AN: I offer my most sincere apologies to any reader who had been following this story, which has been dormant for many years. During this time my writing style has changed, as so I've decided to rewrite and republish the current nine chapters, and keep writing until I reach the ending (Now that the Multiverse exist, all ficts are canon!). I advise anyone who has been so kind to follow this fict to please reread it again; the story is the same, but I've polished certain details that didn't age too well, plus added more ideas. This said, thank you for following this story so far.
Chapter 10.
If he knew something about his hosts, he was sure that the rooms he and his companions had been so graciously given were bugged. Strangely enough, that was something he didn't mind. Let them watch and listen; he didn't mind them knowing he was a powerful sorcerer.
After waking up, he had spent that day idling, like his companions, but in the evening he tried, in the solitude of his room, to cast a spell which would let him travel back to Asgard. There were many backdoors to each Realm and Loki had discovered them a long time ago, being able to use them whenever he needed them.
But that night he couldn't find a way to establish that connection. It was as if Asgard had been sealed away.
It was that, or…
No. He refused to even entertain that thought. The destruction of Asgard could only be brought by Ragnarok, and such event would send ripples through the Nine Realms. But the tightness in his chest wouldn't go and he had to climb to the building's terrace roof to breathe some fresh air. For the first time in his life he wished the problem was his momentary lack of magic power.
He had spent three long months ruminating about every aspect of his former life, now returned to him. He had come to hate what he knew he would never have again: Asgard was as banished to his heart as he had been from it.
During that time he had to face the likelihood of having to wander Midgard as a human till he died; but a human who had known a greater, more meaningful life. He had laughed often, in the privacy of his home at London, about how many humans would kill (and killed) to live in the sumptuousness he had gathered around himself, while he regarded every commodity and article of luxury as if they were mere trinkets made with primitive materials. He had brooded, too, over how he had craved for any sense of belonging while on Asgard, where he was looked down on for having the gift of magic, an art customarily reserved for women; but when he was a mortal man among other mortal men, he was still different and still stood out.
People who had talked or written about Robert Norwood had depicted him as a good-looking, charming and polite young man, and many had emphasized his sensibleness when spending his wealth despite coming upon a big fortune at such young age. No one had ever seen past that description; no one had ever noticed how he gazed into the distance when he was left alone with his thoughts, when he had to confront a truth no one else knew: he was alone, had always been and would always be.
There were times, however, when an amiable voice asked him why his eyes seemed so hollow. He would always smile at her, and say that it was weariness from the day's activities. Jane would frown slightly at first, like each time she encountered an error on her calculations, to then smile and ask him to take better care of himself; and sometimes she would joke about him taking some vacations and visiting her at Puente Antiguo. Once he returned the teasing, saying that she was welcome to take her own vacations and fly to England once his home was restored. She had laughed, not without blushing, and had agreed to it, but Loki believed it was simply because she hadn't taken his words seriously.
Jane puzzled him, above everyone else. She never asked for anything, yet she was always there to lend a listening ear. He once questioned her about it, leaving all caution and tact aside. Far from feeling insulted, she laughed and said: "What are friends for?"
He knew that practicality had to rule his mortal life, even more than his life at Asgard; that emotions could only lead him to ruin, destroying his only hope for triumph. However, the day would come, and he knew it, when he had to leave someone behind him to inherit his name, someone from his own blood. But he was still young: there would be time enough for those matters.
He had thought about the possibility of Jane being the woman who would give him an heir, if she agreed to it. Becoming involved with a mortal was something he didn't want to do that time but he knew it would be less tiresome if that mortal was her.
But now those plans weren't relevant anymore. He was Loki again. Long lived. Powerful. Free to do his bidding, and with a victory plucked out from Thor's very hands. Even when his plans for a quiet and subtle conquest of Midgard had been forfeited the moment it had been revealed that he wasn't human, he still was free to do what he pleased once they were able to secure Asgard.
Thor, for his part, hadn't spoken to him again that day. Loki thought he had gone back to his friends, the ones who never questioned whatever he did or said, but when he went to visit Hogun that morning to see how he fared, he didn't see the prince. The Vanir's wound was nearly closed, and the warrior gave him a quick nod, while the shadow of a smile played in his lips. Sif offered Loki a forced, thin smile, due probably to being upset that it had been a sorcerer the one to save her life. Fandral, who sat next to a mesmerized Darcy, smiled widely at him and saluted him with one of his flourished bows. It was then when Loki missed someone.
