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The first time you saw each other proved you were special, even if he chose to ignore the signs. It was the first link in a chain that would stretch through time and space, binding you to him in unimaginable ways he'd taken for granted. He wished he'd paid more attention, appreciated the glowing curiosity in your eyes, the brilliant mind it intimated. Instead, you were a minor inconvenience, a small blip in his understanding of how the universe worked, easily shoved to the back of his mind behind his plans for conquest and glory.
The second time you met he was trying to take over the world, and you were merely another tool at his disposal. Only later did Loki wonder if he’d pushed Barton into overstating your importance, if he’d been looking for an excuse to meet you face to face, to see this woman who’d peered through his illusion to look him in the eye. Had he felt your draw even then, even under the torture of Thanos’s control? Or had it all begun afterwards, after the great battle and his defeat, when you’d handed him a drink and his fingers had brushed yours?
These musings only came later. At the moment, he’d truly believed this would be the last time your paths would cross.
The third time you and Loki met he was in chains standing before the Allfather. He watched the whole proceeding without any visible reaction beyond the brightness of his eyes, from your entrance into court to when you said that while Loki's crimes against your people were inexcusable, you believed he had been under the influence of outside sources and was undeserving of death. Odin asked from whence this mercy came. You replied that it wasn’t mercy, but simply justice, at least in your opinion, when one took into consideration all extenuating circumstances. Loki knew now that the way you said extenuating circumstances was intentionally accusatory, as you laid partial blame on Odin himself. Even with your limited experience you were able to see the soul-deep damage his father had caused.
Besides, you continued to say, Loki would suffer far more being locked up and unable to cause trouble than if he were merely killed.
And, of course, you were right. Despite his best efforts, Loki wasn’t able to suppress his smirk entirely.
Odin was obviously not pleased with your interference, for as it turns out Thor had sought you of his own volition. The Allfather would have been perfectly content to dispense judgment without any input of the people Loki had wronged. But Odin was wise, and he could see that both his wife and son were in line with this lone mortal. He also, in all his wisdom, saw the way Loki looked at this strange girl, and thought that she might come to be the hope he’d been seeking for his wayward son.
Additionally, he was inclined to agree with your assessment of Loki suffering more in imprisonment.
Loki didn’t get a chance to speak with you as he was hustled away to his cell, though there was a moment of what could be termed ‘meaningful eye contact’. Eye contact that left you watching him with that ever-present curiosity, your eyes narrowed at the unfamiliar look in his. You didn't come see him in his imprisonment, not that he expected that of you. No one came to visit him aside from his queen mother, who brought him news and books and comfort that he did not deserve.
Eventually, he asked after you, not bothering to conceal his interest with disdain or sarcasm. Frigga smiled in her knowing way but did not press him, for which he was grateful. Instead, she spoke of your ferocity and wit, how you debated with Asgard’s finest weapons designers and darted through their stores like a child at a feast day. How you evaded any attempts at containment, going where you pleased when you pleased, regardless of what any guard or even Odin himself had to say. How words flowed out of you like a river after the thaw, too strange and too fast for her to follow. Yet, the technicians had five new designs in the works, you’d identified a weak point in the east wall, and Frigga found herself enjoying your company immensely, to the point she’d begun arguing with Odin alongside Thor that you should be allowed to stay.
Loki nodded, putting all his energy into keeping his expression unaffected. A mother knows, though, and her knowing took on a tinge of sadness. She said he had more years in his eyes than he wore on his face, far more than the time which had passed since his fall. He did not answer, could not risk stepping too far from the line, but she smiled, lifted a hand as if to touch him though she couldn’t, and began an amusing story about a newborn colt in the stables. Loki swallowed and listened intently, wondering each time she visited if it would be the last.
And then he said his line, as scripted, sent her killer to her, even as his heart clenched in his chest and refused to beat as punishment for his betrayal. Because the line must be held, regardless of how much it hurt. At least she would not die with his disavowal ringing in her ears. He had allowed himself that reprieve.
He didn’t see you again until Thor came to fetch him for his haphazard escape plan. There you stood with your utility belt around your waist and your gun at your hip. You regarded him coolly until Thor's mortal love interest slapped him across the face. Then you snickered quietly and seemed to thaw, as if that were enough retribution to even the scales in whatever imaginary balance hung between the two of you.
You were a beautiful fighter. Not elegant, really – more like Sif and her brute force than your Black Widow’s fluid movements. But a lovely sight nonetheless, wielding your gun like an extension of your own mind, an early version that would one day do so much more. You slowed guards and destroyed architecture, keeping the path forward clear while tossing out snappy commentary. You truly were a joy to watch. How had he failed to take notice the first time?
