Work Text:
Sylvie always hated looking into people’s eyes, afraid of what she’d see in them.
And she had a good reason for that.
For centuries her only contact with other beings, creatures of all kind, some more humanoid, some less, had been with those doomed to perish in deadly apocalypses. In those final moments barely anyone paid her any attention; all of them too busy with trying to find a way to escape their miserable fate that had been written in stone.
To most of them she was usually invisible. Just another wretched soul sentenced to die in the apocalyptic inferno of smoke and ruin, destruction and chaos.
But those who looked at her, who dared to glance her way either intentionally or by accident and made a brief or lasting eye contact with her…their eyes, the look in them remained burned in her mind, tormenting her for years to come like a stain on her soul that she couldn’t wash off.
The pure fear and anguish in them as they realized they’re galloping towards their end, the full-blown hysteria plastered all over their faces as family members embraced each other for one final time, promising to meet again on the other, hopefully more prosperous side, the shock and sadness in the eyes of those who had barely only just begun living their life, only to have it cut short by the cruelest twist of fate.
Every time she looked anyone in the eyes, she saw nothing but death and pain – two things that faithfully followed her like shadow on every step of her way, mocking her by constantly reminding her that even if she wanted to go out of her way and seek companionship of any kind, she would and could never be anything but alone.
Given her skills and magical abilities together with her trusty TemPad that helped her evade death, it was easy to assume that perhaps, while she wasn’t doomed to die in an apocalypse like everyone else around her, she was unquestionably doomed to a death of a different kind.
Perpetual solitude was already death in its own special way. And if it weren’t for the fire of revenge burning deep inside of her, the dancing flames that kept giving life to her endless drive and kept her on her feet even when all hope was lost, Sylvie would have believed she had died a long, long time ago and was now a mere ghost left to haunt and roam this apocalyptic limbo for the rest of eternity.
Apocalypses were already painful. Ugly in every way possible.
But some of them were even more so.
People often showed their true colors in those final moments; she had lost count of how many times she had seen children being abandoned, left behind, pushed aside so adults, the people who should have protected them, who should have been there for them, who should have looked out for the most vulnerable, could be given a chance of survival.
An astonishingly selfish choice that never turned in their favor.
Death came for them all the same.
And Sylvie hoped that everyone who had cast aside the children and the innocent younglings who were then forced to spend their last moments, alone and crying for their caretakers, crying because the strangers rushed past them, knocking them off their feet, burned for all eternity in the deepest pits of hell.
What was left of her own heart, ached for those children.
She couldn’t save them, there was nothing she could do for them that would save their lives. If she intervened, if she saved their lives, they would die a horrible death moments later anyway. The only kind of solace she could offer them was that their last moments weren’t spent in distress and drowning in heartbreak.
So that’s what she did.
She approached the children. Some of them flocked to her immediately, viewing her as some kind of messiah on her way to save them, while some others tried to run away, too afraid to take any risks with a mysterious, cloaked stranger wielding a machete. She couldn’t blame them for that. She’d have done the same.
She had never been the best with words but still tried to strike up a quick small talk, offering the little beings some comfort, giving them false hope that everything would be alright.
Little white lies.
The children were inconsolable, with fat tears streaming down their cheeks as they screamed out in hysteria and panic. A light touch of hand, a faint buzzing of her magic took all of that away in an instant.
The crying stopped, the tears began to dry up and their little faces relaxed into a content expression as they were lulled to sleep, engulfed by dreams, reliving their happiest memories as the world around them plummeted to its death.
It was the only kind of comfort, the only mercy she could offer them.
It did not bring her any personal relief, in fact it only made everything worse for her conscience, but at least the children were spared the cruelty of being conscious and aware of everything that’s going on around them in their last moments.
The children’s innocent eyes were closed as they comfortably dreamed away, oblivious to the approaching death, but it hurt to look them in the face all the same and after she had made sure the enchantment took hold, Sylvie left in a haste.
Sylvie abhorred apocalypses, she absolutely detested everything about her life.
Seeing abandoned children, knowing their caretakers had left them behind for unfathomable reasons was unfortunately not the only thing that turned her stomach.
Sometimes, when she had no choice but to make an eye contact with someone, she silently hoped that all she would see in their eyes was anguish and terror. A heavy veil of death draping over them.
That wasn’t always the case.
Some beings looked at her with a different look in their eyes, the kind that made her recoil and instantly reach for her machete and TemPad.
Very quickly into her miserable journey Sylvie had found out that there were people of all kinds caught in apocalypses, not just innocent ones with pure intentions trying to outrun and escape their fate. Not just self-centered bastards who had left other souls behind to fend for themselves. Not just resigned people who had accepted that this was it for them and calmly awaited the end, enjoying a final drink or two.
