Archive of Our Own

The sound of a heavy lock being opened and a metal door dragging against the uneven stone floor woke him. In the small room of darkness, a sliver of light appeared showing the outline of the reinforced door. ‘It must be daytime,’ he distantly thought to himself, trying to remember what daytime really was, other than in name. It had been years since he had seen any light other than the dim bulbs flickering to life around him and the brightness of the hallway beyond the door. The clank of a tray being dropped to the ground distracted him from his thoughts.

“Drink your medicine. Now,” a raspy voice commanded and it was only then that the boy realized how thirsty he really was. He scrambled over to the cup and downed the bitter liquid in three gulps. As soon as he finished the cup was snatched away by the man who brought it, silhouetted from behind by the harsh lights. He looked up at the figure looming over him as the rest of the old bulbs in his cell-like room finished flickering on and caught a glimpse of his face in Laufey’s reflective medallion. He looked away in disgust. His movement didn’t go unnoticed.

“Like what you see, boy?” Laufey sneered at him and thrust the mirrored metal in his face.

The boy shut his eyes tightly. “No,” he whispered and took a step back.

“Don’t you shy away from me! Look at me when I’m talking to you!” The boy’s eyes snapped open in fear but he remained where he stood as the yelling subsided back into the sinister raspiness of before. “I always knew you were worthless. Your mother died trying to keep you alive and for what? You’re a monster.” The boy flinched visibly at the hurtful words, but this time Laufey didn’t seem to take any glee from his suffering; he only glared.

The boy lowered his eyes as Laufey leaned down, wanting to turn his face away once more but fearing the consequences of the action. He remembered well what had happened the last time he had so blatantly disobeyed. The boy absentmindedly brushed a finger over a scar on his arm.

“And you always will be a monster,” Laufey whispered, and then stepped back with a smirk. He tossed some scraps of food onto the cold stone ground, most missing the battered tray, and laughed to himself as he locked the door behind him on his way out.

After the heavy footfalls disappeared, the boy snatched up the food and hurriedly ate what little there was. He knew better than to refuse to eat it in protest, that meant no food for a week. In the faint bits of the old lights shining bleakly in his tiny dark room, and the two bright beams from a barred now-open slot of a window in his door, he could see images of himself on the dirty reflective walls: pale and gaunt with dark hair and haunted eyes, and half of his skin permanently stained an odd, splotchy silvery blue-grey. It was then, and only then, when he was truly alone in the dim cell that Loki allowed his tears to fall.

()()()

Many days and weeks passed, it seemed, and now at times he was allowed out of his cell, only briefly, to clean and build a maze of mirrored walls that Laufey had been wanting. Laufey watched him like a hawk so that he could not make any additional twists or turns. He knew the maze like the back of his hand by the time it was finished, but that didn't make it any less daunting. While he was cleaning the mirrors, he was able to keep his eyes averted to only see the pane he was working on. But now, as Laufey locked him inside with a laugh, he saw hundreds of himself reflected back at him from all different angles.

He knew the maze, yes, but as he turned a corner he was sure would lead down a long straight shot to the middle where he could easily navigate the way out from, he ran into a reflective wall. The force of walking headlong into the mirrored surface knocked him onto the ground. As he climbed back to his feet he realized with a sinking feeling that Laufey had moved the door. He had to start from scratch, lost in his own personal hell: all bright lights and reflections.

He wandered, scared, for a few moments, trying to calm down and collect his wits. The mirror on his right had a small crack just about at eye level. He traced his fingers over it reverently; this was it, the one little difference in the mirrors he could use to his advantage. Memorizing every millimeter of the crack he placed his hand on the right wall and began to walk carefully and purposefully. He paid close attention to which direction his own reflections were facing, figuring out the depths of the dead ends based on which side his afflictions appeared on.

He walked for what felt like ages, sure he had gone down a few almost identical hallways, but he knew he had not doubled back over his own tracks. He had to be nearing the end soon, he couldn't have constructed that many more turns in the few short weeks. His hand brushed against a slightly beveled piece of mirror. He touched it with a frown, then pushed, and the door swung open.

He found himself in a small room with Laufey, who was glaring at him almost petulantly. Looking around, he realized the walls of the room were the backs of some of the mirrors and that he could see through them into the maze.

“That was fast,” Laufey complained. Loki only grimaced in response and he was thrown back into his locked room.

()()()

Time passed. Loki wasn’t sure if it was mere hours or full days since the last time Laufey had brought him his medicine. Nothing was consistent in his cell, not the schedule of the lights or the food or the visits from Laufey. He lost track of the amount of times the hallway lights were turned off because he spent his time keeping his face hidden.

He eventually drifted into a fitful sleep but awoke not much later to the sound of a key in the lock of his door. Suddenly the door was wrenched open. He jumped at the quickness of the intrusion and pressed himself against the far corner, knowing it wouldn’t help much but trying to hide nonetheless.

“Get up, boy,” Laufey’s scratchy voice resonated in his little room. “Up! Now!”

Loki got to his feet uneasily and noticed there was someone standing behind his enslaver. He self-consciously brushed his hands over his tattered clothing. Laufey’s strong hand curled around his wrist and wrenched him roughly into the harsh light. Loki fell back to the ground, blinking in the cold light streaming into his eyes.

“Get UP, you. You’re being sold, is this any way to present yourself to your new master?” Laufey dragged him back to his feet and thrust him towards the other man.

Sold? Loki’s brow furrowed. He seriously doubted that anyone would want him, especially enough to pay for him. He wondered briefly if wherever he was being taken would be any better than being held prisoner in his own home. He figured that anywhere was better than his current situation, even though he could only recall the faintest glimpses of memories of anything other than his harsh cell-bound life. He even dared to give himself the smallest bit of hope that perhaps he would be able to have a more normal life.

“Now, now, Laufey, we had an agreement, I get to see the boy before I decide,” Loki looked at the other man, still trying to let his eyes adjust to the light. He looked both kindly and intimidating but there was something in his grin that made Loki uneasy.

“This is Master Odin. And you will respect him,” Loki made no acknowledgment that he heard Laufey, and just rubbed at his wrists and stared back at the ground. “Well?”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, letting a note of irritation slide into his voice, trying to gauge the reaction of the man, whose sinister grin grew by a fraction.

“He’s paying good money for you, now don’t make him regret it,” Laufey hissed at him while Odin pretended not to hear.

Loki glared at Laufey; he figured now it didn’t matter anymore if he showed his distaste toward his father. Odin put a hand on his shoulder possessively.

“It is a fair price. He’s got a small bit of fight in him. I’ll go and fetch your money. I’ll give you half now and half after his debut. He’s going to be the perfect addition to my freak show,” Odin said.

Laufey sneered, “Agreed.”

Loki watched the transaction and felt his stomach fall as his father greedily grabbed the money and left without so much as a glance backwards or a goodbye as Odin wrapped a chain around his wrists and pulled him outside into the cold, biting daylight of winter.

No. Things were not going to be better.

()()()

Odin was both a powerful and terrifying man. Working for him was brutal, physically and emotionally. Oftentimes, Loki found himself wondering if his situation was actually worse than living in the imprisonment of his father. Every day he was forced to get up at the crack of dawn, work tirelessly doing manual labor and cleaning til his fingers were sore, ears ringing from the orders being barked at him left and right all the while being laughed at or stared at or sneered at by the rest of Odin’s household and employees. All of that just to fall into bed every night, exhausted, only to be harshly awoken just to do it all again a few hours later.

As bad as that was, Loki found the mind-numbing tasks preferable. He could have time for his thoughts, and though for the most part that was harmful for his overall emotional state and self-consciousness, he did have ideas. Ideas of the most terrible and wonderful sorts, things only he could dream. Yes, sometimes that was preferable. Because of the weekends. Oh yes, the weekends were much worse.

One part of Odin’s entertainment business empire was a museum of sorts, if you could even call the run down, damp, dilapidated building that. Outside was a sort of fair and Odin would let different traveling circuses come and perform with his own employees and troupe. There were animals and jugglers and mimes, and though Loki hated everything about his situation he was glad to see that the animals at least had much better conditions and treatment than he.

But in that dank building, Loki found his own most personal hell. Inside that building was a series of rooms with human oddities, irregularities, and disgraces, as he was constantly reminded. There were short walls put between the “attractions” and the attendees in each room, but that didn’t stop the unruly, sometimes intoxicated crowd from throwing things at him because he tried to hide in the deepest corner of his room, his back naked and exposed to the crowd, only a pair of worn trousers covering some of his unsightly blemishes. They wanted a show, a reaction, anything, but Loki tried his hardest not to give in, no matter what the punishment awaiting him would be. Anything was better than turning around and facing the harsh lights he couldn’t really hide in, better than facing the laughing and mocking and taunting and pointing crowd, and better than facing the wall of mirrors that Odin had installed, smirking as Loki flinched noticeably upon seeing them for the first time.

Sometimes he would get yelled at or hit by Odin or one of his staff members for his lack of interaction with the guests, but for the most part they were too busy to deal with him, only remembering to free his hands from the long chain on the wall on Monday mornings because the place was a mess and it was Loki’s job to keep it clean. But if he was particularly displeasing, he would be locked in a cage the following weekend, still on display for the crowds, but unable to avoid their jeers and thrown bottles.

The other members of the Shack of Strangeness were, for the most part, paid employees and fakes, Loki came to realize as he walked in on a practice run of the Bearded Lady with a bottle of cosmetic glue in her dressing room one day when he was collecting the garbage. The actors always arrived individually, as if ashamed or secretive about their true identities and what they did for a living, and didn’t stray from their own rooms of the shack; and they always left one at a time when their room was finished. Loki, as the main monster, was in the last room to draw out anticipation and give the biggest shock factor. He was always the first to be put in his room and the last to be taken out.

“Come one and all to see the monster all parents warn their children about!” The announcements haunted his dreams and fueled his rage. Even when he wasn’t on display for the paying customers to gawk at, he felt it. Constantly. Odin would tell him he was meant for great purposes, purposes being another word for profits in Odin’s case. Loki knew that that was all he was there for: a way to make money. Even on his nicer days, Odin wouldn’t let him forget that.

Loki had almost lost track of how long he had been there, since the days and nights ran together in a mess of work and humiliation, but when the seasons began to change he knew he was coming up on a year.

More recently, he had been noticing another boy around the grounds. The boy obviously wasn’t a part of the show, he was dressed too cleanly, groomed more immaculately. He walked around with an entitled air about him and Loki didn’t like the way the boy stared at him with a morbid curiosity.

“My name is Thor,” the little boy said proudly one day as Loki dragged some heavy prop bags past him. “And I am nearly seven years.” Loki only let his mouth twitch in response. “You must answer me when I address you, Odin is my father!”

Loki looked up at that. It really did explain the boy’s seemingly natural arrogance. Of course he was being groomed for the empire as Odin’s only son. He had heard others speak of him before; he had no idea that the boy was a few short years younger than he. “Nice to meet you,” Loki mumbled, putting in as much faked niceness as he could manage.

“An honor, yes, I have been told.” Loki just stared back at him. “How much is it that my father pays you? And do not lie, I shall know.”

“I’m not paid,” Loki answered truthfully, seeing no reason to lie.

“But surely you are, father has you always working.” Thor frowned slightly, golden eyebrows creasing his forehead.

“He bought me,” Loki began. “Master Odin assumed that my appearance would help to draw a crowd for his fairs and therefore has me put in the final room. And though I have been helpful I am merely property and as such I am not paid in anything more than the occasional meals and a roof over my head,” Loki said smoothly, trying to keep the spite from his voice. He didn’t want to sugarcoat it for the boy. He wasn’t lying and shouldn’t receive punishment for his words, and he thought Thor should know the truth about his father’s empire.

“I see,” was all Thor said for a moment. Loki bent back down to pick up the handles and resume dragging the prop bags. “How you talk pleases me, you must have a tongue of gold.”

“Silver,” Loki spat in response, knowing full well that was the cause of his affliction. A whole life of being forced to drink nothing but the thick metallic water and staring at his own hated skin would never let his mind escape that fact.

That earned a laugh from Thor. “Well then, silvertongue, back to work. And here,” he tossed an object at Loki’s feet. “You may have this.” And with that, the little boy left.

Loki looked down and picked up the object. It was a mask.

Later that night, Loki had overheard the boy getting yelled at by Odin for interacting with the staff without Odin's permission. He almost felt bad for Thor, until he heard him explain to Odin that he had only been giving Loki a mask, which drew a hearty laugh from the man.

()()()

Winter was coming and the days grew darker and colder. Loki didn't mind the shortened hours of the shack, but a lot of the time he was still left in the building for days at a time. The shack didn't have any source of heat and the cold was damp. He knew that the next weekend of the fair would be even colder, definitely having a hard freeze, and if his shivering was anything to go by, he wouldn't make it through the weekend if he was trapped in the shack overnight.

He couldn’t stay here any longer, he knew he couldn’t. He had to escape. Loki went about his cleaning duties as normal but was on edge, jumping at every sound and passerby as he plotted his methods of fleeing. It would have to be that night, before the next show started.

He snatched an empty sack from one of the animal feed stores and continued sweeping. He managed to steal a cap and a man’s shirt from the laundry hanging to dry in the cold wind between the house and the storage barn. Shoving those into his bag along with his mask, he tucked his stash into a hidden corner until he could return for it.