Thor didn’t know how to pilot a ship, that much was clear. Impatient, you pushed past him and took to the controls. Nary a few seconds later you were flying as if born to the task, dodging buildings and enemy fire with equal ease, frustrating the plans of the many pursuers you soon accrued. Thor covered his injured pride by going to check on his Jane Foster, who was looking increasingly ill, leaving Loki alone with you for the first time since he'd left Midgard.
He knew his time was short. In between giving directions, he asked why you’d stood up to Odin for him.
You hadn’t stood up for him. You'd only said what you thought to be the truth.
You weren't looking at him, and he mourned the absence of your attention. He asked what you thought the truth to be, because he wondered if you had sensed the shift. Did you see that he was not the same? Could you feel how he loved you?
Now you did meet his gaze and held it, and the warmth in his chest swelled as he waited for you to speak to him once more. He was more than the act he put on, you said, more than what he wanted everyone to believe, and he deserved the chance to realize it, too.
You saw him. You would always see him. That would be enough to get him through the rest of this. Loki, God of mischief and illusions, so easily understood by this extraordinary woman.
His musings were cut short when you casually gave up the controls and jumped out the door of the ship. He held firm as his heart jumped, even knowing that another ship awaited your safe landing, and then allowed his brother to unceremoniously shove him out the same door. He managed to land on his feet, though he wobbled a little without full range of his hands to provide balance. Fandral seemed disappointed at the lack of a show, but you only had that curious look on your face again. Thor and Jane on board, Loki began to pilot the ship towards the rift that would take them to Svartalfheim. He maintained his impassive expression when Fandral kissed your hand in farewell, letting his irritation at the pretty man's flirtatious nature simmer below the surface. Of course, you remained as unaffected as ever when faced with romantic overtures, bidding him adieu with nothing more than a friendly wish of good luck. Why did you always brush past any attempts at courtship? Did you not realize your appeal? Or were you merely disinterested in the prospect of romance itself?
He held you against his chest as if in restraint while he deceived Malekith, and perhaps imagined how you relaxed against him. Fighting beside you brought back an aching sense of familiarity. He wondered if you noticed how easily the two of you danced in and out of each other’s space, how naturally you worked together to take down Dark Elf after Dark Elf. Did you feel it yet? The threads that bound you to him and him to you?
He’d never found out why you didn’t reveal his false death, though he had to wonder if a part of you sought to give him freedom even now. More likely, however, you simply did not see a need to mention it, so you didn’t. You had a habit of saying far less than you knew, only to bring it up later as if you expected everyone to have the same insight. Sometimes this was for your own amusement, but usually it was because you severely underestimated your own powers of intuition. You’d never accepted that you were special. Maybe this time he’d be able to convince you.
The fourth time you met Loki was only the fourth time you knew about. You didn’t know he’d once delivered your Chinese food. You didn’t know that he was the one to catch you when you slipped on a patch of ice. You didn’t know he’d shared your table in a crowded coffee shop or joined you on a bench at the park or replaced the tiny water heater in your apartment. Little moments, nothing big enough to cause any major shifts in the fragile fabric of the universe and always when you’d be too distracted to pick up on his illusion. Extra time stolen, his reward for living the doomed life required of him.
The fourth time was the wizard’s doing. Perhaps this man with all his powers could sense your abilities, your inexplicable knowledge as if plucked from the air around you. Had he realized what a crucial role you would come to play? Regardless, here you were and here Loki was, still quite upset at having been forgotten for so long (falling for 30 minutes is unpleasant even if expected).
Little time was given for small talk before all Hel broke loose (oh, how you always enjoyed playing with the idioms of language). The projectile Hela threw as you all rode the Bifrost towards Asgard would have gone right through your collar bone if Loki hadn’t pulled your body to his as he twisted so it glanced off his shoulder, throwing the both of you away from the rainbow bridge and into the trash heaps of Sakaar. You allowed him to lead you around as stealthily as possible, hand firmly within his so as not to lose you. This, too, was so achingly familiar that he had to repeatedly remind himself to focus. He wheedled and flattered and schmoozed until he had ingratiated himself to the Grandmaster, who took a particular interest in you from the start, because the man knew how to recognize a rare find when he saw one. Then Loki introduced you as his wife, and you shot him a curious glance from the corner of your eye.
“You can be my wife or you can be his,” he said, teeth cracking with the force of his smile.
You’d wrapped your arm around his and grit your teeth into a smile as well. The Grandmaster let his disappointment slide away easily, declared you two a cute couple, and sent you on your way.