Some were more than ready to force fellow doomed victims to spend the last minutes of their lives with them one way or another. Whether they had been willing or not, it mattered not to them, as long as they got their way.
People had the tendency to show who they truly were in their final moments and Sylvie had been an unwilling witness to that on many an occasion.
It sickened her each time and was just another reason why she decided to avoid people at all costs.
Then there was the special, third group.
The ones who had ruined her life, stole her from her family, erased her entire reality and pushed her on this wretched journey.
The ones who had always looked at her with complete indifference in their eyes, who saw her as nothing but a revolting mistake they had been trying to erase from existence for throwing a metaphorical wrench in their work. On the few instances when she had been able to sneak up on them, moments before she used her enchanting abilities to crawl into their minds and their gazes locked, she was able to see the barely concealed disgust in them.
Disgust, aimed at her.
Disgust, because of who she was.
As a variant, in their eyes, she had always been just a number. Her existence was meaningless. A mistake that shouldn’t have happened.
To them, she didn’t matter. She was worthless.
So, for the longest Sylvie refused to look people in the eyes. She found no good reason why she should do that. There was nothing for her to find in them, they were never kind to her, always caused her pain and grievance of every and any variety, painfully reminding her of the disaster that was her life.
Sylvie always hated looking into people’s eyes, afraid of what she’d see in them.
Until one day, that changed.
Sylvie tilts her head to look down into a pair of blue eyes.
The eyes that upon their initial meeting sparkled a different kind of fire inside of her, reviving a shrouded part of her soul and successfully managed to reveal an ability that she had thought she didn’t possess; the ability of attachment and care.
Sylvie had long forgotten that despite her robust and sometimes cruel exterior, she was also a being capable of caring for another person. The groundbreaking epiphany that despite everything she had gone through in her life, she might still be capable of being fond of someone, loving them more than she loved herself, took her by surprise.
At first, she had no idea how to deal with that newfound knowledge. It was an uncharted territory and it filled her with dread.
If loving someone was considered a battle, then she was just an inexperienced soldier, a trembling rookie marching into the fiery unknown, not knowing if she would make it out of the confrontation alive or not.
As it turned out, that battle almost did her in for good. She had never been the same since that day at Roxxcart, when her eyes first connected with a pair of blue eyes that belonged to him.
Her TemPad wasn’t the only thing he stole that day.
She gave him a piece of her time – she had no choice in that matter, really –, offered him her hand but he took her entire heart.
And she allowed it.
The fondness she felt for that man terrified her but it also drew her in. It felt wrong. It also felt right. When he was around, she felt the need to run but she also felt the need to wrap herself in his arms and never separate from him again. She felt repulsed by herself that someone managed to sneak into her guarded heart like that, made a home in it and refused to be evicted.
And yet, she had never felt more confident and prouder of herself than when she was with him.
He made her vulnerable.
He made her stronger.
He reminded her that she was worthy.
Worthy of being alive. Worthy of being cared for. Worthy of being loved.
He taught her that there was no greater strength in life than the strength that came from trusting and opening your heart to another person, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, to be loved and to love in return.
The road to fully accept that had been difficult, sprinkled with numerous challenges and bumps and more than once during that journey she had been certain that she had crossed the line and had lost him for good.
Instead of that, he stayed.
She had pushed him away, he came back for her, found her in a small rural town in North America and saved her from her self-inflicted misery.
She had yelled at him, had been unnecessarily rude at him for something he hadn’t done because she was too furious with herself to properly place her anger. He had ignored it and instead of that listened to her and helped her tame her demons and steered her on the path of healing.
She had messed up on more than one occasion but he simply shrugged it off, calmly sat her down and told her his plans, explaining her how they could fix it together.
When others saw her as a selfish villain who started the multiversal war, he defended her and loyally stayed by her side through the entire ordeal.
When she was plagued by nightmares of her past life, he was there to comfort her by quietly drawing her body closer to his; the rhythmic, steady beating of his heart along with his thumb softly brushing her exposed skin, successfully managed to lull her back to sleep.
Healing was not a linear, steady path so when she hit a roadblock or two and momentarily lost her way, he was her compass that helped her guide her through the challenges born from her own grief. The kind of grief he knew all too well.
When she lost all her hope to have a future, he was her lighthouse that reminded her that together they could sail through any challenge life threw at them.
He was a steady, unyielding presence in her life.
He was her first friend. First person she trusted. First person she had grown to care about. First partner. First love.