In his tiny, frigid room, he waited well past nightfall for the rest of the house to be asleep, then he could squeeze through his tiny window and, hopefully unnoticed, grab his bag and be gone by the time anyone came to wake him.

He nearly fell off his makeshift bed in surprise when the door was thrown open. “Come on boy, we’re opening early tomorrow. You need to stay in the Shack,” a drunken sounding prop hand said.

Loki jumped off the bed and tried to sprint past him, making it into the hallway, but was grabbed by another employee and fell to the ground. Blindly grasping for anything he could get a grip on, his fingers hooked onto a broken pipe as he kicked himself out of the strong grip.

Standing up and panting softly, he faced his attackers. The first man stared and then laughed. “What are you going to do, boy? I’m surprised your scrawny arms can even hold that little pipe.”

Loki frowned at the slurring words. As the second man struggled to his feet, Loki brought the pipe down hard against his head, knocking him out.

“Oh shit,” the first man said, taking a step back.

Enraged, Loki ran at him, the only thing between him and his bag and the exit. The man threw his arm out, fist colliding against Loki’s skull with a sickening noise. Dizzy, Loki climbed to his feet as he dimly noticed muffled voices and doors and lights.

“Loki!” Odin’s voice rang clear from behind him. “What is the meaning of this?!”

Loki swung around and he felt the pipe’s jagged edge scrape against Odin’s arm, tearing fabric and skin.

Barely noticing the pained scream, he whirled back around and with a yell, launched himself at the prop man, the only thing between him and the exit, stabbing the pipe deep into his chest.

They both fell to the ground.

“Loki!” Odin yelled. “You will pay for this!”

But Loki’s blood covered hands were already gripping at his bag and his feet carried him through the door out into the night.

Running through the grounds was like a maze that was constantly rearranged. New pieces and equipment blocked paths that were wide open the day before. He heard footsteps and yelling from all directions; everyone was searching for him, cries of ‘murder!’ mixing with the heavy footfalls in the mud.

Stumbling he found himself at a dead end. He jumped, trying to get a grip on the heavy machinery to pull himself over the top.

A sickening laugh behind him told him it was too late. He turned around slowly and saw Odin, standing wide across his only escape, eyes blazing madly with a knife in hand. His other arm limply hung, dripping blood.

With an angry roar, Odin ran at him but Loki jumped out of the way, landing face first in a large patch of mud. He clumsily tried to drag himself under a nearby cart to stay out of reach but he felt Odin catch his ankle and pull him back.

“You will answer for your crimes, you monster of a boy!” Odin glared down at him and drew back his arm.

Loki threw his leg up in a frantic kick, connecting solidly with Odin’s chin. As the man fell over, Loki rolled out of the way, stumbled to his feet, and ran.

Loki ran. He ran until all he knew was the pounding of his heart and all he heard was the slapping of his feet on the uneven pavement. He ran, over cobblestones and grass and paths, over rocks and sticks and roots, through branches big and small. He ran, tears of pain mixing with tears of joy and freedom and those of the fear of being caught. He ran, until he could run no more. He didn’t know if it had been hours or days, blindly stumbling in the light as he found himself in the clearing of a forest.

Breathing and slowing down to a walk, he looked around, knowing full well that he wouldn’t recognize anything. He noticed the path he was on turned paved with rough stones as he continued cautiously. He was aware of his left hand still clenching the bag he had shoved what little he could into as he fled. Hearing general noises of human life further down the slowly improving road, he stopped to put on the ill-fitting shirt that at least covered his arms and torso, never mind being able to fit about three of himself inside of it. He shoved a cap on over his unruly hair and pulled it down to cover his eyes and help obscure his face.

He took a deep breath. As long as he kept his head down and his wits about him, Loki thought he could keep himself hidden enough to remain alone until he could figure out what to do next.
He looked up when he reached a cross street and realized he was on the outskirts of a small bustling town. He swallowed once and crossed the street. He was pleased to notice that no one was paying him much attention. A few streets down, he stopped at a corner, looking back from where he came to get his bearings. No more than five paces away from him was a man with a curious contraption. Loki frowned as the man stepped behind the machine, pulled a small curtain over his head, and held a bulb-like object in one hand. He looked at what the contraption was pointing at and couldn’t help the small gasp of awe that escaped him.

There was a beautifully ornate building standing in the middle of a tiny shop-lined street with large posters and lamps and manicured hedges along the sides of the street. In bold, brassy lettering he read the words “Shield Opera House” emblazoned across the front of the building.

“Excuse me, son, are you lost?” a voice sounded behind him. Ignoring the feminine tone he assumed wasn’t directed at him because really, no one ever talked to him that nicely, he took a step towards the contraption, noticing a man standing more directly in front of it, striking a pose in an odd sort of costume.

“Excuse me, I was talking to you,” the woman to whom the voice belonged placed a hand on his shoulder. As he spun towards her in shock, trying to pull away and retreat, the man under the curtain squeezed the bulb causing a small poof of an explosion and the brightest light that Loki had ever seen to flash mere feet from his face. With a strangled yelp, he fell to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest.

“Oh, you poor thing,” the voice said softly as his heartbeat pounded in his ears.

()()()

He was aware that he was being carried. This was it, he had been caught. He wondered briefly if prison would be much different from living with Laufey. He was set down on a small bench and only then did he look around.

Loki found himself in a small but very clean ornately furnished bathroom. His eyes widened as he marveled at the glossy fixtures and the rich wallpapers. He had never been in a room as grand as this, and though he knew how silly it was of him to be so entranced by something like a bathroom, he couldn’t help but stare all around him. This lady, he mused to himself, must be a queen or some sort of royalty. When she turned around to face him, he ducked his head again. So far this was the first person to show him true kindness, and though he suspected that it would be short lived he did not want to speed up the process by having her see his face.

“Now then, let’s get you cleaned up,” she approached him with a delicate porcelain basin filled with water and a soft looking cloth. He curled into himself; this was not going to be easy. She drew back, but only a fraction. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her gentle hand was on his shoulder again. It made him want to trust her. She was so different from everyone else he had ever encountered. He wondered if, maybe, his mother was anything like her. Perhaps she was a mother too, that’s why she was so kind.

“What's your name?” He hesitated and didn't answer, but unclenched his arms from around himself. “Still not going to speak?” she sounded both slightly amused and very concerned. “Can you speak?” Loki gave a non-committal shrug before he realized what he was doing. “Well, my name is Frigga, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like, but you do have to get cleaned up first, at least your face and hands before supper.” She reached for his hat, but he flinched away again; he didn’t want her to see. He knew it was going to be impossible to keep it from her but part of him was stubbornly going to try.

“Let me show you a trick. Do you like music?” Taking his hesitant silence as a yes, she began to hum softly as she reached for his closest hand. Distantly, Loki remembered thankfully that it was his unblemished hand. He was much more focused on the melody being hummed at him; he had never heard anything so wonderful in all his life. Music, he added the word to his memory and tried to drink in every sound, when suddenly it stopped. He turned sharply towards her with a frown before he could stop himself. “All done,” she announced with a smirk and held up his one clean hand. He blinked back his surprise and she held out her hand for another limb.

After a moment, he took off his hat and held it out to her with shaking hands. “There you are, I knew there was a boy under there somewhere,” she smiled at him. She resumed her humming and he turned so that she would have to wipe the dirty but unblemished side of his face first. He knew he was covered in dirt, blood, and who knows what else.

When she reached his nose, he held his breath. This was it, he was sure she would scream, drop the cloth, flee, anything. Anything he was used to. Loki closed his eyes, not able to bear the sight of the disgust or fear he was sure was going to cross her kind face. Her humming slowed and paused as she scrubbed at the side of his nose with a little more force. He heard her dip the cloth back in the basin and felt it wipe across the unsightly side of his face.

“Oh,” was all he heard in regards to a reaction and he felt tears prick at his eyelids, mentally cursing himself for letting one fall. He felt her wipe it away ever so gently and only then did he dare to open his eyes. Not only was she not avoiding his gaze, she smiled softly back at him and continued her washing and humming.

When she finished his hands and face, she stood to hang the cloth and place the basin back by the sink, careful not to make any sudden movements so as not to startle him.

“Loki,” he said, voice croaking out in barely more than a whisper as his heart pounded in his chest. She turned to face him, head tilted slightly in question. “That’s my name.”

Frigga smiled again and petted his dirty hair affectionately. “It’s nice to meet you, Loki. Let’s get you some food and then we can get the rest of you washed, alright?”

()()()

Dinner was a thick, warm soup the likes of which Loki had never tasted with freshly sliced bread and cheese. He ate in silence, but felt a bit more comfortable under Frigga’s watchful gaze.

“What happened to your wrists?” She asked.

He looked down at the bruises and angry red welts and pulled his rolled sleeves a little lower. “Handcuffs,” he answered before he could think about stopping himself.

Frigga's mouth went into a tight line but she didn't say anything more on the matter.

When he was seated in the large claw-footed tub, Loki found himself swaying along slightly with Frigga's humming and her touch without meaning to as she expertly worked his hair into a lather. He drew his knees up comfortably to his chest.

“How old are you, Loki?” she asked as she rubbed soap into the nape of his neck.

He leaned into her touch, never before had he felt any contact so loving and wonderful. “Ten,” he replied. With all of the things he didn’t know from sheer lack of experience, he did know his birthday. Laufey never let him forget every year, acting as if the day was even worse than the anniversary of his wife’s death a few short years later.

“You seem to have certainly seen a lot for being so young,” she mentioned and he shook his head. “I mean to say, you've been through a lot.”

“Oh.”

She traced her hands over a few scars on his back soothingly. “My father,” he mumbled, feeling like he could explain to her.

He heard her take in a breath but didn't say anything about it. “And you never ran away before?”

“It was locked,” he said.

“So the handcuffs, did he-” Loki cut her off with a shake of his head.

“Master Odin,” he answered.

“I'm so sorry, Loki,” she said and he felt for the first time that someone actually cared about him. She dried him off carefully and helped him into a soft, clean shirt.

“My mother got sick when she had me. I was sick too. The doctors didn't know why. They thought making me drink colloidal silver and putting it on the infection would make it better. It made me look like this. My mother...” he took a steadying breath, unable to stop the words pouring out of him in short bursts. “She died. My father blamed me for everything. He said I was a monster. Said she hated me. But she didn't...she didn't hate me. Or the Argyria, that's what they called this. She said she couldn't ever hate me. I didn't want to believe him.”

“I'm sure she loved you very much, Loki,” she embraced him gently.

Frigga tucked him into a soft bed in the room right across from her own. She sat on the edge of the bed, gently playing with his hair as he tried to fight the sensation of drifting off. She was humming the same melody to him again, and he was trying to cling to every bit of it, committing it to memory, so he could have the comforting music forever.

It was so beautiful. It made him feel things he hadn't felt before, like happy and safe. He never wanted to forget music. More quickly than he would have liked, though, sleep claimed him, but the music stayed in his dreams.

()()()

The next morning Frigga awoke and went to check on Loki, only to find the room empty and the bed made expertly. She looked around for him frantically, afraid he had fled in the night, when she heard a soft sound coming from down the hall.

She found Loki standing in the bathroom tracing his small fingers over the shining sink faucet and humming the same song she had hummed to him the night before almost perfectly. She watched him curiously for a moment before greeting him quietly.

He spun around, looking frightened. “I’m s-sorry! I’ll clean it! I won’t touch it again, I’m sorry.”

“You’re quite allowed to touch the sink, Loki,” she said gently. “And thank you for making your bed, you did a very good job.” He blinked at her with such a confused expression that she couldn’t help but wonder if he had never heard the words ‘thank you’ or ‘good job’ in reference to himself before. It broke her heart. “I was worried when I didn’t see you there but I’m glad to have found you,” she continued. “Have you heard that song before?”

“Last night…” he looked both embarrassed and confused as he stared at his feet.

“And you memorized it?” He nodded. “That’s incredible.”

“I didn’t want to forget,” he mumbled.

“You should come with me to work today,” she decided. “If you liked that, I'm sure you'll enjoy it.”

After getting dressed and ready, he followed her from her rooms through a long hallway lined with many doors. “These are the dormitories,” she explained. “For the ballerinas and the other performers.”

He didn't fully understand what she meant by all of that, but he was happy to learn about it anyway. As they walked through a curtained doorway, he realized that they were inside of the Opera House he had been standing outside of the day before.

She led him down the dark auditorium aisles and found him a seat on one of the sides caught permanently in the shadow of the balcony section. His eyes widened as he looked all around him, trying to absorb all of the magnificent sights.

“No one will see you here,” she tucked her coat around him and straightened his cap. “We'll be starting soon and I think you'll like what you see.”

Liking it was an understatement. Loki felt so attached and connected to what was happening on the stage and the pit. Never really having experienced music before, he was overwhelmed with the joyful sensations, eyes darting all over the place trying to take it all in at once.

As the ballet progressed, the director had them run through an entire movement start to finish. Frigga walked into the audience seating to check different angles as she normally did. She stopped near Loki to check on him and make sure he hadn't disappeared on her. The look on his face as he stared in wonder from the shadows was of pure joy and awe.

()()()

It was too good to last, however. He had been staying with Frigga for about a month and they had grown very close in that short time. After a few weeks of delightedly watching the rehearsals, Loki had found the audience seating too far away for his liking and would frequently hide within different locations backstage.

One day, as Loki had been watching from the sandbags and the backdrops, some of the orchestra members were watching the ballerinas run through a series of steps over and over because they weren't quite lining up yet.