Loki spent the next week trying desperately to cling to every moment, yet time still marched on far too quickly. Days were spent out socializing as man and wife, trying to hide his amusement as you ran circles around several conversational partners and winking in encouragement whenever you caught his gaze. The nights, though, those were his. As evening fell he would lead you back to your shared apartment where he would read to you the most beautiful stories and poems he could get his hands on. Knowing how his story with you would end, he was determined to give you as many happy endings now as he could. So he read of battles won and monsters slain and true love found and kept. He read until your eyelids began to droop and your muscles relax. The space only had one bed, which he presented to you, saying he would take the couch. The offer seemed to startle you, and you stared at him for several long seconds before you shook your head as if to break yourself from a trance. The bed was ginormous, you said, more than big enough for the both of you never to get near each other.
He tried not to let his pleasure show at this unexpected development. A part of him hoped he might have a way to steal extra time with you in his arms while being able to feign the ignorance of sleep. He was disappointed, however, when you pulled from the admittedly overstocked pile of pillows to build a wall down the center of the bed. Still, more than once he awoke to your hand holding his where it rested on the barrier between you, and he told himself it was enough. It had to be, for he would not be given anything else.
After two days you began leaving your gun tucked safely in a drawer, claiming that it was too difficult to conceal under the strange alien clothes you were forced to wear.
He assured you that he was doing everything in his power to find a way off the planet, but as the week passed and no progress appeared to have been made, he knew you began to suspect him, and even more so with Thor’s arrival. His peaceful little world with you was shattered, lying in pieces all around him, and you had the gall to ask why he didn’t want to at least try to break Thor out of prison, why he wouldn’t speak to the Grandmaster on his brother’s behalf. He tried to stall, to put you off, to assure you that he had a plan and all you had to do was be patient. But he’d never been able to fool you, not in any life, and he couldn’t fathom why he imagined this time would be any different.
You'd finally asked him outright about it, right before Thor betrayed his betrayal and took you away with him in his stolen ship. Loki could offer no explanation, couldn’t tell you that his time was rapidly approaching its end and he simply was not ready to give you up yet. Instead, he asked if the last week had been truly so bad. You'd both been honored guests of the Grandmaster. You'd lived well and easy. There was no fighting, no judgment, nothing to worry about. And the two of you... you'd gotten along so well. Was it really so wrong to want to keep that?
But then, instead of calling him a coward as he anticipated, you merely stared at him for a long time. Then, slowly, you said it hadn’t been, no, but that clinging to it, hiding in it, when the rest of the world was going to Hela (oh, you clever, delightful creature!) would be selfish. You said you were sorry, though you didn’t say for what. Then he had to be patient, to tolerate the pain of the obedience disk and the inanity of the Sakaaran prisoners, because he knew you waited on the other side, and his appearance would make you look on him with pride for perhaps the first time. When your surprise faded, you smiled at him, as a person does to another they are truly happy to see, and he grinned back in equal measure.
This brilliant, shining moment was short-lived, of course. Many things happened at once, running alongside the memories playing out in his mind. A plan to bring on Ragnarok was agreed upon, and he turned to enact his part. Hela ran a spike through the fleeing spaceship, halting its escape. He saw you aiming your gun at the spire holding fast to the ship. Then he saw another dark, twisted spike shoot through the ground and through your shoulder, causing you to drop your weapon and cry out in pain.
Necessary, he told himself, as he ran to your side. Your pain was necessary, your spilled blood was necessary, as had been his mother's death, as would be his own. Saving you this injury would be stepping too far off the line. He waited, hand pressed to your shoulder, until your gun detonated and destroyed the spire holding the ship, ensuring its escape and your eventual safety. He lifted you up, mouth thin as you grunted at the stress on your injury. He left you on the ship in the care of some Asgardians, though he wasted precious seconds kneeling next to you, watching you watch him, wondering if you knew now.
Gently, almost hesitantly, you laid your hand on his arm. “Be careful,” was all you said.
He lifted your hand and pressed it to his heart, a claim both physical and metaphorical, the audience of Asgardians and Sakaraan gladiators forgotten.
Then he went and set off the end of the world.
He found you later, lying in a dark room, for all appearances asleep. He sought you out second only to his own brother, though the delay had taken much strength of will on his part. He knew you would be okay, that the healers had done their due diligence, had seen as much in these unnatural memories. But you were his, and he would not know peace until he had seen to your safety with his own eyes.
You weren’t asleep, or perhaps you had been and awoke when you felt his presence. Because you always seemed to know he was there. You seemed to know if he was there or if he was plotting or if he wasn’t being truthful, in this or any timeline, as if none of his tricks or lies could ever work on you, and this was endearing and fascinating and terrifying by turn.