"Where is Volstagg?" he had asked.
The brief glance between Sif and Fandral augured trouble but, as they explained later, Volstagg and Thor, unable to sit idle inside those alien quarters, had gone to the training grounds outside. It was understandable, since Thor had a lot of pent up frustration to release, and the fate of Volstagg's family was anyone's guess.
They had held council on Hogun's room and talked again about building another bridge from Midgard which could be used to return home. Loki advised them about going first to an ally world to gather as many forces as they could. However, nothing could be done as long as they were being kept captives. As much as they were assured that it was a mere security measure, the Asgardians knew better. Still, they couldn't make any attempt at escaping without fighting and probably killing some Midgardian soldiers, something that wouldn't help on their relationships with their authorities.
Fortunately for them, Thor had chosen to make a display of his lighting control to relief his frustration, aside from expressing his displeasure at being held captive when his home was under siege. Which is to say, that Thor had conjured a giant thunderstorm over the complex and had sworn he would fry the generators if they didn't let him speak to their leader.
Far from rushing to his side to ease his wrath, Loki let him do. Sometimes Thor's temper was useful, and SHIELD needed to know that they remained there because they had chosen to do so.
That evening they were informed that SHIELD'S Director would meet Thor the following morning, and asked the prince to please stop taking aim at the generators or the repairs would be billed directly to Asgard.
It was a victory, though a small one.
Thor seemed more at ease that evening, when he took Loki aside and asked him to go with him to the meeting: "For your tongue will be more useful than Mjolnir," he only said.
But Loki knew that it wasn't going to be so easy, and that was why he had tried traveling back to Asgard on his own after that conversation. Then he had tried going to other Realms too, but his powers weren't strong enough at that moment.
And so he found himself sitting under the starry night, sleep eluding him, mind and heart in turmoil.
The sound of footsteps made him turn his head.
"I didn't know you were here," Jane apologized. She was carrying a bundle in her arms. "Did you want to be alone?"
He shook his head and offered her to sit by his side.
"I couldn't sleep," she shrugged, throwing the blanket over herself. "Too many things in my mind."
Loki still said nothing. She offered to share the blanket, and he accepted. He had surprised himself rubbing his hands because they felt chilly. He wanted to believe that his body was still adjusting to the magic, for he was supposed to be resistant to cold, yet he felt his muscles relaxing under the blanket's warmth.
It wasn't until that moment that he realized how much so trivial an act of kindness could hurt him.
He stole a glance towards Jane, but her honey eyes were fixed on the starry sky.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked.
She looked at him with a puzzled expression.
"For three months you have been there," he said, averting his eyes. "Yet you never asked for anything."
"I already had what I wanted. My research is my life, and you returned it to me. I'm grateful for that."
"That's why you keep me company?"
Jane laughed, lightly squeezing his arm.
"No, it's because that's what friends do! Already told you many times!" she chuckled, then she smiled sadly. "I know what is to be alone, and that we need someone who believes in us. You know? I thought you'd keep your distance once you were famous and rich. I'm glad you didn't."
He bit his lip. The tightness in his chest was almost suffocating.
Centuries ago he would visit Midgard with Thor and his friends. While the others had fun inspiring admiration form the simple people, Loki liked to disguise as a Midgardian to see how their lives were. Once Thor grew weary of the lack of proper battlefields, and Odin forbade any direct intrusion in foreign worlds, Loki still kept visiting, fascinated by how persevering its inhabitants were, despite their short lifespan and their fragility, and how easy was pretending to grow old and feign his death. More than once Loki would spend a few years with a lover, or even a spouse, and once he fathered several children with the same wife. Now that thought had come back to plague him, thinking that, although many generations have passed, there was Jotun blood coursing through the veins of mortal humans.
"Erik told me that your father died. Is that why you say you were alone?"
"I was still in college," she explained. "My father had been discredited by the scientific community because of his studies. It didn't bother him, or so he said, and he kept going on. Erik helped us a lot back then, and when dad died, he helped me too. There was also Donald, if only for a bit."
"The name in the tag?" Loki ventured. He remembered that name, but he wasn't very sure.
"Yes, Donald. He was a doctor, and a good one. He was great with patients but…" she chuckled. "He was terrible with relationships. Well, he was actually a medicine student at the hospital my dad was admitted in before dying. I guess I clung to whatever I had at hand. Anyway, he came to the funeral and offered to talk about it if I needed to, and we started seeing each other, first as friends, and then dating. Everything was wonderful at first: I had someone at my side who was confident, who would give everything for his patients, and I was a mess by that time, so I guess I needed to feel safe, but with time it got sour.