“Come on, lady, hurry it up,” one of the men complained.

Frigga ignored them and stopped the ballerinas, performing the moves herself so that the girls could watch and learn.

The man whistled. “Well if you dance like that, honey, we don't need them.”

Frigga just rolled her eyes. Loki frowned. He sounded like some of the men he heard at the fair.

“Come on, don't be such a bitch.”

Loki's frown deepened; he knew that word, he knew the man was being vulgar, and before he could think about it he found himself very angrily grabbing the object closest to him and launching himself at the man.

He ended up knocking the man to the ground and repeatedly smacking him in the leg with a small shovel that was used for the sand. “Don't call her that!” he snarled.

“Loki!” Frigga's voice made him stop his attack, and he sat up quickly, jumping off the man. He looked up at her, afraid, and it was then he saw that his hat had fallen off on the stage.

Two of the ballerinas screamed. One ran. Three looked disgusted. Loki gaped momentarily in panic, trying to find something to say, and instead gave up and fled.

()()()

Frigga found him in her quarters, sitting on the floor by the bed, gripping the old sack she had first found him with. His face was tear stained and he looked miserable. He had on a mask that covered half of his face. It made Frigga's heart hurt to look at him.

“Loki,” she said softly, not wanting to startle him.

“I'm sorry,” he said brokenly.

“I know you were just trying to protect me,” she said. “I talked to the director, he's only somewhat angry, and if-”

“I...I just wanted to stay to tell you that I'm leaving,” Loki's eyes didn't meet hers.

“Loki, no, it's alright, I can-”

“No,” he interrupted. “I know what this place means to you. And your job. I don't need you to give that up for me.”

Frigga considered for a moment. She knew there was no convincing him once his mind was made up about something. “But where will you go? Who will take care of you? You're only a boy still, Loki, please.”

“I can take care of myself!” he snapped. Frigga sighed. She knew he could, he was perfectly capable, even more so than many adults she knew. “I'm sorry,” he looked remorseful of causing the pain she knew was visible on her face.

“But where will you go?” she repeated.

Loki looked down again and shrugged, looking every bit the small child that he was. Frigga drew him into her arms. He froze for a moment, then slowly and hesitantly returned the embrace. “If you wanted to stay in the Opera House...” she sighed. She shouldn't encourage such things just because she wanted him near.

“If I wanted to stay in the Opera House what?” she looked down at him and placed a hand lovingly in his hair. He was so sure of his convictions sometimes.

“If you wanted to stay in the Opera House, there are many unused rooms and tunnels made out of old hallways from the different renovations. I know it isn't much, but you could have any old supplies and there are some abandoned beds and things in the dormitories; I could make sure no one questioned their going missing. I just thought that you might want to stay near music,” she didn't add that she hoped he would want to stay near her; she could feel it in the way his arms tightened around her in a fierce hug.

“But what if they find me?”

“Could you really be found if you didn't want to? Most people don't know about the hidden parts of the theatre at all. I only know of three or so of the entrances, and one of those got blocked off a few years ago.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

They spent the evening gathering some small things he could have, tying a little bag together for him. When night fell and it was past curfew for the inhabitants of the dormitories, Frigga led Loki down another series of hallways.

They reached an easily overlooked door at the end of a dark hall.

“Are you sure you want to do this by yourself?” Frigga asked, already sensing the answer.

He nodded, looking a bit nervous but mostly excited. He opened the door and poked his head curiously into the dark rooms beyond.

“Thank you,” he said simply, but with such intensity Frigga knew it was for everything. She only nodded as tears gathered in her eyes.

He hugged her once more and stepped through the doorway, only looking back for a moment to give her a small smile. And then he was gone.

“Goodbye,” Frigga whispered, “my son.”

()()()

Frigga thought of Loki often. The boy was so young and yet he had one of the oldest souls she had ever witnessed. There were times she almost forgot he was only a child; he was so gifted, so talented. He could pick up just about any new skill introduced to him. She couldn't understand why all people saw was the surface. There was a darkness to him as well, that she knew. But she would never blame him for being a victim of cruel circumstances. To an outsider, his decision to leave Frigga might have looked selfish, but she knew that it was only to protect her.

He would drop by and visit occasionally at night, often bringing some new treasure he had found long forgotten and lost in the bowels of the theatre.

She sat in her rooms, humming softly one of the dances she had been working on with the ballerinas that afternoon as she straightened a few things on her vanity table. She jumped when another voice joined hers and spun around.

“Loki!” her hand flew to her heart. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. Somehow he had managed to stand in just the right spot so that the mirrors didn't reflect him. She doubted it was an accident. “That dance you taught today is my favorite so far.”

“You saw it?” He nodded. Apparently he had been putting the abandoned hallways to good use.

“What have you got there?” she asked.

He held up an old looking violin and a candelabra. “I fixed them.”

Frigga lightly plucked the strings and saw the faintest seam of glue on the candelabra, but otherwise they seemed as good as new.

“I have an idea,” she said suddenly.

()()()

“I have a repairman for you,” Frigga said as she entered the manager's office, not even bothering to knock.

“Madame Frigga, it's good to see you-”

She put the items that Loki had fixed onto his desk, cutting him off.

“Here are examples of his work. That candelabra was in pieces, I know because I was the one who dropped it. See if you can find where he put it back together.”

He shook his head after a while. “I see no seams. Incredible. And this violin is in perfect tune! Who is this guy?”

Frigga ignored his question. “You are to give him three hundred dollars a month and he will do repairs and improvements full time as needed. The salary might change as time goes on and depending on what needs to be done. I'll handle all of it, don't worry, just leave the money for him in one of the mail boxes and he'll collect it.”

The manager agreed.

()()()

The bedroom was idyllic, Loki decided. Yes, idyllic. The word fit his new living quarters, finally having a place of his own. He had stolen a few mattresses but re-crafted them into a circular frame that he lowered into a small pit in the floor. The bed was only a foot or two off the ground, with sloping edges to keep all the pillows within. He had found quite a few different pillows, blankets too, and arranged them carefully onto the bed. It looked like a rich nest, all silken fabrics and rich brocades by the time he was done with it. He strung curtains carefully around the room, climbing onto chairs to reach the highest corners of the room. He fixed broken nightstands and arranged them around, covering all the surfaces he could in candles.

Loki had never felt more free than when he was finishing up the construction and organization of his secret home. He had collected all sorts of things from abandoned storage rooms and unused chorus dorms, and amassed many little odds and ends that wouldn't be missed. He had taken some broken and older musical instruments left to rot in a back room and had stolen a box of tools to fix them up.

With his salary, he was able to buy supplies and things for himself and he spent a long time teaching himself how to read sheet music and play instruments that he had fixed.

As time went on, he became more comfortable with the layout and accouterments of the Opera House, liking his anonymity and ability to appear and disappear as needed. When he was fifteen, he started sending musical corrections and advice to the players. When he was eighteen, he sent acting advice. When he turned twenty, he requested in a way that could not be said no to that he would like to have full access to Box Five.

()()()

Frigga could hardly believe that twenty years had gone by since she had first met Loki. During that time he had risen fully to the occasion of restoring and fixing bits of the Opera House. He even started leaving notes and critiques for the musicians and actors, earning him quite the reputation. She was amused that he signed them all “Opera Ghost” after one time being seen by a few early ballerinas who screamed they had found a ghost when they ran into him in the dark. And two years ago he had taken quite an interest in a new girl she had brought to the theatre: Sif. Sif was a chorus girl and could act a bit intimidated and shy at times, but she was fiercely loyal to her fellow cast-mates and was very adept at learning new things. Loki seemed utterly entranced with her, so much so that he had even asked Frigga about her rather than trying to figure it all out himself.

And though she was happy for him, for them both, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry for both of their sakes. Frigga knew Loki was incredibly determined and strong-willed, but his vulnerability with certain things might hurt him when it came to matters of the heart. She remembered the time the trombone player had insulted her; the man still couldn't walk right. Loki could get quite angry or rashly upset when things didn't work out how he wanted or expected. And then there was Sif. Sometimes Sif was so loyal that it came out as pure stubbornness. She knew Sif wasn't quick to judge, but she had no idea how she would react to Loki's appearance. Any wrong move was hard to come back from when it came to him.

“I'm going to give her lessons,” Loki had suddenly announced one day. He had made up his mind, no doubt of it, and more than likely he had already figured out ways around being seen.

In that year of lessons, Sif had grown more quiet and reserved, but still the girl Frigga had brought in. Her friends sometimes worried, but her voice was getting quite skilled. Frigga was very proud of her, and of how great of a teacher Loki seemed to be.

()()()

Standing in the middle of the street, Captain Steve Rogers faced an enormous cathedral of a building with a fond sigh. The Shield Opera House. It felt like it had been a lifetime since he had performed in theatres like that when in reality it had only been a decade. He missed the thrill of the stage, but Steve knew that leaving to join the military had been the right choice for him. He was so glad to be back, even on the other side.

So much in the world had changed while he was enlisted, but one thing would always remain the same: theatre. Operas, musical theatre, spoken plays, it didn’t matter. They all brought in the audience and gave joy and depth and such emotion all the while bringing people together.

His eyes fell on the gleaming queue stands and he remembered playing with his friends as a child on the bumpy cobblestones, watching the theatre-goers line up outside to purchase tickets. Though his mother was too poor to buy tickets to see a show, he loved watching everyone’s happy faces as they waited in anticipation. He had announced, determined, that someday he would perform onstage. Most of the other boys just laughed at him but his best friend, Bucky, had nodded seriously and, with a warning glare at the rest of the boys, said that one day he might play music there too. Steve wondered what happened to his friend, they had been separated not too long after that when Bucky’s parents had to move.

“All right there, Cap?” Steve’s business partner greeted with a slap on the back.

“What have you dragged me into this time, Stark?” he jokingly replied.

“It’s a worthy investment, you know that, and who better to help me out with this than you? You’re a veteran!”

“Yes, in multiple senses, but Tony, I’ve never actually run a theatre. I’ve only acted!”

“Come on, boys, you’re already late to meet with your main investor!” Pepper Potts, Tony’s assistant walked between them and linked an arm through each of theirs.

“Whatever would we do without you, Pepper!” Tony swooned dramatically.

“You’d surely die,” she replied dryly, used to his antics. Steve just chuckled at them, causing Tony to mock being wounded by their harsh words.

()()()

From the inside of the orchestra pit, Sam Wilson was waiting for his cue. Being the only clarinetist in the ensemble had its perks, but he was never allowed much room for error. They had been running through the first part of the second act for the better part of the morning, but unfortunately had been stopping just a few measures shy of Sam's entrance every time for a whole multitude of problems.

“Stop!” Director Fury put down his baton with an exasperated expression on his face, “Volstagg if you say that motherfucking line wrong one more time, I will hit you with this stick.” The bearded man center stage looked discouraged as the other performers hurried back to their starting cues. They were no strangers to repeating small sections over and over again under Fury's direction.

Out from behind a side curtain, Stan Lee, the owner of the Shield Opera House, led a small group of mismatched looking people onto the stage. Sam watched them curiously, trying to place where he recognized the man in the vintage suit with the well-worn briefcase from.

“As you can see, we're in the middle of rehearsing for a new production!” Mr. Lee announced proudly. There was a man who looked something like a model crossed with a lumberjack, and he walked further towards center-stage, seemingly unaware that most of the chorus girls and a few of the chorus men were ogling.

“Come on, man, I am in the middle of this rehearsal!” Fury objected. The only woman in the strange group had the decency to look regretful at their intrusion as she frantically was following around a man who looked like some sort of janitor-mechanic combination, complete with a grease smudge on his cheek and a small tool belt. She was trying, and failing, to get the man to stay still so that she could remove said grease smudge.

“Sorry Director Fury, Madame Frigga, could I have your attention please everyone?” a silence fell over the stage. Sam frowned; news this close to opening was almost never good. “Thank you. As you have probably heard and possibly even helped spread rumors, I am here to announce that I am, in fact, retiring.” Many of the performers began whispering amongst themselves and Sam saw one of the violinists hand a few folded bills to a triumphant looking viola player. “These two gentlemen here are the new owners of the Shield Opera House! I’m happy to introduce to you: Mr. Steven Rogers and Mr. Anthony Stark!”

Sam instantly recognized the man in the vintage suit's name. He had been a fan of Steve's when he was an actor. More than a decade had passed since his time on the stage, and Sam was surprised to see he still looked so young.

“Tony, please. Everyone calls me Tony,” the janitor man, apparently Mr. Stark, said suavely and winked at one of the chorus girls, who giggled and nudged the girl next to her. The lady that was with him rolled her eyes and Sam couldn't help but smile in amusement. “Oh and this is Pepper. Pepper Potts.” Pepper gave a small wave. Tony crossed the stage to the girl he winked at. “Hi,” he nodded at her.

“And,” Mr. Rogers cut him off with a warning glance, “we are also pleased to announce that we have a new sponsor, Thor of Asgardian Productions.” That was apparently the lumberjack-model. There were some squeals and chatter from the chorus once more. Sam knew that having Thor sponsor them was a big deal. Asgardian Productions was a huge name in the entertainment industry. “And he will be joining us to watch tonight’s production,” Steve's voice rang out over the noise with a practiced authority.

Thor stepped forward and addressed the cast, “I am proud to support the arts, it is a great custom indeed!”