He counted the steps as you walked towards him – he knew the number exactly, so many nights of captivity spent reliving this particular memory. When you were level with him, his hand shot out to catch your hip and halt your progress. He pulled and stepped to the side until you faced him squarely. His free hand went to your cheek, savoring the warmth of your skin and the surprised look in your eyes, and then he kissed you the way he’d imagined since the beginning. You didn’t react, which he expected, and he released the kiss quickly, pulling back so he could see your face in its entirety. He stared into your bright eyes, eyes full of too many emotions to count, and tenderly brushed your hair away from your forehead. The memory did not do this moment justice, not even close, and he would hold on to this one, this one that was truly his, all the more tightly.
You finally asked why he did that. He said it was inevitable. But not to worry. He would only do it once. His hands fell away, and abruptly your eyes filled with something new and very much like panic. You grabbed his arm before he could turn away, wrapped both hands around the back of his neck despite the makeshift sling your wore, and pressed up on your toes to crush your mouth to his with bald desperation. He held on as long as you did, fingers digging into your waist, marveling at this sudden, final wash of good fortune. You backed off by slow inches, staring up at him, expression full of confusion and suspicion and fear. He brushed his thumb over your cheek, smearing moisture you apparently didn’t realize was there. Unbelieving, you raised your fingertips to feel the damp trail of tears, and this sent you stumbling back a step. He knew you didn’t understand, knew that how he looked at you would make no sense when you couldn’t know that he had loved you longer than you’d even known of his existance. And so he closed the distance you’d created to take hold of your face once more, and in all of your uncertainty, you let him.
“It will be fine,” he promised, and though he could see you were not at all convinced, you nodded.
The last time you saw each other before the world really did end was right before you were shot back to Earth with the Hulk. You, with your boundless courage and determination, had refused to flee with the Valkyrie and the others. He hid you with his magic, feeling your pulse thrum wildly under his fingers as the rest of the ship was slaughtered. You’d tried to pull away, tried to join the fight, but you were injured and his love turned his grip to iron. He'd held you fast, only to let go at the very end, when the Hulk was defeated and Loki was forced to relinquish his grip on you.
You met his eyes one last time before Heimdall opened the Bifrost, and he believed, or maybe just hoped, that he could see full understanding in your face. He smiled, though it felt bitter and broken, because in the end he’d always have to watch you disappear. Because both time and the universe were cruel, and he always seemed to be the butt of the joke.
He turned to face Thanos, preparing one last trick he knew would fail. Still, you were safe and would go on to design and create and keep the entire universe on its toes with your brilliance. He would die, but you would live. This would be enough.
Asgard 2013
Even knowing exactly how he would die, Loki thought that this part might be the worst of it – this waiting, this tedium. His mother’s books would be read all too quickly, and none of the other prisoner’s in Asgard’s dungeons was the slightest bit interesting. At least the Sakaaran prisoners would have personality, but that was years down the line yet, and for now he’d have to suffer through the current company, who managed to be both inane and dull.
He paused as the cup fell again, holding it tightly as he felt eyes on him, eyes he knew very well. He turned his head, and, impossibly, there you stood. But it wasn’t quite right. You weren’t wearing the Asgardian gowns he knew his mother had dressed you with, nor the clothes you’d choose for the coming escape. No, this white suit was unfamiliar and strange. Most telling was your face, though, older than the last time he’d seen you and so much more distraught.
He sat up slowly, then stood slowly, like moving any faster might cause the mirage to vanish. Yet you didn’t disappear – you didn’t even move, aside from your eyes which stayed focused on his face. He took a step forward, and your façade broke, first one tear and then another racing down your cheeks. He halted, felt your sorrow tunnel into his own heart and take root. “Don’t cry, darling.”
“So you did know.” Your voice was brittle, releasing an additional cascade of tears, despite his directive. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you’d know the truth regardless. “Then why? Why, if you knew what was going to happen, why would you go through with it?”
He thought of all the answers to that – fate, existence, heroism. How you’d forced his hand with a bullet. How the world needed to continue spinning and expanding so that you could be in it more than he needed to be by your side. Instead, he simply said, “Because time with you was worth the ending.”
Two fresh tears escaped your eyes. You shook your head and looked away. “You could have told me.”
“You would have tried to change it.”
Your gaze shot back, sharp as the knives he favored. “And why not? Why shouldn’t I?”
“You have lived far enough to know the answer to that.”
Disparate timelines, dark branches. He’d seen the results. He would not allow it to happen again.
“It’s not…” And still you cried, and he wondered why you didn’t brush away your tears as you always did, embarrassed at the display of weakness, impatient with your own emotions. “It’s not fair.”