"When I finished my studies he was already a doctor, but he wouldn't hear about me going to investigate my father's theory," she mimicked a deep, manly voice: "What's with looking so much at space? With so many people in need here on Earth you go chasing after little green men?" she shook her head. "That was our first real argument. I could get him to accompany me to New Mexico, but not before I had to cry my eyes out to convince him of how important that theory was for me," she scoffed. "And after two months there he just packed his things and told me he had gotten a job in… I don't know which prestigious hospital. Can't even remember the name. And that's the last I knew from Donald Blake. I'm still trying to understand why he did it. I mean, it was always me the one who had to give up on things, was it that hard to do something for me for a change?"
"That certainly rings a bell," he chuckled. "He wanted to save your world, so he didn't have time for anything else. Helping ill people is wonderful, but I don't think your Donald did it for the altruistic reasons everyone might think."
"No?"
He shook his head, a mischievous glint on his eyes.
"Patients were his way to enlarge his ego, and you were a patient, until you weren't anymore. Then he lost interest and went away."
"I… hadn't thought of it that way," she murmured, frowning.
"When you live such a long life, you learn a thing or two," he chuckled. "Heroes often try to encompass so much they forget what they have next to them," he took her hand and held it up between them. "Let him try to save the world, one patient at a time," he said. "You have a whole universe to discover."
"This is starting to sound like mutual therapy."
They laughed, and he loosened his grip, but she didn't let him go. Instead, she leaned on his shoulder as she returned to stargazing.
He felt his mouth running dry and his whole body stiffening. What bothered him was the feeling of heat rising from his chest to his face. But it felt nice having her near. She was so trusting and so open… he wondered how she had survived for so long.
Would she trust him to the end?
"Jane," he paused, leaning his cheek on her hair so she didn't have to look at him in the eye. "The invaders I killed… I'm one of them."
"I know," she said, not making any movement.
"What?" he sat upright with a jolt.
"Same blue skin and same tattoos as the Giants, also same red eyes. Thor covered you with his cape after he knocked you out and forbade anyone to get near you. And the way he told your friends that it was just magic, it was more an order than an excuse: Believe it or else. And then you constantly asking me if I was afraid of you."
He stammered the start of an excuse.
"Are you a deterministic?" she asked.
"What?"
"That you believe that our life is-"
"I know what that means, but-"
"Stop moping."
"I don't-"
"You have been brooding since you woke up. You really think your DNA changed the moment you learned about your real dad and that you are now a murderer? That's not how it works. What's the story between Asgard and the Frost Giants, anyway?"
Loki tried reordering his thoughts as fast as he could. Jane made him feel dizzy sometimes with how quickly she fired questions at him.
He recounted a summary of the story of the Jotun, how they used the Casket of Ancient Winters to bring an Ice Age to Midgard, and how Odin fought them and sent them back to Jotunheim.
"That's how he took the Casket and took me. And Laufrey was furious about the relic, but didn't care about me because I was supposed to die, as he kindly told me before I murdered him."
A long silence followed his words. In the distance they could see the soldiers changing guard for the night shift.
"Okay," she murmured after a while. "That's a lot."
Then she raised her head and looked straight at him.
"So you are supposedly an enemy of Asgard because of your race," she mused. "But you have been living there without a problem, wouldn't that count?"
"Is not that easy…"
"How so? Your brother is Asgardian, right? C'mon, they can't hold that against you!"
Even if Thor hadn't forsaken him, he still felt there was nothing for him in Asgard. But she had a point.
"If Asgard falls," he said, more to himself than to her. "All the other Realms will either be plunged into chaos or destroyed. Even Midgard will fall."
"And you will help protecting it," she insisted. "They won't reject you that way!"
Yes, protecting! A monster protected nothing, created nothing, died for nothing. A king protects what it's rightfully his own, a king builds and makes his domains thrive into prosperity and peace. Asgard would know peace after this war; Midgard too, after centuries of mortals blindly trying to discern which way should they take.
He knew that Thor would prove some day that he was not worthy of the throne, and so Loki prepared himself accordingly. Everything changed when his heritage was uncovered, but now it wouldn't matter anymore. He would rise as a protector.
He had nothing if not time.