Mr. Lee joined Thor and led him over towards a man in an elaborate costume. “Thor, this is our lead, Dr. Bruce Banner. He has degrees in both performance and music; he's been our star for over five seasons now,” Dr. Banner gave a shy smile and shuffled a bit to the left. Sam was glad to see Dr. Banner was out of performance-mode; he would have been angrier about the diverted attentions otherwise. “And this is Mr. Volstagg, Mr. Hogun, and Mr. Fandral, some of our other principle vocalists and dancers,” Lee introduced, and the three men behind Dr. Banner each gave a small bow at their mention.

“It is a great honor to meet you all!” Thor said enthusiastically as he shook everyone’s hand. “I do not wish to stop your rehearsal; your director seems to be quite angered with our presence.”

Director Fury raised an eyebrow, “I am.”

“I am very sorry,” Thor said sincerely. “But I must be on my way, and I look forward to seeing the production tonight!” he waved to the remainder of his group and strode off the stage down the stairs through the empty audience seating.

“Thank you. Finally. Once more from the top, Banner!” Director Fury swooped up his baton and everyone began to hurry to get back to their starting cue locations from drifting off mark. Sam hoped they would reach his part this time.

The small group made their way backstage to get out of the way and a statuesque lady approached them. “Good afternoon. As you can see, we are very proud of our ballets here at the Shield Opera. Here are our ballerinas practicing for the next number. Many of them are also members of the chorus,” Madame Frigga led them carefully around a group of arabesque-ing ballerinas showcasing a slender girl in the front twirling on pointe around another girl holding a pose on one foot.

“I can see why. The two girls in the front are especially exceptional,” Mr. Rogers pointed out, “I haven’t seen pointe like that since my days on the stage.”

“Yes, Peggy and Maria. Ms. Carter has been with us for ten years now, she must have joined not even a month after you finished your time on Broadway, sir. And I found Miss Hill when she was only seven years old. They’re like daughters to me, I’m very proud of them. I assume you have interest in the ballet also, Mr. Stark?”

“Whatever holds his interest at the moment,” Steve mumbled.

“Uh, yes, I do like ballets,” Tony started with a tone of pretentious annoyance. “Just because I haven’t been on stage like you doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it!”

Steve rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He was used to the bickering. “Mr. Lee, why is it that you're retiring again?”

Stan Lee ignored his question as he pointed out part of the costume department.

The group followed Frigga around the backstage area as the on-stage ensemble continued with their number. When the last note was finished, Mr. Stark quickly walked onto the stage with his assistant frantically trying to chase him.

“Mr. Fury?” the director looked up with an annoyed expression, “Hi, since you’re done, would you mind letting us see the piece, the…aria, was it?” he looked to Steve for affirmation, who gave an embarrassed nod, “aria from act three? Thanks. I’ve heard it’s great.” His assistant tried to wipe another stain off of his arm “Not now, Pepper, it’s not going to come off,” he mumbled at her. “But anyway. We’d love to see it. Thanks.”

Director Fury glared a bit at someone else trying to take charge but then looked over at a nervous looking Dr. Banner. “Well?”

Banner nodded and as soon as Fury had his baton raised, the meek singer’s demeanor immediately changed: his spine went rigidly straight and he had a look of fierce determination on his face. He took a breath as the music of the opening notes played and then began to sing, a beautiful tenor tone flowing from him. He threw himself fully into the song, seemingly forgetting all else.

With a crash, one of the large backdrops fell to the ground. Many of the ballerinas screamed and there was instant chaos on the stage.

“He’s here! The Phantom of the Opera!” Maria gasped.

Volstagg looked skeptical but Banner on the other hand looked outraged.

“Dr. Banner! Are you alright?” Stan Lee hurried over to him. “Where’s Clint?” he asked the stage in general. He looked around as both Steve and Tony approached Bruce to make sure he wasn’t injured. “Clint Barton. He’s a stagehand, in charge of the rafters,” Mr. Lee mentioned to Pepper. “Coulson!”

A man rushed out from between some curtains “Yes sir, I’ll get him down!”

Some of the stage crew managed to get the heavy backdrop off the ground and behind it was Clint, holding a frayed piece of rope. “No need, I'm right here.”

“What’s going on up there!” Lee exclaimed.

“Don’t look at me, I wasn’t up at that post, I was fixing the lighting for the new colors Nat changed the last act’s costumes to!” He gestured at a red headed woman further backstage organizing a rack of newly sewn dresses. “There’s no one up there,” he continued. “Or, if there is, they must be a ghost.”

There were more worried sounds and gasps about “the Phantom.”

“Well fuck.” Director Fury said.

“Language,” warned Steve automatically. “All of you show some respect, Dr. Banner was almost crushed by the backdrop scroll!” He was holding another piece of frayed rope that he picked up near Bruce.

Coulson walked up to Steve nervously. “I’ll take that. Thanks. We’re glad to have you here.” Steve gave him a smile and Coulson continued, “I’m a big fan of yours. I…have all your playbills. A complete set,” he said proudly. “I’d love if you could sign them. When you get the chance.” Steve nodded, a bit overwhelmed.

“Well, you know, these things can happen,” Tony began. “Some parts just need replacing sometimes, I probably have some rope in my bag, I can go check, we could have it rigged in a few minutes, thirty tops, no problem.”

“These things can happen?” Dr. Banner said incredulously.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Yes! These things can happen. And they have been happening! For years! I’m done! That’s it! Done! Until you make this stop, this thing,” he gestured to himself, “is not happening! Someone get my stuff! I’m leaving!” He began to storm off the stage. About halfway across he seemed to come back to his nervous self, looked almost panicked, and fled.

Everyone stared after him in silence.

“Well…I think you two can handle it. If you need me, I’ll be on the beach in Australia. Good luck!” And with that, Stan Lee exited the stage.

The remainder of people on stage looked anxiously at Steve and Tony. “Dr. Banner’ll be back,” Tony said confidently. “He will be back, right?” He asked more quietly to Frigga, who shrugged.

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. But I have a message from the Opera Ghost.” She handed Steve a folded paper.

“You’re all obsessed, that’s ridiculous!” Tony said to himself as Steve gave him a warning look and unfolded the paper.

“He welcomes us to his opera house,” Steve began, a light air of confusion and amusement in his voice.

“His?” Tony interrupted.

“And commands we keep leaving Box Five empty for him,” Steve continued, “and says his…his salary is due?” he looked at Frigga questioningly.

“Mr. Lee used to give him one thousand dollars a month. Maybe you can afford more with Thor as your new sponsor.”

Tony opened his mouth to interject but Pepper pulled him aside to shush him, successfully for once.

“Who is the understudy for Dr. Banner?” Steve asked.

“There is no understudy for him, it’s a new production.” Fury called up from the pit where he was reprimanding a bassist for losing his sheet music again. “Last copy, Barnes. I mean it this time.”

“So we have to refund a full house?” Tony spoke up, “and give money to whoever's injuring and chasing off our performers?”

“Sif could sing it, sir!” someone voiced. They turned to see Peggy and Maria pull a girl from the back of the line forward.

“A chorus girl? A girl in general?” Tony looked to Steve, who tilted his head in consideration.

“Well, the part was originally written for a woman…” he thought back on his stage days. “It wouldn't be too difficult to transpose. But it's much more complicated than the chorus lines.”

“She’s been taking lessons!” Maria piped up.

“Oh? Who from?” Steve asked curiously. “I might know them.”

“I…I don’t know his name,” Sif hesitated.

Tony looked apprehensive but Steve seemed more open to the idea.

“This is doing nothing for my nerves, Steve.” Tony complained.

“It's worth a shot, Tony, what other options do we have?”

“Let her sing for you, she has been taught well,” Frigga added, and Steve nodded.

“Director?”

“From the beginning of the aria then,” he said exasperatedly.

Sif stepped forward nervously as the orchestra started playing. She began singing, softly at first, finding it hard to get the words out because she was so apprehensive of messing this up, especially because there was no understudy and she knew that her teacher would be listening. Her voice shook on a note as it barely came out and she flinched. She glanced to the side and saw Frigga give her a stern look. She took a breath and sang her next line much more clearly, gaining confidence at the approving eyebrow raise from Director Fury. She told herself that she had this completely under control.

Steve, transfixed, grabbed Tony's arm halfway through the first verse and gave him a single nod.

()()()

Thor watched the production from Steve and Tony's box on opening night. He was happy to see that the audience was packed; he knew he had invested wisely. When the aria began, he thought that he recognized the girl on stage.

“That's Sif,” Tony leaned over to whisper to him. “She just stepped in for Dr. Banner this afternoon.”

It was her then! Thor clapped and cheered loudly along with the audience at the end of her solo. She had grown up quite a bit since he had last seen her, but then again he supposed that he had as well. He was so thrilled to see her again and he was very proud of her to have this moment. He made a mental note to speak with the managers later about securing her a more permanent high position in the cast. He wondered if she would remember him. He hadn't thought of Sif in years, but seeing her brought back all of the fond memories from their childhoods.

He decided that he would go to see her when the performance was finished. Perhaps she could accompany him to dinner and they could catch up.

()()()

Sif remained frozen on the stage as the curtains dropped, separating her from thundering applause and standing ovations all around. She was breathless and exhilarated; completely overwhelmed and over the moon. This was what it was like; this was what she had been dreaming of her whole life.

As she turned to exit the stage, she was immediately gripped into a tight bear hug from Volstagg. Hogun and Fandral rushed over, twirling her around and congratulating her as they laughed in celebration. Peggy and Maria fawned their adoration as well, giving her a flower from their bouquet props from the last number.

The curtains raised for the cast to take their bows and Sif felt ecstatic having her friends there beside her. The audience still hadn't stopped cheering since her song ended, and Volstagg thumped her on the back proudly as she beamed.

The curtains fell again and she was whisked backstage. Natasha began unbuttoning the intricate fastenings on the back of her dress to get it hung up

“Oh, Natasha, this dress was to die for,” Sif gushed, elated. Natasha smiled, proud of her last-minute seamstress work. She had made the full-length sparkling ball gown in less than four hours.

“Well done,” a voice sounded from Sif's left.

“Madame Frigga,” she curtsied. “Thank you.”

“He will be pleased with you,” she replied with a knowing smile, and Sif felt her cheeks warm slightly. Madame Frigga handed her a single rose tied with a silken ribbon. She knew it was from her mysterious teacher, she had gotten a few from him before. She really hoped that he would be pleased; they had worked so hard for something like this.

“And you!” Frigga admonished with an air of frustration, turning to the dancers flitting across the stage. She knew that Sif would want some time alone. “You all need more practice! Come. Now. To the barre,” she set a brisk pace across the stage to the back practice rooms as the remaining ballerinas hurried to keep up.

Sif made her way around them and slowly headed towards her dressing room, still overwhelmed from it all and deep in thought. She didn't notice Maria sneak away from the rehearsal to follow behind her.

When she reached her door, she came back from her thoughts, finding herself entirely alone in the silent hallway, such a change from the bustle of backstage.

“Brava,” a voice behind her whispered seemingly out of nowhere. She knew if she turned there would be no one there. “Brava, Bravissima...” the lilting voice now sounded as if it were in front of her, slightly increasing in volume. She was alone, but she knew that it happened occasionally. Her teacher had strange ways sometimes. She just wished that she could see him, or even just know his name.

Ever since she had first come to the Opera House, ever since her first month in the back of the chorus, she had felt his presence. He had finally come to her in her dreams one night, just as a soft whisper waking her up. Or at least, she thought she had woken up. She followed the voice like she was sleepwalking, in a dreamy trance. She never knew where it took her, but she felt safe in the room. She would sing as instructed and sometimes he would reward her with a rose or a kind message.

She knew that she was getting better, more skilled and more confident in her vocal abilities. It was all she had dreamed of doing since she was a child. And now it was happening. She practiced all that she could, the voice teaching her new melodies and songs, new vocal exercises and tricks, and she felt her voice soaring.

She felt so alive in those moments. She often wondered if they were just dreams, but when she woke up more tired than when she had gone to bed, voice soft with wear but still warmed up, she believed it to be real.

She didn't tell anyone of her mysterious teacher, knowing they would think she was insane. She just told her friends that she was in fact taking lessons but she couldn't talk about it. But somehow she felt that Madame Frigga knew, and knew well, what was happening most nights at the Opera House.

“Sif?” Maria's sudden appearance around the corner in her doorway brought her out of her reverie. “Why'd you leave so fast? You were so perfect tonight!”

Sif smiled at her. “Thanks, Maria.”

“I wish I knew your secrets. You know. About your lessons. Where you go sometimes. I wish I could learn just some of the things you've been able to do.”

“I think he might be an angel,” Sif replied, more to herself. “He's always there, but I've never seen him. I wish I could know too.”

()()()

Tony, Steve, and Pepper escorted Thor backstage and down the hallways of the dressing rooms, all talking over each other in excitement about the successful performance. Tony had an open bottle of champagne he kept trying to pass to Steve. Pepper delicately held a glass, much more sober than her manager.

“Tonight was perfect!” Tony exclaimed, slightly slurring. “Perfect!”

“It was,” Steve agreed more softly, ignoring the bottle bouncing off his bicep. “Not a single refund or any confusion about the change of cast. It went very well.”

“I think we may have made a discovery with Miss Sif!” Tony continued happily. “The audience loved her!”

Pepper nodded serenely and steered him through a doorway.

“Well. Here we are: her dressing room. Would you like us to introduce you?” Tony gestured at the door.