He gave her everything she never knew she needed and more. He helped her heal and patiently gave her all the time she needed for that, he gave her hope, gave her love, eventually even gave her a proper, real home.
The first time she had locked eyes with him, she didn’t expect her life would be forever changed in the most magnificent way possible.
She never imagined that a pair of eyes could mean so much to her. She never imagined that she would ever be able to look someone in the eyes, and not only feel comfortable but also appreciated and loved to the point she wouldn’t want to look anywhere else.
Sylvie lets out a small sigh of contentment as blue eyes blink up at her.
The eyes she has grown to love and miss whenever they’re apart for more than a few hours.
The eyes that she could no longer live without.
The eyes that mean the world to her.
Except these eyes are different.
Essentially, they are the same. Same shape, same indescribable shade of blue, they even shine with the same curious, mischievous light.
Except…that they are smaller.
Much smaller.
And younger.
Barely minutes old.
"She has your eyes." Sylvie whispers as she cradles her newborn in her arms, completely enamored with the small being safely swaddled in warm fleece, still rosy and partially coated in vernix.
She doesn’t spare a glance his way – she’s unable to look anywhere else, too enchanted to do so – but the mattress dips and she feels Loki scoot closer on her birth bed to inspect the tiny bundle they made together with love.
"Are...are you sure?” he chokes out, his voice still laden and thick with emotions that have been threatening to overwhelm him since the moment Sylvie felt her water break, the moment that announced that the arrival of their little one was imminent, “It’s kind of-“ he pauses mid-sentence, swallowing down the knot in his throat “It’s kind of hard to tell. She's still so…well, so squished.”
Sylvie scrunches her nose. She’s still drenched in a thick layer of sweat from giving birth and she’s also pretty certain she reeks but somehow Loki doesn’t seem to mind. He leans even closer and wraps an arm around her, mindful to not jostle her or put additional pressure on her aching and exhausted body.
"I'm sure." Sylvie replies dazedly, brushing a thumb along their daughter's soft cheek and wiping away some of the vernix still coating her fragile skin while doing so.
She wasn’t planned. At least not yet anyway. They had still been way too busy with settling into this new post-war life and building a safe home for themselves to even think about having children, when suddenly, after two long and exhausting weeks of Sylvie suffering from the weirdest flu she had ever contracted in her entire life, the very first pregnancy test immediately came back positive. And then another. And another after that.
Finding out they had actually somehow managed to conceive a child – which, given their daily activities shouldn’t really be that shocking, they’re a very proactive couple after all – took them both by complete surprise, but after the initial shock had passed and a few “How did this happen?”’s from a very perplexed Loki (who in fact, should have known exactly how it happened) later, they came to a mutual conclusion that they were both more than ready and fine with this new development.
Loki especially, once the dust had settled, was beyond thrilled with the news. His reaction to the news surprised her in the greatest way. Initially, she worried Loki might struggle with the idea of fatherhood since he had a less than stellar experience with his own father and possibly wouldn’t want a child, at least not so soon.
Worry, that she now knows was futile, completely unnecessary, as Loki took to impending fatherhood like duck to water; spending the entirety of her pregnancy taking care of her, coddling her, supporting her on every step of the way, making sure she and the baby were both comfortable and happy.
She had never seen him look prouder and happier than whenever she caught him staring at her blossoming bump, the evidence of a small miracle they made together. There was a new kind of softness about him, a completely new kind of love in his eyes and it was enchanting.
A small whimper pulls her mind back to present.
“Hello, little one.”
Despite being tightly swaddled, their baby is already displaying her inherited strength as she’s trying to wiggle out and away from the warmth of the soft fleece and instinctively press herself closer to her mother’s chest. The baby’s eyes flicker open again, still bleary and visibly unfocused but this time they stay settled on her.
Their gazes connect, blue on blue, and Sylvie draws in a sharp breath.
She’s barely a few minutes old and there's already so much love in her tiny eyes. So much innocence in them. So much devotion. So much need.
And it’s all aimed at her.
It’s overwhelming.
And yet somehow, Sylvie wouldn’t want it any other way.
She never believed in the cliché of falling in love at first sight, for her that was nothing but classic fairytale bullshit for kids and hopeless romantics, but she’s come to reconsider that because surely this, this, is definitely love at first sight. It can't be anything else.
Just one look into her daughter’s blue eyes and Sylvie feels all pain from her labor disappear in a blink. One look, and it reminds her that she’s not only loved but also needed by someone.
For hundreds of years, she never really felt needed by anyone. Not even by those poor children who sought comfort in their final moments. She was there for them, helped them, but she wasn’t what or who they needed.