He wished he could touch you, but he always seemed to be in a cage when you needed his comfort the most. He took another step forward, raised a hand like he could somehow overcome the barrier than separated him from you. “Darling-”
“Don’t,” you ordered sharply, gaze turning heated. “You don’t get to call me that when you’re not around.”
And for once in his long life (longer with all the circling back), he had no reply. His silver tongue turned to lead in his mouth, because what words could he possibly offer you? You’d obviously suffered, so severely you didn’t bother trying to conceal it anymore. He remembered clearly the pain of your death, of watching you sacrifice your own life so that he would save everything else. Now he pushed the pain of that loss onto you instead, and nothing he could say would be a balm for that deep of a wound.
“I hear them,” you broke the silence, eyes evasive. “In my head, I hear everyone who’s gone, all the time. Talking like that’s where they’re supposed to be, except they’re not because Thanos took them and turned them into dust. But I never hear you.”
Ah, so this was the source of the shadows in your eyes, the weight on your shoulders. “You have an amazing ability to see the world as it should be. Unfortunately, my death was natural while I assume the others were not. You do not hear me because I’m not meant to be there.”
“Who decided on those rules?” Your outburst drew the attention of a few in neighboring cells, and yet you took no notice. “You shouldn’t be dead! You don’t die. You never die. What happened to all your tricks? Why can’t you just fake it again? Go off and hide somewhere so that the timeline isn’t affected?
“You must lower your voice or you will draw the guards.” Soon they’d be coming through to do their routine checks anyway. You would need to be gone before then.
“Why does it have to be like this?” Though quieter, the question was even more heart wrenching than the others.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, swallowing down his pain as your face crumpled. “But it must.”
“I think I love you.” It was spoken like a sob, soft and tired and pleading.
And amidst all the pain, a thrill of joy went through him. “Well, that is a relief.”
Your sorrow bent into a frown and then a glare. “You told me everything would be fine. And then you died.”
“And you’ve lived.”
“It wasn’t enough. I needed more time.”
“Sometimes brevity makes it all that much more beautiful.” His answer only made you shake your head, made your tears come faster. “Would it help you to know that for the first time in my extensive life I feel content, which is not something I thought possible?”
“How?” You sounded so defeated, so devoid of hope. He came to the very edge of his prison, stared down into your tear-streaked face and tried to call upon all of his persuasive powers.
“Because despite everything I’ve done, everything I am, you saw something worth loving. Belonging to you, for any amount of time, is worth whatever price is asked. I will die a warrior’s death, and if my luck holds, perhaps someday we will be together in Valhalla. Even if we aren’t, I would not trade a single moment of the meager time I was given with you.”
Jeers rang out deeper in the dungeon – the first indicator that the guards had begun their rounds. His eyes flew over you, memorizing every haggard feature while he had the chance, but he made his mouth say, “You must escape before you are discovered.”
“What am I supposed to do?” you asked without moving. “I can’t… I don’t know how to handle this. It’s too much – it’s going to crush me.”
“No, darling, you won’t let that happen. You are unbearably clever and so very strong. You will make it through.” The taunting grew nearer, along with heavy footsteps and clanking armor. “I wish it were not so, but you must leave. Quickly.”
“It’s not fair,” you repeated quietly, like a mantra.
“Perhaps not. But the best vengeance is to keep fighting, and know that I pass into the next life loving you. That is enough.” He sighed as you shook your head again and lowered his voice to the soothing tone he’d employed in the other timeline whenever you would begin to panic. “Go, love, and if you cannot find a reason to live for yourself, then try to live for me.”
Your lips trembled, and so you pressed them together more firmly. Then the sound of a guard came from just around the corner, which made you squeeze your eyes shut, loosing more tears. You pressed something on your wrist, and the next second you were gone, no trace that you’d ever been. Loki stared at the spot where you’d stood, trying to breathe through the tightness in his chest.
“Hey!” a guard called as he approached. “Who were you talking to?”
“Myself,” Loki replied glibly, forcing his mouth to smirk. “I believe the madness is beginning to set in. Perhaps I should be restrained so I don’t become a danger to my own person.”
The man appeared skeptical, but then it all washed away with his scoff. “Your fondness for yourself far outweighs any madness-induced intent for harm.”
He continued on his patrol, Loki’s eyes drilling into his back. When he took his turn as king, that man would be the first to earn a demotion. He shot one last glance at the empty space where you’d been and then returned to his bunk. Laying back, he flipped the cup once more into the air and ruminated over everything you’d said. It hit his palm with a satisfying smack, and ever-so-slowly a smile spread across his face.