“No, this is one visit that I prefer to make alone. Thank you kindly, sirs!” Thor took the champagne bottle out of Tony's outstretched arm, handed it to Pepper, and knocked on Sif's door rambunctiously as the rest of the group continued down the hall.

“You'd think they've met before!” Pepper mentioned in a suspicious whisper and Tony nodded with a quirk of his eyebrows.

Thor pushed open the door and smiled at Sif, who had her back turned. “Sif, have you misplaced your scarf?”

She spun around and beamed at him happily, “Thor! I thought it was you in the manager's box!” She hugged him tightly, “you know very well you caught my scarf when it blew off the balcony.”

“And then I took you riding on my horse every day for the rest of the summer!” he added and Sif laughed in nostalgia. “Oh I have missed your laugh, Sif. I was ever so sad when you moved away. We had such a nice summer. Remember those stories your parents used to tell us?”

“Yes of course! About the angels! The Angel of Day and the Angel of Night...”

“And the Angel of Music, your favorite, as I remember,” Thor chuckled to himself.

“Thor...about the Angel of Music...” she trailed off, worried about telling him and having him think her strange.

“Yes?”

“Remember how I wished he would come to me and teach me all the secrets of songs? I believe I have been visited by him.”

“Oh no doubt of it! Your song tonight had a very angelic tone! I quite enjoyed it.” Thor agreed merrily.

“No, Thor, I'm serious. He's come to me many times. He has been teaching me.”

“No doubt! And now, we should go to dinner!”

“No, Thor, I mean...he's real. He's my teacher. He's very strict; I can't leave. It's getting late, and I shouldn't-”

“I shan't keep you out too late!” Thor interrupted with a laugh. “After all, I am the new sponsor, it would not be proper of me to keep you out scandalously late, Sif.”

“You're the sponsor everyone has been talking about? Oh Thor, that's wonderful! I had no idea it was you, I missed the announcement earlier. How has everyone been?” She placed a hand on his arm in congratulations.

“We can talk more at supper! I shall get the carriage pulled around.”

“No, really, I-”

“Five minutes, Sif! I will be waiting outside!” He exited her dressing room happily. “Just like old times!”

“Things have changed, Thor...” she said to herself as the door shut behind him.

“Who is this boy?” A voice rang out. “Who is this frivolous creature trying to bask in your glory?” Sif turned but the owner of the demanding voice was nowhere to be found. “He’s a fool, trying to share our triumph!”

“Oh Angel, you’re here! Forgive me for sharing my joy, I was just so excited about tonight. Thank you for teaching me so much. Come in, please,” Sif pleaded, trying to placate him. “Will you stay? I wish to thank you in person.” She was desperate to see the Angel who had given her song a voice.

“Of course, my dear,” the voice was softer, caressing now. “You shall know me and see why I hide, if you'd like. Look in your mirror there on the wall, there you will see me.”

Sif turned to her full length mirror and saw a shadowed outline alongside her own reflection in the frame. The figure began to fade into a man. He was taller than her, with dark hair and dark clothes. He had a cape draped over his shoulders and half of his face was covered in a mask.

“Angel…” Sif whispered. She took a few steps towards the mirror. She stared at him in wonder. He was real, he was here.

“I am your Angel of Music. Come to your Angel of Music,” the Angel’s voice turned into the singing lilt Sif was so fond of hearing in her head.

There was a knock on her door but she paid it no mind. Her angel was standing in front of her for the first time. It was as if she was transfixed and nothing else mattered.

“Sif? Who is in there with you?” Thor’s voice called through the door, “whose voice is that?”

“You are my Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music…” the Angel continued. The glass in the mirror seemed to shimmer with every word. Sif took a few more slow steps towards the man, feeling a trance-like pull to him. He reached a hand towards her.

She extended her hand up to meet his against the glass, but instead of touching the cold surface, her hand went right through until it brushed his. He took a hold of her hand in a firm but gently grasp. She couldn’t hold back the small gasp that escaped her. His hands were cold but comforting.

Sif took a step through the frame where her mirror used to be. Behind her Angel was a winding hallway lit by candles lining the walls. She felt the transition from carpet to stone under her feet, and in his grasp everything felt magical.

He led her around the first bend of the passageway hidden in the Opera House and the floor began to slope downward. She had no idea that such places existed in the theatre. The candles along the walls seemed to part on their own as they walked between them. Occasionally they would pass a doorway with draped curtains pulled to the side, but he continued to lead them down the main part of the hall. At the end of the slope they reached a curving metal staircase deep within the main floor of the Opera House.

“In my dreams you have always been there, singing to me, teaching me...How do I know this isn't just another dream?” Sif wondered aloud. “It always feels so real.”

“Of course it is real, Sif,” his gentle voice echoed back to her. At the bottom of the staircase there was another, wider hallway with even more candles. The floor continued to slope and she realized that they must be so far down that they were even below the under-stage storage area.

“I knew you had to be real,” Sif murmured, sounding a bit relieved. “But why now? Why have you not shown yourself to me before?”

“You will learn, Angel.” He pulled her around a corner and down four long stone steps to a canal. She gasped; she had no idea there were so many things deep within the old Opera House. No one would believe her if she told them there was a hidden lake. The Phantom helped her step into a small boat and she looked around in awe as he began to slowly row them through the water.

“I need you to sing with me once again,” he said as she turned to look back the way they came. “I have always needed you for my music. And though I have always been there, in your mind, it is time you learned that I am indeed very real, Sif. I cannot have you doubting that.”

She reached a hand towards him a couple inches as he turned to face forward but retracted it and turned to glance back at the water reflecting the hundreds of candles. The canal had two iron gates right in front of them that slowly began to open as they approached. “Why is it that you only sing to me?”

“In time you shall learn all, if you'd like to. People hear all of me that they need to, through you. Your voice reflects my spirit.”

“And your mask? Will you tell me why you wear it?” Her question went unanswered as the canal widened to a small lake and she could see more stone steps forming a sort of shoreline wrapping a semi-circle around the water up against dank walls.

Underneath the Opera House was a labyrinth. Underneath was darkness and mystery. Underneath were hidden passageways and traps. Underneath was terrifying and beautiful. Underneath the Opera House was his home. And now, Sif knew what she had only suspected: the Angel of Music, her teacher, was the mysterious Opera Ghost. The Phantom of the Opera was her Angel.

“You're the Phantom of the Opera...” she whispered.

“And haven't you always known it, there in the back of your mind, that I was?” Sif nodded, eyes glued to his form as he stood, steering the boat to the edge.

“Will you tell me why people fear you? Why you seem to want them to? If you are as you seem, I do not understand...” she trailed off.

“Sing for me, Angel.”

Sif began to sing cascading arpeggios and gentle drifting melodies she could recall from her dreams. It had all been the Phantom's work, for years, sending her music in her sleep and singing songs in her head.

“Sing...sing...” he encouraged and she continued, letting a crescendo bring out more notes of the strange melodic progressions that she remembered. He held out a hand for her as they reached the other side of the lake and helped her step out of the boat. “Sing!” He took a step back, directing her to stand straight and unrestricted, her head tilting back slightly, and Sif was able to hit a note she had only wished for in her dreams.

He took her hands again and walked backwards, softly pulling her towards an organ covered in candles. Sif looked around and noticed that a few fully lit candelabras were rising out of the lake as the Phantom sat down at the organ and began to play. He began with a melody that was familiar, as if from a forgotten dream, and slowly worked in more flourishes and harmonies.

“I have brought you here, to where I create music,” he explained, “because ever since I first heard you sing, Sif, from that very first moment, I've needed you with me to sing for my music. Never before have I heard anyone that can bring it to life such as you. Never before has anyone seemed to understand. I need you with me for my music, this music of the night.”

He continued playing and humming gently along as she sat down beside him, still in a trance-like state. It was incredible, hearing and seeing such beauty pouring out of his fingertips at the instrument. “Can you feel it too? How the night heightens your senses and imagination? So much better than the garish daylight, so cold and unfeeling. It's tender and caressing, this darkness. Just close your eyes and let it take over you and inspire you. Forget your life before, now you will know the true power of music. Your spirit will soar, Sif. Nothing will be the same.”

Sif let the music wash over her. She did feel different, like how she felt whenever her Angel was near, but so much more now than before. Everything else was gone in that moment.

He stood up but the music continued, like magic. He helped her up gently as she stayed absorbed in the music and put a hand on her shoulder as he walked behind her. “Let the music surround you,” he whispered in her ear. She could hear the organ still playing even though no one was there, and suddenly she could hear a full orchestra playing along. “You know you belong here in this world with me.”

She couldn't help the small intake of breath at his words as his other hand rested on her hip and he stood right behind her. “Trust me, Sif. Savor it. Let your dreams become real. Can't you feel the power of my music and its darkness?” He slowly spun her to face him.

“Do you trust me, Angel?” he asked. She placed a hand on his mask and caressed it slightly. It was cool to the touch and very smooth. She could see his smile in his eyes. He took a step back, taking up both of her hands in his once more, leading her as he walked backwards towards a drawn curtain.

He pulled it aside and she saw a beautiful white dress. As she stood directly in front of it, she saw that it had to have been made for her; there was a mirror behind it and she could see herself wearing it. Feeling overwhelmed by the music and her Angel, she felt herself sway and her knees became weak. As she collapsed in his arms, the last things Sif was aware of were how easily he caught her, both carefully and strongly, and that he smelled of parchment and soap. He picked her up, carrying her past another curtain to a large round bed. He laid her down among the plush pillows and bed spreads. “Sleep, my Angel. I have much still to show you.”

Sif allowed her eyes to drift shut and felt the Phantom very gently stroking her hair, so lightly that she almost thought she was imagining it. She heard him humming very softly like a lullaby. “You alone can make my song take flight, help me make the music of the night…”

()()()

Loki let the curtain fall behind him as he left her in his bedroom. She was here. Where he lived. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He had dreamed this day would come, yes, but he hadn't dared to let himself hope it would have come so soon.

There was so much that he wanted to show her, so much that he wanted to teach her. She seemed so receptive and excited and eager to learn. He suddenly had the idea for a new melody and re-seated himself at his organ as he began to write.

He let the notes flow from his fingers, moving frantically across the keys and the paper fresh with new inspiration and ideas.

()()()

Outside the Opera House, as the last of the guests were leaving, a carriage pulled up the long driveway.

“You can stop here, Heimdall,” Bruce Banner voiced from the back seat. “He should be here soon.”

He sat patiently for a while, his normal demeanor in the forefront. He pulled out a cracked pocket-watch and checked the time. “Soon...” he reassured himself.

True to his word, Ian the intern walked out of one of the side doors to the theatre and approached the carriage cautiously. “Hey,” he shuffled his feet and didn't meet Dr. Banner's eyes.

“Well?” Dr. Banner was getting impatient. His calm trepidation was deteriorating quickly as Ian made a grimace of a face, and his stage-persona was coming out. “Well??” he repeated.

“They...um,” Ian rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Banner grabbed him by the edges of his jacket and pulled him close to the carriage. “They liked her, ok? The whole audience was happy!” he gasped, wanting to get away from the uncomfortable situation and the demanding diva.

Bruce dropped him with a frustrated groan.

“Well, maybe for the next show-” Ian mumbled.

“Whatever. Take me home, Heimdall.” Banner demanded, looking a little green.

()()()

When Sif awoke, she was surprised to find herself in a plush bed. She felt like she had just experienced the longest, most realistic and fantastic dream. She opened her eyes and sat up, looking at the room lit only by candles. There were curtains draped over the stone walls and beautifully wrought iron sconces and candelabras on end tables between them.

She could remember mist swirling upon a lake; a lake covered in candles, and she got across by riding in a boat. The boat had come from a hallway, a long stone hallway, and...oh! Her Angel! He had steered the boat, he had led her down the hallways and stairs, he had carried her to bed! She jumped up and skittered to the curtain she now recalled to be a doorway.

Outside on the small platform above the stone stairs, the Phantom was playing his organ and scribbling furiously on a stack of parchment papers. She slowly walked out of the room, taking everything in again, and walked up behind him. Was this real? Was this her Angel, her Phantom? Would he explain everything to her now and teach her more?

She reached a hand to his left shoulder and he turned towards her with an almost serene expression, then suddenly coming back to himself he quickly turned away throwing a hand over his face. “No!” he wailed. It was only then she realized that the mask was sitting next to him on the bench. He scrambled to grab it but ended up knocking it off the bench where it skidded down the stairs behind them with a clatter.

She had noticed something about his face, something odd, but her glimpse had been too fast.

“You...damn you,” he whimpered, staying turned away from her. Going after his mask meant turning around.

“What? Why do you hide from me? You brought me here! What could truly be so horrible? Surely you-” she broke off with a gasp as he violently spun back to face her. She flinched more at his sudden movement and raised voice more than anything.

“Is this what you wanted to see?!” He grabbed her shoulders and stared into her face, forcing her to look and daring her to show some sort of revulsion or amusement or hatred.

She froze, just staring, taking in her Angel's face for the first time. He was pale with darker features, and half of his face looked to be splotched with ink. But she knew it wasn't so. That part of his skin was an odd silvery greyish blue and the uneven splash streaked across his face from his forehead to his nose and down his neck. But with that there were also scars on that part of his face, old looking scars, that had healed a bluer grey. His eyes, though, were what truly had her transfixed. They were golden brown and though he was angry and fierce sounding, she could see how much sadness they held deep within them along with a look of fear.