Then Loki came along and he filled that void, but he didn't and still doesn't need her the way her daughter needs her.
This is an entirely different kind of need. It's scary and exhilarating and new, and Sylvie swears her heart's about to burst.
So here she is now, cradling her own little girl, her own little miracle created from love that was deemed impossible in eyes of many, including Sylvie’s own for a while, an innocent, new soul who’s entirely dependent on her and Loki, who’s merely minutes old and already stores more love for her in her tiny blue eyes than Sylvie received in hundreds of years from countless beings who crossed her path during her journey in apocalypses.
She’s dimly aware of Loki’s thumb gently brushing her cheek, wiping away her tears, and only then she realizes that she’s been silently crying this entire time. She was so engrossed in her daughter that she was completely oblivious to the tears rolling down her cheeks in a salty stream.
Vaguely, she wonders if Loki’s crying too.
Knowing him, he most certainly is.
The baby clumsily grabs hold of her pointer finger and Sylvie smiles at the contact. She knows they will share a special, deep bond and as a matter of fact, their bond has been growing ever since she found out she was pregnant. Every expectant person forms an unique bond with their baby during those long months of pregnancy but enchantment made it even easier for her to bond with her daughter.
Using her enchantment to check on her little one in those early weeks brought her comfort and calmed her anxieties, reassuring her that everything was fine, the baby was snug and comfortable, steadily growing in the safety of her womb. Months passed and as the baby became more active and responsive to her magical prodding, Sylvie was even able to feel the first tendrils of her baby’s own innate magic reach out to her own, creating the most special magical bond she had ever experienced.
The first time that happened, she sobbed her heart out, nearly giving Loki a heart attack as he jumped to conclusion that the worst-case scenario happened and something went terribly wrong with the pregnancy and the baby.
In the heat of the moment, she was unable to form sentences to ease Loki’s concerns and explain the reason for her meltdown so she just took hold of his hand and placed it on her belly above her own hand, sharing the magical connection with him, knowing and trusting him he would figure it out on his own in an instant.
Safe to say, Loki was a crying mess mere moments later as well.
Her daughter might’ve just been born but Sylvie’s known her for months.
It occurs to her then, that she hasn’t looked at Loki since her final contraction when she bore down with all her strength and nearly crushed his hand in process. She’s pretty sure she heard him let out a small painful squeak when it happened but can’t be certain now as she was busy with pushing out a whole another person and Loki knew better than to speak up or complain about pain in that moment.
With great difficulty she tears her gaze away from her baby, craning her neck to look at Loki and is satisfied when she notices his face is just as wet with tears as hers is.
Not that that’s a surprising or completely unexpected revelation.
But it’s not tears on his face that she focuses on. Nor are his quiet sniffles or his currently-extra-disheveled inky curls that she loves oh so much.
Instead, she focuses on his eyes.
His eyes, the first pair of eyes she’s ever loved and who loved her in return, the eyes that their baby has inherited, are reflecting the exact same loving look she's found in her daughter’s.
Her eyes are mesmerizing, a stunning copy of her father’s and even if Loki doesn’t or can’t see that resemblance yet, she does, and that’s all that matters.
Before her daughter was born, in all her years, all her centuries, only one person looked at her with so much love in their eyes.
Love, aimed only for her.
"She definitely has your eyes." She whispers; her voice much shakier and weaker than planned.
She feels Loki tighten his hold on her, his thumb working overtime to gently caress her skin, but one look at him tells her he isn’t faring much better either and is going through the same emotional chaos that she is.
She knows it’s not just tears that made his eyes shimmer brighter than any star she’s ever seen in her long life. His eyes sparkled with so many emotions; joy at finally meeting their little miracle, the pure happiness born from life finally surprising them with something good, unlimited pride and affection for her who bravely persevered through all obstacles during her pregnancy and birth, endless gratitude for the existence of their tiny girl, care for his own and newly expanded little family - something he used to believe he’d never get to experience.
And most of all, love.
Love.
Love for her. Love for their daughter.
Deep, unconditional love.
Sylvie lets out a shuddering breath as Loki leans in and kisses her forehead. A new round of tears spills down her cheeks and this might just be the most vulnerable she’s ever been, but she doesn’t mind it.
She’s beyond exhausted, but Loki’s at her side showering her with affection and she’s holding their newborn daughter in her arms who just can’t stop wiggling and ultimately this is all that matters to her.
He brushes her tears away and smiles at her. The warm, sincere smile that reaches his eyes and immediately makes her smile in return.
If there’s one thing she’s grateful for, it’s that their daughter inherited Loki’s eyes.
"I would recognize them anywhere."