was…" He couldn't remember. It bothered him.

Jane briefly wondered what the age of consent was in Asgard, but now wasn't the time to ask. "I think the wife's name was Nanna."

"Nanna," Loki repeated, for the feel of the name on his lips. It felt familiar. "Yes, I think that was her name."

"She died of grief and they put her on the boat with Baldur."

Loki had no idea what had ever happened to that girl, but he knew she hadn't been on that boat with Baldur. "Very dramatic," he said drily. "And then?"

"It's a long and complicated story. It doesn't-"

"Jane."

"All right. It's just that it's not a nice story, and I already know it's not true. Somebody, I don't remember the name, tried to ride into hell or something to-"

"Helheim?"

"Right, Helheim. He tried to go there to get Baldur back, but he was told he could only get him back if every single person in Asgard mourned his death. And everyone did except for an old lady that people believed was you in disguise. And then…it gets confusing because another myth, I think it's from a different source, it puts the next part after you insulted everybody in Asgard and made them all furious at you, completely unrelated to Baldur. But anyway, in the story of Baldur's death, it says they chased you down and…remember I told you about that shape-of-a-salmon thing? You tried to get away from them by turning into a salmon, but Thor grabbed you and the way he held onto you in your fish-shape was what made salmon shaped the way they are. Then they took your sons and they turned one of them into a wolf and he killed his brother, and, well, this is where it gets really gruesome, okay? They took you to a cave and tied you to some rocks with, um, with your dead son's intestines. And then a snake dripped venom on you while you were tied up there, but your wife held up a bowl to catch it. When the bowl got full she had to step away to empty it and the venom hit you and you shook so much it caused earthquakes. And…I think you're held there until the end of time."

"The end of time," Loki echoed, his eyes distant and unfocused. "Is there such a thing?" His vision cleared and he looked at Jane again. "Your people took an already gruesome story and made it more so. We in Asgard know nothing of the level of cruelty your people can imagine."

"I told you it wasn't true."

"Oh, but it is. Mostly." He drifted off in thought again, reflecting on what Jane had related. "They said I didn't mourn? They were right, I suppose. When was I to mourn? But it sounds as though they believed no heart beat in my chest. They were wrong in that. I am an –" He stopped. He'd been about to say he was an Aesir, of course he had a heart. But he wasn't. Even the Jotuns have a heart, physically at least, he thought, then questioned himself on that assumption. Do they? He didn't truly know. He knew they bled, though, and he supposed that meant they did have a heart.

"I know," Jane said when he didn't continue. She didn't quite understand his heart, and the level of hatred there, but she knew he loved his mother, and she believed he had once loved Thor. It was hard to be certain of almost anything about Loki, though. She didn't see how most of that story could be true, when he'd told her before that he had no wife or children, and it really hadn't seemed like he was lying when he said that; he'd seemed genuinely surprised that mythology made him husband and father. But for all she knew he was still lying to her constantly and she just couldn't detect it. The thought didn't sit well with her. She didn't believe it to be the case, and if it was, it would make her doubt herself terribly.

"I never meant for him to die. I never wanted…"

Jane waited for what seemed an extraordinarily long time, but Loki had again drifted off. "And the snake? And the venom, and the…I know you said you didn't have kids."

Loki gave a short laugh, a sad, macabre thing. "I don't. I never did. If fate is kind I never will." He took a deep, shaky breath, and the words began spilling out. "But I was chained to a rock, below a cliff on which a giant serpent sunned itself. And when it sunned itself, it opened its mouth above me, and venom dripped from its fangs. At night it went away and I healed from the venom that burned. You might think it a reprieve but it was no more than an opportunity to become intimately acquainted with every possible manifestation of fear and dread and desperation.

"In the beginning I counted the days. But before long, one day bled into the next. I lost my vision, I lost the ability to know night from cloudy day, I lost the ability to perceive the passage of time. The hours of night felt no different from the minutes between drips during the day. I would scream and the venom would get in my mouth and I lost my voice."

Jane kept herself very still, only a thin layer of protective disbelief keeping her from getting ill. This was worse than any horror movie, because protective disbelief aside, objectively she knew every word Loki said was true. She'd never seen him so haunted.

"No one came to see me. Odin announced my punishment before all his advisors, all Baldur's friends, and Thor. Not Frigga. Until it was over I only saw her a few times after that day, the day he died. She couldn't even look at me. I would have given my life for his to take away her pain…and mine. Odin tied me to the rocks himself. I tried to be strong. I didn't cry or beg or plead. Once he'd enchanted the ropes into unbreakable chains, he turned and walked away without a word. I called out to him – I was never as strong as I wanted to be then, as strong as he wanted me to be – but he hardly even turned, and he never looked me in the eye. I should have known then how much he hated me." He paused, deep in thought, then at the sound of Jane shifting in her seat his eyes drifted over to hers.

He straightened on the stepstool. Something was there, in Jane's eyes. Something he didn't want to see. Emotion, of what sort he wasn't sure. Whatever it was, he didn't need it. He didn't want it. He wouldn't tolerate it. "Does it make you feel better?" he asked.

Jane blinked a few times, startled. His expression, posture, and voice had all suddenly changed. It was, she thought, the voice she was most used to here, but it sounded so very cold compared to the way he'd been speaking to her just before. "What?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

"To know that I've suffered. Do you rejoice that the one who's wreaked such havoc on your world has endured such humiliation? Or do you pity me? Does your weak little heart yearn to forgive me for what I've done because of what was done to me?" His voice was growing louder, and without breaking eye contact he checked the corner of the room; the sound blanket held.

Thrown by the change in his demeanor and increasing callousness of his words, Jane started trying to stammer out something when she wasn't even sure what she wanted to say.

Loki didn't want to hear it. He wanted to make her snap. He wanted to make her angry. He wanted to make her forget every bit of vulnerability and weakness she'd just seen in him. "You shouldn't pity me. That was nothing. I'm capable of much worse. You should fear me. I never gave you permission to enter my chambers. Leave them while you still can. Go and get your milk and your cookies to stave off your own dreams, Jane," he said, standing and ignoring the pain. "Now!" he shouted down at her.

Almost trembling, Jane jumped up and ducked around him and went straight to the door. She flung it open and ran back to her room.

Loki sat where she had and tried to forget her, to finally begin his ritual of examining the dream and separating memory from corruption. But it was difficult, when the last things he'd dreamed in particular he desperately didn't want to think about anymore. And when the seat was still warm from Jane having been there.

/


The next chapter is basically repercussions of this chapter. Saying more would either be spoilers...or it could be I'm just too tired to come up with more to say! Hope you enjoyed and as always, thanks to all readers and reviewers.

I will give you a bit of an excerpt:

He'd thought of Baldur here more than he had in a very long time. Jane and her question about which colors he would wear. Jane and her mythology book with its faulty family trees. Jane and her ignorant questions about a song that hadn't been sung since Baldur's death – not in Loki's presence, anyway. In whatever weak connection The Other forged when he manipulated dreams while Loki was vulnerable in sleep, he must also be able to pull in things from Loki's subconscious, and from there stimulate the associated memories.

And that made it Jane's fault. Like everything else here, he thought spitefully.