She just stared. And Loki stared back. He didn't know what to do. Everyone always ran or was afraid or called him a monster. He reacted angrily because that's what was always forced from him. But Sif, Sif just stood there. He hesitated, trying to make words come out, but in this situation he was immobile. His left hand crossed in front of his chest self-consciously to grip his right arm, fingers absentmindedly picking at old scars. He was embarrassed, both by his outburst and her curious scrutiny.

She bit her lip after what was only a moment but felt like hours to Loki under her gaze. He turned his face away, not being able to bear their intense eye contact any longer. “Now you know,” he said, back to his normal volume. He took a step back and turned his eyes downward towards the organ keys.

“Can you even bear to look at me? Or think of me with this grotesque face? I am repulsive. Loathsome. For my whole life I have been hated because of this, burning here in this hell but I have always secretly yearned for heaven. But I know I could never...” he trailed off and a new thought seemed to come to him.

“But Sif...fear can turn to love, can't it? You can learn to see and find the man behind the monster. Though I seem a beast, I secretly dream of beauty.” He sighed and moved from his bench around the candles to the stairs where his mask lay.

With shaking steps, he sat next to it and put his face back into his hands as his elbows came to rest upon his knees. Sif carefully moved to sit next to him on the other side of the stair with the mask in between them. Beside her, she also noticed a small and incredibly ornate music box. She touched it softly and it began to play a quiet melancholy tune.

He swayed slightly to the music unconsciously. “Hide your face so the world will never find you,” he whispered to himself.

Sif picked up the mask gently and brushed it off, noticing a small chip on the edge. She held it out towards him carefully and slowly, like he was a wounded animal. “I'm not afraid,” she said, and she wasn't. If anything, she had immense pity for her Angel. Someone must have treated him badly for him to see the world in that way.

He looked up at her and after a moment of hesitation took the mask back. He kept it in his lap for a moment, eyes never leaving it, then reached up to put it back upon his face. The Phantom took a shaking breath and then faced her once more. “Oh, Sif,” he looked as if he didn't know what to say.

“What's your name?” she asked quietly. “I...I can't go on calling you Phantom or Angel forever now, can I?” She hoped that her lighter tone would help along with trying to let him know that she truly wasn't afraid or going to run off.

“Loki,” he replied. “My name is Loki.”

“Loki,” Sif repeated and he allowed a small, sad smile to escape his re-masked emotions. She reached out with her hand again and lightly placed it on top of his. His hand twitched slightly under hers but her let them remain.

“Will you return? I have much more I would like to teach you,” he seemed worried still that she would flee.

“I do not know the way,” Sif began. “But I would very much like to come back and learn some more.”

He nodded. “I'll come for you again. If you want,” he added.

“Yes, do. I have always appreciated our lessons but they would be much better in person I think.” Finally seeming to understand that she would at least be there once more, he let his hand turn over to hold hers.

“I've been trying to look out for you. I'm glad you were able to have the aria last night.”

“I know you've always been there; it's been comforting to me at times. I didn't always know you were real. I wouldn't dare let myself believe it or get my hopes up.”

He let out a quiet sigh and they remained in silence for a moment. “Come. Those two idiots who run my theatre now are probably wondering where you've gone.”

()()()

Standing in front of a semi-circle of ballerinas and stagehands, Clint was dramatically telling a story with a piece of rope and a light with a gleam in his eyes. “His skin is like parchment, yellowed and rough and ink stained. There’s a great black hole on his face where his nose never grew,” he grabbed a length of cloth from a nearby cart and swished it over himself like a cloak.

Natasha rolled her eyes at him from the corner.

Clint twisted the rope into a makeshift lasso and looped it around his neck. “You must always be on your guard!” he warned and he put a hand through the loop. “Keep your hand at the level of your eyes to save yourself! Or he could catch you with his magical lasso!” he pulled the rope tighter and made a face like he was being strangled. Some of the girls giggled at his showing off.

Natasha snuck up behind him as he took his hands down and quickly pulled the rope back tight around his neck. “Always be aware, huh?” she smirked at him and winked at Coulson who was watching the whole scene with amusement.

“Don’t speak ill of him, or he could burn you with just the heat of his eyes!” Clint lunged forward at the small gathering and the girls scattered.

“Oh now you’re just being dramatic,” Natasha nudged him.

“You know I have to, Nat.” Clint had a deal with the mysterious Opera Ghost: if he kept the rumors and fear going around, then the Phantom would give him things he needed to pursue his career as a cellist. He didn't make enough money as a stagehand to buy his own equipment as often as he needed, and the man gave him sheet music every few weeks, each a bit more challenging than the last, so that he could learn.

“I know, I know,” she sighed and faced him. “You’ve been getting better. I heard you playing the other day, what was it, Tchaikovsky? Yeah that was it. You’re getting good!” she punched his arm.

“Ow!” he faked. “Well now how can I play? You've ruined me!”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, Barton,” she winked at him and then a serious expression took over her face. “What’d you get this time?”

“New resin for my bow,” Clint looked excited.

“Really? That’s great!” Natasha smiled at him. “Just be careful, ok? You’ve still never met the guy.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Of course you do,” she looked to her left and smirked at Clint again, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “And our wonderful manager has been watching us this whole time.” Clint turned faintly pink. “So go talk to him already!”

“Natasha,” he warned but it was too late, she had shoved him in Coulson’s direction and skipped off to talk to Madame Frigga.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he corrected his stumbling from Natasha's push and walked the last few steps over to where Coulson was standing.

“Director Fury tells me he’s been letting you practice on one of the spare cellos?”

“Y-yeah. After hours of course, when I’m done with the ropes.” Clint looked at the neatly tied ropes behind Coulson. “Which…which are apparently finished?”

“I had some help,” Coulson smiled. Natasha bowed behind him when she met Clint’s eyes. “Natasha said you were very skilled with a bow. And mentioned something about Swan Lake?”

“That’s what I’ve been practicing recently.”

“Mind if I listen in sometime? Director Fury’s thinking of expanding the pit next season. We might need some more low strings. He usually takes my recommendations.”

Clint couldn’t hold back his smile at that. “Yeah, that’d be wonderful!”

“I'll see if we can get you some sheet music for one of next season's shows.” Coulson gave his shoulder a pat as he walked away to check the remaining stagehands' posts.

()()()

Darcy sighed to herself, alone in her ticket booth. She was bored. So bored, in fact, that she had built a mini Opera House out of old ticket stubs. A small gust of wind knocked the precarious structure over and signified her door opening.

She groaned. “Hey you knocked over my tiny Shield!” Turning, she saw a befuddled Pepper and brightened. “Oh! Hey boss! Wanna help me build it again?”

Pepper tossed her a wrapped sandwich. “Lunch break,” she smiled.

“Thanks!”

“Mind if I...?” she gestured at the other chair in Darcy's little booth.

“Sure,” she propped her feet up on the counter.

“So what were you doing?” Pepper looked at the pile of discarded tickets.

“A terribly important task of course: building a replica of the Opera House out of old ticket stubs.”

“Ah. Yes, very important. I see.” Pepper was amused. Darcy found she quite liked it. “How are the sales?”

“We're already sold out for the boxes, and there are just two more seats in the balcony left.”

Pepper nodded and placed a few bills on the counter. “I'll take them. Now you're sold out.”

“Awesome!” Darcy handed Pepper the last two tickets from her folder.

“So it wouldn't be a problem if you were finished early for the day?” Pepper asked.

“I think I could deal...”

“Good. I was wanting your help with something.”

“Sweet. I'll just finish up here and we can go!” Darcy felt her cheeks tinge with a blush as she swept the stubs off the desk into a drawer with her arm and gave Pepper a sheepish smile.

The task was delivering a series of notes to a few offices and dressing rooms. It seemed that Pepper had just wanted the company.

“Who are these all from?” Darcy asked. “They look fancy.”

“The Opera Ghost, apparently,” Pepper said dryly. “We've been getting them for a while, about salaries and such, but this is the first time I've had a whole stack of them to give out.”

“Huh,” Darcy replied intelligently.

When they had finished delivering the notes, they meandered down the long stretch of hallway. Darcy felt a little lost now that their task was completed. She found herself fidgeting, tried to make herself stop fidgeting, which only made it worse.

“Did you know that this is the first theatre we've done anything with?” Pepper mentioned conversationally.

Darcy shook her head. “It doesn't seem like it.”

“We went to a show one time, Tony has a friend in the orchestra, and right then and there he decided that was what he wanted to do this time. 'Pepper, I want a theatre,' he said, just like that. Turns out it was about to be put on the market anyway, so here we are.”

“That's ridiculous!” Darcy laughed.

“That's Tony,” Pepper replied. “Thanks for coming with me, by the way. I thought you could use a change of scenery from your ticket booth.”

“Yeah it's nice to...walk around,” she finished lamely.

“You could have the other ticket. To the show I mean. When we finish opening we could go watch it together.”

“Oh yeah that would be...I mean, if you want- not that you don't, but I mean...uh...wow,” Darcy shook her head to stop her rambling. “Yes please.”

Pepper smiled. “Good.”

()()()

Sitting in his office looking at the day’s newspaper headline, Steve Rogers sighed to himself. Some things never changed with the media. “Mysteries after gala night,” he read aloud to himself. “New lead is missing after a successful performance.” With another sigh, he pushed back his chair. “It’s no wonder she wasn’t able to be found. The paparazzi are relentless sometimes. Poor girl was in the backgrounds until last night,” he mused. “Though I do wonder where she's been today, rehearsals have been going on since earlier this morning and we need her here to practice.”

It was bad enough having Dr. Banner leave after the incident, but to have their new lead gone too? It was maddening. Maybe he should have stuck to an early retirement after his years of performing. After his time in the service, he had gone almost straight into Tony's many ventures. Tony had been building supplies for the troops, but that only lasted a little while before he got bored and moved onto something else. One of Tony's friends from the orchestra had mentioned that the theatre was going to be sold and Tony couldn't resist.

He heard a knock on his door and opened it to find Tony looking smug. “Hey. Have you seen the headlines? We’re on the front page!”

“We’re missing two of our performers, Tony, how are you pleased with this?” Steve griped.

“Gossip is gold, my friend,” Tony patted his shoulder confidently. “To hell with the great ballets and composers, if there’s a scandal people will come running.”

“Come on, Tony. People here really appreciate the greats, it’s not just about the crowds and the media and-”

“Did Darcy tell you? We’re sold out. All nights this week. What was that you were saying? Huh? Yeah, scandals pack them in!”

Steve was taken aback and frustrated with being wrong. “Did you verify with Mr. Selvig? You know how prone she is to exaggeration.”

“Her intern handled a lot of the sales, actually, and yes I talked to Eric.”

“Her intern? Since when have ticket takers needed interns?” Steve asked skeptically.

“Apparently she just found one.” Tony shrugged.

“Hmm,” Steve replied noncommittally. “But Stark, what you fail to realize is that Dr. Banner had no understudy. Miss Sif definitely doesn’t have one. Who’s going to sing this week? We can’t have a missing lead; it won’t work.”

“Damn.”

“Language, Tony.” Steve replied automatically.

Tony looked down at Steve’s desk, mumbling to himself and noticed a familiar looking envelope. He grabbed it from the tabletop and held it up. “Oh you got one too?” He looked to Steve for permission before taking the note out and reading it.

“Dear Rogers,
What a wonderful opening night. Sif was very successful, don’t you agree? Otherwise the rest of the chorus was acceptable but the dancers need more practice.”

“The nerve of some people!” Tony acted scandalized then read his own note aloud for Steve.

“Dear Stark,
Just a reminder, my salary has still not been paid. You may send it by return post. It would be best if my orders were obeyed.”

Tony made a face and Steve shrugged.

“They’re both signed ‘O.G.’ who the hell is that?” Tony was getting agitated.

“Opera Ghost,” Steve sighed with his face in his hands.

“This isn’t funny. He’s abusing our power here. It would be insane to pay him, wouldn’t it?”

“What if he’s behind this though? We have no idea who he is yet, we would have no way of getting to him. Maybe we should just meet his demands for now until we can stop him.” Steve suggested.

Tony opened his mouth to retort but both of the managers jumped as the door flew open to reveal an angry Thor brandishing a scrap of paper.

“Where is she?” Thor demanded.

“Who?”

“Sif! Where is she? Do not make me ask again,” Thor warned.

“How should we know?” Tony replied.

“I want an answer. You sent me this note, did you not?”

“Of course not!” Steve reached out for the note but Thor kept a hold of it.

“She’s not with you then?”

“Don’t look at us, we haven’t seen her since last night!” Tony exclaimed. “You were with us!”

“And you did not write this?” He allowed Steve to take the note this time.

“No.” Steve looked at Tony with a raise of his eyebrows and then opened it.

“Do not fear for Miss Sif. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Do not attempt to see her again.”

Steve looked concerned and Tony looked confused.

“If you did not write this, then who did?” Thor demanded.

His demand went unanswered as Dr. Banner came into the room in a similar manner. “Where is he?”

“Dr. Banner, welcome back,” Steve tried to calm him and seemed relieved at finding one of their lost actors.

“You!” Bruce pointed at Thor, “I have the letter you wrote, and I’ll have you know that I resent this.”

“What?” Thor tilted his head.

“Did you send it?” Tony asked.

“Of course not.”

“Why would he send you a letter?” Steve asked.

“You didn’t?” Banner demanded again.

