Chapter Text
She wakes too early in the most beautiful room she has ever slept in (marginalized astrophysicists do not get the executive suite at the Ritz). She knows that beyond the curtains lie an endless sea of stars and the golden world of Asgard, the most beautiful sight she has ever seen.
But at such a price.
She curls her knees into her chest she feeling like she is being ripped apart as her body body shakes with tears.
Malekith is destroyed.
But he took the earth with him.
~
She seeks out Heimdall one day, perhaps a month after—well, after her arrival.
“Lady Jane,” he greets her, nodding gravely.
She nods in return but says nothing, looking around her at the shimmering colours of the Bifrost. She had dreamed of seeing this for so long and now—
Nothing. A great black emptiness is all that remains of her dreams.
“Heimdall.”
“My lady.”
“What did you see, that day?”
His golden eyes darken. “Lady Jane, are you—”
“Tell me.” She almost screams the words and wonders why, how, she has so completely lost control.
Heimdall bows his head but not before she has seen the strangest smile of knowing flicker in the depths of his eyes. “Blood. A great explosion. Screams. Now a void.”
She swallows back bile, trembling. “What about Darcy and—and Erik?”
“They were together.”
Against the backdrop of such horror it seems so small a thing but she clings to it, relieved that they did not die alone.
Heimdall’s head snaps up and she jumps.
“What is it?” she asks, curious in spite of herself.
“Loki has been found.”
~
Odin had not listened.
Bastard.
No matter what Thor or even Heimdall said, Odin had turned a deaf ear – had, in fact, ordered Thor to lead the search party.
Thor had refused.
Jane remembered that moment. Remembered that in spite of the numbness, she had never felt more proud of him. She had never had a brother or a sister, but in watching Thor and Loki during the past weeks—
There were some things, it seemed, that even betrayal upon betrayal could not break.
Loki’s past was drenched in blood, impossible to erase, but in helping save them all, or trying, in saving her—
Whatever issues he had – and he had plenty – she doubted that imprisonment was the solution. Not for someone whose sanity hung by a thread as his obviously did.
So she had watched as Odin’s eye bulged, as a vein stood out in his forehead. Again he commanded and again Thor refused, not flinching even as Odin slammed his spear against the dais.
As she stood in the shadow of a column Fandral and Heimdall stepped forward to flank him, whether out of belief in Loki or love for Thor, and she felt her feet move. Slowly she went to join them.
Thor took her hand, squeezed it gently to show his thanks.
Odin glared at them all with his one good eye. He said something – Jane wasn’t sure what, she was aware of very little these days – and stormed out of the chamber.
They found out an hour later that the search party had been sent out under the leadership of a lesser captain.
And now that search party had returned.
~
She cannot return his smile or feel his confidence. Would it kill Odin to act like a father instead of a king? Or had he ruled too long to know where one ended and the other began? Would he have listened to Frigga were she still alive?
She continues on, winding her way down to the prison levels. Heimdall’s announcement had caused rage to surface, drowning out despair. Rage over injustice, rage that old wounds kept being torn open, or—
She can’t pin down her reasons for seeking Loki out and doesn’t much care. She only knows that for the first time in over a month she feels for someone other than herself. So she follows her feet.
She hears him before she sees him.
Screaming.
Echoing, echoing, echoing throughout the corridors, bouncing off the stone walls and growing louder instead of dimmer. Even the guards are uneasy, barely acknowledging her as she passes.
She hears blackness and rage and despair, hears him dripping blood with every cry.
As she rounds the corner to the glass prison he falls silent. She sees him and the destruction he has wrought, worse than before: broken furniture, scattered books, shredded pages, red smears on the walls and glass, where he clawed or pounded, trying to escape.
She sees him on the floor by the glass wall, huddled into himself. His back is to her but she can see him shaking. Can see his bloodied hands. No strength for any illusion.
Her heart twists within her and she feels sick. Drawing her cloak closer she climbs the steps and nestles herself on the ledge, her side pressed to the glass. She says nothing and she has made no sound (she thinks) but Loki raises his head, his emerald gaze a hairs-breadth from insanity. She stares back at him, silent and curiously unafraid.
His eyes narrow to slits and she braces herself for a stinging word but—
Nothing.
Slowly, he lowers his head. He remains curled with his back to her, but she notices the shaking has stopped.