“No! I did no such thing.”

“What is going on?” Tony asked more to himself this time.

“You dare to tell me you didn’t write this?” Bruce looked livid.

“What is it that I am meant to have written?” Thor asked as he pulled the paper from Dr. Banner’s hands.

“Your days at the Shield Opera are numbered. Sif will be singing on your behalf from now on. Be prepared for a catastrophe should you attempt to take her place.”

The managers looked at each other and Tony hurried to Bruce’s side, aware that he needed to keep him calm. “There are way too many notes for my tastes, huh, Banner?”

“Mostly about Sif…” Steve commented to himself.

There was a knock at the door and Pepper stuck her head in “Madame Frigga would like to see you sirs?”

“Oh now you knock?” Tony asked, exasperated.

“I wasn’t stopping the other ones.” Pepper made a face, sending pointed looks around the room before opening the door to allow Frigga to enter accompanied by Peggy.

“Sif has returned,” Frigga announced.

“Of course she has,” Tony seemed more inconvenienced than anything.

Steve sighed, resigned. “Where is she now?”

“She’s resting,” Peggy spoke up. “She didn’t seem well.”

“May I see her?” Thor asked.

“No, she wishes to be alone right now.” Frigga stopped the whole group who stood up at Thor's question.

“Will she sing?” Banner asked.

“Here, I have a note,” Frigga held out a slip of paper.

“Another one?” Steve put a hand to his face.

“Let me see it!” Thor and Banner grabbed for it at the same time but Tony beat them to it.

“Calm down, everyone, please,” he said authoritatively. “I have now sent you several notes blah blah blah…detailing how my theatre is to be run…”

Steve took it from him and read it more directly.

“You have not followed my instructions but I shall give you one more chance. Sif has returned to you and I am anxious that her career should continue to progress. So therefore this production will continue as it did last night. And afterwards when you start on Il Muto, Dr. Banner will be cast as the pageboy and Sif will be cast as Countess. It is an easy switch. The role Sif will play needs charm and appeal. Dr. Banner’s role is silent. My casting is ideal. I will watch the performance from my seat in Box 5. If you ignore my commands a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I remain your obedient servant,
OG”

“Sif!” Banner cried, disbelievingly.

“What next?” Steve said, exasperated.

“All of this is to help Sif!” Banner looked outraged.

“This is crazy.” Tony agreed with Steve.

“I know who sent this! Thor! Her lover!” Banner accused.

“Oh indeed?” Thor challenged. “Can you believe this?” he asked Steve indignantly.
“Dr. Banner!” Tony tried to appease him.

Bruce made an upset sound.

“This is...nothing! A joke, it changes nothing!” Tony said panicked.

Tony gave Steve a look and with an eye roll Steve joined his groveling. “You are our star.”

“And always will be!” Tony added.

“We don’t take orders from ghosts.”

Tony looked around and announced “Sif will be playing the pageboy. The silent role. Dr. Banner will be playing the lead.”

“It’s useless trying to appease me!” Banner wailed. “You’re just saying that!”

“Beware those who don’t obey,” Peggy whispered to herself. She knew how dangerous things could get.

“The Angel sees. He knows.” Frigga’s warning fell upon deaf ears.

“Why did Sif run from me?” Thor questioned. “She would not come with me last night.”

“You have replaced me!!” Banner wailed.

“We’ll see our darkest fears if they don’t listen.” Frigga said to Peggy, the only one listening to her.

“I must see her,” Thor complained.

“Oh, Sif…” Peggy sighed, worried for her friend.

“Where did she go last night?” Thor was talking to himself but he didn't seem to mind.

“Dr. Banner, sing for us!” Tony implored.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Steve asked rhetorically.

“Your public needs you!” Tony gestured towards the windows where a few paparazzi were huddled around Darcy’s ticket window trying to get access to the theatre. Tony elbowed Steve.

“We need you too,” Steve added begrudgingly.

“Wouldn’t you rather have your precious little Sif?”

“The world wants you! Could you really leave when the crowds are calling your name? Think of how much they adore you! Enchant us with your voice, sir,” Tony persuaded.

“Look at the queue, the tickets have all been sold, a full house will be in attendance,” Steve added logically.

“Sif…Sif did speak of an angel…” Thor mumbled to himself, looking to Frigga.

“My song shall live again!” Dr. Banner said triumphantly. The managers breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“She has heard the voice of the Angel of Music,” Frigga said to Thor.

Overhearing, Tony mentioned to Dr. Banner “Those who hear your voice say it’s like an angel’s!”

“Is it her Angel of Music? Is he the one who is responsible for this?” Thor questioned.

“We get our opera,” Steve murmured to Tony.

“He gets his limelight,” Tony agreed.

“Is the ghost an angel or a madman?” Peggy wondered.

Thor echoed Peggy’s sentiments and looked to Madame Frigga for confirmation.

Madame Frigga stopped trying to explain things to Thor and instead was attempting to warn everyone. “Heaven help those of you who doubt.”

“He keeps ordering everyone around with these warnings he has never acted upon. These demands are those of a lunatic! The man's psychotic!” Tony argued.

“Miscasting his choices will cause damnation.” Frigga replied certainly.

“Is Sif happy? Is it bliss or hell for her I wonder?” Thor asked Peggy, who looked just as confused.

“Think of how you’ll shine in the final encore!” Dr. Banner said to himself in his mirror.

“You are all fools to ignore his warnings.” Frigga tried again.

“Surely, for Sif’s sake, should we-” Thor was cut off by Peggy’s fear.

“Surely he’ll follow through with his warning!”

“We’ll have worse than this to deal with in the future, Steve, we’ve handled this well!” Tony patted his partner on the back. “Sif is not going to take your place just because she’s slept with the new sponsor,” he said to Banner.

“Sif is my dear friend, sir, how dare you?” Thor looked affronted.

“We must protect her!” Peggy pleaded.

“His game is over.” Thor decided.

“This is a game you can’t hope to win!”

“And we will begin this game in box five.”

Frigga sighed. “If his curse is on this opera, I fear the outcome.”

“Everyone will love you playing the lead, we’ll have it rewritten for you, Dr. Banner.”

“It’s all so stressful but I must do it for the perfect opera,” he acted like it was huge deal to take upon himself but was basking in all the praise directed at him.

The group continued on, unaware of a presence listening in. High in the rafters Loki perched, observing. “So,” he began. “It is to be war between us then. If my demands are not met, a disaster will occur,” he let his voice reverberate through the hallway so that everyone in the room would hear it as a ghostly whisper.

Peggy grabbed Madame Frigga’s arm, who gave Thor a meaningful glance. Steve looked around and Tony seemed not to pay attention as Bruce had apparently calmed down enough to work himself out of character.

()()()

Clint knew he was falling hard for his manager. He knew he had been for a long time, but now that things looked much more promising for him in so many ways, he was letting himself accept it. Natasha was incredibly helpful of course, but things looked like they were finally working out for him. Coulson was talking to him more often, he was getting more practice time, and he might be able to audition next year for the orchestra.

He walked into a little storage room where the extra ropes were kept and started winding them around his arm elbow to palm to measure the lengths he needed.

“Hello, Clint,” a voice whispered around him and he froze. It was the Phantom. He only heard him on rare occasions, usually he was sent notes with instructions on what to say or do.

“I have just delivered a series of notes. There are people who are doubting me. There are people who are planning to defy me. I need you to do something about it,” the voice continued at an almost silent tone and he had to strain his ears to pick up all the words.

“What do you need me to do?” Clint asked warily.

“Tell them I've killed someone that disobeyed me. Make it convincing.”

“Did you?”

“You do not need to know,” the voice retorted, escalating in volume ever so slightly. “If you succeed I can guarantee your next piece of sheet music will be one of the favorites of your dear stage manager.”

Clint felt his ears go pink. “Oh, yeah?”

“Do what I ask of you and I will reward you greatly, Barton. I have never gone against my word with you.”

Clint sighed, knowing it was true. “Anything else I should mention?”

“Yes,” the voice said silkily. “I am also planning on watching the next show from my usual box. Make sure Selvig knows. He keeps it empty for me.”

()()()

That night, Sif woke to soft singing in her head, like a half-remembered dream. She rolled over hoping to return to the land of sleep where her Angel sang to her forever, but when she made it to the other side of her bed she saw that someone was standing there. Her eyes shot open and she sat up with a jolt.

“Loki,” she said, addressing the man in her room. “You scared me.”

“I apologize,” his face remained unreadable behind the mask in the dark of her room.

“Was that you?” Sif asked, referring to the gentle minor sounding tune that had sang her awake.

“It was.”

“It was beautiful,” she replied. It was an odd melody, melancholy but powerful all at once. “Please don’t stop on my account.”

“You would like to hear more?” His head tilted slightly with an air of intrigue.

“Yes.”

He smiled. “Let me show you,” he reached out his hand and she took it once more like she had those nights ago. This time though, he lead her out of her door and into the hallway. “I will also show you how to find me if you ever need me, Angel.”

A few doors down from her dressing room door, there was an alcove. She had passed it many times but never thought much of it. It was only now with the Phantom’s guiding hand that she noticed a faint seam in one of the corners. Loki pushed it, and it swung open like a door. In wonder, Sif stepped through the passageway.

Beyond the doorway was darkness, pitch black as the door shut behind her. “Loki?”

She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me.”

Sif heard the strike of a match and her eyes followed the pinprick of flame as it lit a candle. “Watch,” his voice caressed her ears. When the candle’s light grew it was then she saw the reflection of the candle right behind it. As she was staring the room seemed to glow in a dim light.

Loki used that candle to light a second and a third candle, and placed those further along the wall. As he got the third one into place, Sif couldn’t help but gasp. The candles were aligned in front of a series of mirrors, all which led to more mirrors. They reflected down the hallway and lit a path. “If you put them in the wrong place, it doesn’t work,” Loki instructed and moved the third candle to the right. As soon as it was out of its intended path, it reflected off another series of mirrors showing Sif that the hallway they were in was not a hallway at all but a room with multiple alcoves and doors. “Only the one on the path is the right door.”

She nodded in understanding. Behind the mirrors and candle reflections she saw that there were old costumes, instruments, piles of sheet music, and so much more. It was like every show that had ever been performed in the Shield Opera House was abandoned in that room. She even saw a few of the older versions of costumes from the Hannibal show that they had just finished.

They continued walking through the winding maze of a path in the large hidden room, through years and years of props and sets and mechanical equipment. Some of the things Sif was sure had never seen the light of day in the theatre. There were masks and mannequins, a skeleton of some sort of a dragon, odd objects she didn't know the purpose of reflecting ominously in the flickering candlelight. There were props that looked both too big or too small, dresses that looked as if they would fit giants, furniture that looked as if it belonged to mice. Everything was so strange and yet she was completely intrigued by it all.

It was only after Loki began humming his strange song that Sif noticed that she kept lingering by certain pieces, feeling drawn to everything and wondering about them all. She hurried to catch up with him, linking a hand through his elbow so that she could continue to stare all around her and not get lost from the path. “Does it scare you, Sif?”

“It’s all so beautiful,” she replied.

“I had hoped you would see the beauty here too. Beyond what most people see or dream, this is where it can begin. You can feel the pull of it, hear its call, sense things that no one would guess.” He seemed so much more at ease and more powerful in the dark room with all the strange things. She noticed how fitting it was, like he belonged there, hidden from the theatre and yet there all along, there with all the forgotten things, but always there.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He opened the door for her at the end of the path, lightly singing the melody of his song. Through the door was a wide spiral stone staircase. A few lit torches lined the walls making it brighter than the previous room. He took her arm more in his and walked her down the stairs. Every so often there was a wider landing with more collections of things leaning against the wall or recessed into stone pockets. She saw broken glass, knives, and rope. She saw flowers, candles, and wax. Sheaves of blank parchment paper and ink, iron pieces and strange liquids in vials. Bolts of dusty fabrics and rusted tools. It was all so entrancing.

“Are you enticed by the danger? Do you feel the power and draw of it?” He breathed into her ear, then continued humming his lilting melancholy song.

“It’s exactly like you say, it’s all so beautiful. So strange, but so beautiful.” She followed him through an arched doorway feeling the trance-like nature of her Angel's song like the first time she had been to his home.

Through the door at the bottom of the stairs was a medium sized room filled with candles. There was a mirrored wall adjacent to a wall of shelves spilling with books, music, and trinkets. In the middle was a piano with roses on the lid.

Sif recognized the room distantly, like another dream. This was the room where it all happened, where she was taught in secret in her sleep and waking moments. Only this time, Loki showed himself. This time, she knew him and followed him not blindly, but of her own accord. This time, she knew where it was that she was going and could retrace the steps to find her way back again and again. This time, it was all real.

Sif wandered through the room, tracing her fingers over the objects and book spines.

“You’re so beautiful,” Loki said, knowing she probably couldn’t hear him. “I shouldn’t hope, but we see things the same way. You understand my world. No one has before.”

“If you wish to see me, just play any note on the piano and I will hear you,” he said more loudly, getting her attention.

“Would you play your song for me? The one you’ve been singing?” she asked.

He acquiesced and seated himself on the wooden bench, fingers stretching over the ivory keys. He started out simply, but added more and more harmonies and overlapping lines as he played on.

She listened and continued around the room, swaying and twirling softly with the melody as he watched her instead of the keys. Being here, in the depths of the opera house, was more than she could ever have imagined. All of her wildest dreams were actually reality. Sif almost couldn't believe it; it was almost too good to be true. And yet it was real, what she had known and hoped for all along: her angel, her phantom, standing in front of her and leading the way; she could not have asked for more.

She could feel the music. She could hear it, see it. Coursing through her veins and pouring out of her soul. It was more than she could have imagined, this feeling. It was overwhelming and overpowering and she never wanted it to go away. She was so happy that Loki was here to share it with her. She sang and sang, letting the music take her along, seeming to know exactly what notes should come next to harmonize perfectly with Loki's piano. She watched him as his hands flew over the keys, playing so many at once, working them into intricate chords and melodies all matching her voice. They fit together perfectly. Like night and day. Like the sun and the moon. Sif was the light and Loki was the dark, but there were bits of each other in the other half of their pair. It was a perfect match.

She could not have asked for more.

He shone so brightly to her, pure magic of music crackling out of his very being. Creating and crafting and becoming the music, letting it take over him completely, as he brought her in and shared his world with her. She saw things she never expected she would ever see. She heard things she never dreamed that she could hear. She felt more than she could ever imagine.

They sang and played and created, the strange melody hauntingly beautiful and carrying on. Sif thought he was beautiful, black hair gleaming in the candlelight. His eyes may as well have been fire, igniting her soul. And his voice, as he purred songs into her ear, was too good for heaven itself.

()()()

Loki's hands almost faltered over the keys as he watched her. Sif was too beautiful, swaying gently to his playing in her dress, humming and singing along with his music. It was too much. He didn't deserve this. She was here, with him. The music was reflecting back to him and growing into something more. With Sif he could feel warmth; with Sif he wasn't afraid of the light. She could lead him out of the darkness and he would follow. Anything for her. She was the proof that angels walked among the people on the earth. She was so beautiful. Even more so now that she knew him and stayed, she knew him and wanted him still. It was like seeing in color for the first time. If he believed in fate he would say they were meant to be. He didn't think he was meant for anyone, and Sif deserved so much more than him, but she was so perfect, so wonderful to him. Days felt like days should, no longer a time of fear. He only needed her. She was perfect. She inspired melodies from him the likes of which he had never conceived before. He knew his music would die without her.

“It’s almost like you know which notes are coming next,” he said quietly.

“Have you ever just followed the music in your head? It’s so familiar to me. Sometimes the melodies just take over,” she explained vaguely as she continued swaying around the room.

“Yes. You can feel it too,” he said more than asked. “Amazing things that you can’t describe, but you always want more.” Loki continued playing, adding in more and more feeling and intricacies to the base of the melody. “My world is beautiful to you,” he realized, still sounding unsure.

“Yes,” she insisted.

“There is so much I can show you, Sif, if you wish to see it. Come closer.”

She complied.

“You have no fear of it? Of me?”

“No,” she replied honestly.

“You can see through to the beauty of it all? Of all of this?” he continued.

“Yes.”

“You can accept this, appreciate it, learn more, want more?” Loki stood and the piano continued playing untouched, notes flying from the keys.

She nodded.

“Sing for me!” he commanded.

She sang his melody back to him, and after a moment of standing there watching her he joined in, harmonizing, their voices matching perfectly.

When they reached an end, they stood breathing. There was a fire in Loki’s eyes that Sif hadn’t yet seen in her time of knowing him. Unable to hold back, he crossed the two steps between them and kissed her.

He had never expected Sif to return his affections, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't hoped it would be so. He wasn't sure that anyone could fully share his dreams and his world so intensely. She was everything he had never allowed himself to dream of. He felt her hands upon his shoulders. When he pulled back, he couldn't read her face. In a moment of panic, he fled through a small doorway between the bookshelves.

()()()

He sat on the roof watching the sunset. It was dark enough that no one should notice him. He wasn't thinking of much in particular, just spending time observing and letting his mind be at peace. It wasn't often that he allowed himself to do so. A pigeon almost landed on him, mistaking his unmoving form for a statue, then fluttered over to the stone gargoyle next to him. He watched the pigeon go about its bird-business, content for now.

“Hello, pigeon,” he said quietly. The bird cooed at him and strutted along the gargoyle's arm. He found himself feeling envious of the pigeon, it was just a simple bird, it didn't have to deal with feelings. It was free. It could fly away at any moment, wherever it wanted. No one stared at it, no one hated it, it was just an unnoticed bird. Well, except for him; he furrowed his brow as he thought about it, since he was, in fact, staring at the pigeon.

The bird's head bobbed as it looked at him. And, he realized, the pigeon didn't hate him. The pigeon didn't care. To the bird, he was just another person, and not a threat, as he didn't chase the bird off the statue.

He sighed. Yesterday he had kissed her; what was he thinking? And Sif had touched him. But did she want to hold him closer or push him away, that he wasn't sure of.

“What do you think, pigeon?” he muttered, knowing he wouldn't get an answer but asking nonetheless. And of course, there he was, hiding on the roof instead of talking to her about it. But what could he even say?

“Loki?” he spun around, jerked out of his thoughts. The sudden movement made the pigeon fly away. Yes, he envied the bird.

“You didn't have to go,” she said simply.

He gave a tight nod in response and tried to smile back at her.

“I have to get to rehearsal. But I just thought you should know that.” She gave him a small wave and turned to disappear back down the staircase to the main floors of the theatre.

“I'll come with you,” Loki said, stopping her momentarily.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard soft voices coming from the hallway and touched her arm to signal her to stop.

“Beware the Phantom of the Opera!” Clint said theatrically. “He creeps in the night, always watching. Always listening. He knows if you follow his instructions. He knows if you disobey him!”

A few nervous giggles broke out from some of the ballerinas. Sif frowned at looked at Loki, who held a finger to his lips.

“Heed my warning and keep your distance! Never defy him! He has murdered those who go against him!”

Clint must have done something dramatic, as the girls squealed and their footsteps dispersed.

“Thank you, Clint,” Loki whispered, but it sounded as if his voice came from the other room.

“Yeah, yeah,” the master of flies muttered to himself as he walked by their hiding place. “Just don't forget your promise.”

“Shouldn't we tell them? They were such awful and untrue things!” Sif looked offended on his behalf.

“No, Sif.”

“But Mr. Barton-”

“He knows me,” Loki interrupted. “At least by voice. We have a deal. He knows that I prefer things this way.”

“But why?”

“It helps to keep my distance.” Loki said bluntly, wanting the conversation to move on to something else.

“It wasn't true, right?” Sif said after a while.

“What wasn't true?”

“You haven't killed anyone.” Sif sounded like she was trying to reassure herself.

Loki sighed and one of her hands flew to her mouth. “It was a long time ago, Sif. I only did what was necessary.”

“Promise me that you won't do it again. Or harm anyone.”

“Sif, I-”

“Promise me,” she pleaded.

“I promise,” he said softly.

She nodded once and kissed his cheek chastely, running off to rehearsal before she was late.

He stayed in the dark hallway for a moment, his fingers reaching up to touch the warm spot on his cheek where her lips brushed. He suddenly felt that maybe she could love him in return, and the emotion was overwhelming. He decided that he would tell her after her performance in a couple short weeks, along with his congratulations at her starring role.

()()()

During the preparations for the next opera, Sif found her time with Loki cut shorter than she'd like. Most of her hours were spent at rehearsals, the leading roles taking more time to perfect their lines and movements. Natasha spent a few days fitting her for her costumes, pleased to have more than mere hours to make the dresses. Sif had also gone to dinner with Thor a few times. It was wonderful seeing her old friend, and though she had denied it before it was like old times laughing with him again.

She found a rose from Loki after a particularly good night of rehearsals. Thor had brought her a bouquet of carnations to one of their dinners. During the day, Thor encouraged her and voiced his proud opinions of her. During the night, Loki sang to her and brought her melodies.

()()()

Loki sighed in frustration as he heard the announcement and the subsequent cheers. A traveling fair not so different from the one he escaped twenty years ago was coming to town. And Loki knew that though some things had changed in the past two decades, he also knew the fairs tended to be a little old-fashioned about some things. He was aware that he had never been noticed the past ten times a carnival had been through, but it still put him on edge. He did have to venture outside of the Opera House every once in a while after all. A mask, gloves, and a hat could only do so much without causing suspicion.

Of course, the announcement was made when he had little time to prepare, and he had spent the days leading up to it trying to distract himself by scribbling out symphonies. The problem with that was that he ran out of parchment. Grimacing at his reflection as he checked himself in one of the mirrors, he tugged on his old hat and made sure his sleeves covered where his gloves went up to on his wrists. With a deep breath, he hurried through a tunnel and stepped outside. He just wanted to make it to the paper shop and back, and then he wouldn't have to go back outside for days.

He would have just waited until after the atrocities were over, but he was in the middle of a musical breakthrough and he couldn't stop now. He had even written on the backs of old sheets of parchment already.

As he wove through the throngs of people crowding the streets, he took extra care not to linger or walk too quickly, trying to draw the least bit of suspicion possible, especially with his out of season clothes.

“Sir, would you like to try a-”

“No, thank you,” he interrupted, trying to avoid getting talked to, speeding up a little bit.

He made it into the paper shop. He breathed a sigh of relief when the door shut behind him, instantly quieting the noise. He grabbed a stack of the parchment he wanted and dropped a small sack of money on the counter top. The shopkeeper nodded his thanks, he knew the man with the hat was always one of his best customers.

Heading back outside into the rush, he tried to hurry back to the Opera House. His foot caught on a cobblestone, throwing off his footing and causing him to stumble into a shrubbery.

Embarrassed, he quickly climbed out of the plant and sped up his pace, cheeks burning and avoiding everyone asking if he was alright. He tried to escape down a side path of the festival, but got turned around in his panic and ended up in the section of the fair with the attractions. Looking up briefly to better get his bearings, he came face to face with a poster at the entrance to the fair's human oddities tent.

He felt his heart speed up as he backed away and turned quickly, trying to get back inside the safe walls of the theatre.

“Loki?”

He froze, keeping his head down. “Hello, Sif.”

“What are you doing?”

“I ran out of papers,” he replied, heart pounding, panicking.

She took in his flustered appearance and the tent that he had just fled from. “I could fetch them for you next time,” she suggested. “I know you don't like to go outside.”

He looked up at her and she smiled.

“It's good to see you in a normal place. You know, when I'm awake. Not in the dark or in my sleep.” She linked her arm through his. “Come on, I'll take you back to the theatre.”

She led him expertly through the crowd, and he noticed, with some disbelief, that no one seemed to pay them any mind. She kept up a relatively brisk pace but made it look so casual and natural that people didn't look twice at them. Walking in the main doors of the theatre, both knowing that everyone was outside, they crossed the foyer into the recesses of the hallways.

“Are you alright?” she asked once they were out of the noise.

“I am now.”

“Good,” she smiled. “I know that must have been frightening for you, bringing back bad memories.”

He nodded and motioned for her to follow him.

He showed her a new passageway to the roof, explaining that he went there sometimes when he needed to think or get away from when things were getting too crazy. She was stunned by the view. It was getting later in the afternoon and the sun on the rooftop was gorgeous, stretching shadows from the statues across the building.

They sat for a while, Sif asking careful questions to find out information and distract him while he talked a bit about the new music he was writing.

“I must go back. They'll be expecting me,” Sif said sadly as the sun began to set. “Could I come back and see you in a little while?”

“I'll be here,” Loki replied, sitting.

She smiled at him and was on her way. He sighed softly to himself. How could someone make him feel so lost and yet so safe at the same time? Even though he knew no one could see him on the roof, he always felt uneasy in the daytime. But he felt comfortable in the sunlight with her.

()()()

He waited upon the roof, watching the night and listening to the festival below. In the shadows of the dark, he knew he would not be visible from the ground.

A colorful explosion lit up the sky and he jumped. Bright flashes of light never went over well with him.

“Hi, Loki,” Sif greeted as she sat down next to him. “I was hoping you'd still be up here. I thought it might be nice to see the fireworks from the roof. They're so pretty.”

Loki just shrugged and shut his eyes as he heard another one get launched, trying to shield his sensitive eyes to the blinding light. “I've never had much of a fondness for flashes,” he murmured. “Or daylight. Or most lights at all. The dark is easier.”

“Well, you can't have one without the other,” Sif stated logically.

“I suppose.” Loki said skeptically. He had always avoided light to the best of his abilities. He knew he needed candles and bulbs and such to see, but daytime and outside were kept away at all costs. He wouldn't risk being seen again.

“The night helps to bring out the day, and the day does the same for the night. That's why sunsets and sunrises are so wonderful,” Sif explained. “And fireworks would almost be nothing in the daytime.”

Loki made a noncommittal noise.

“But see?” Sif said as another firework exploded in the sky. “The night makes the colors brighter. The night makes things more beautiful,” Sif explained.

Another firework went off to cheers down below. He only flinched a little. “I see.” And he did. He was starting to see how things could be brought out better with opposites. That's how he was with Sif, wasn't he? She was so bright and when they met, and with music there was a darkness to her as well and that added depth. And she brought him happiness, inspiration, and comfort in the light.

They remained on the rooftop long after the fireworks, just sitting quietly and enjoying each others' company.

Sif scooted a little closer to Loki. “The stars are really lovely from up here,” she said softly.

“Yes. They are,” he quietly agreed.

“Oh look!” Sif pointed just in time for him to see a shooting star. “Make a wish!”

“What?”

“Make a wish! You have to make a wish on shooting stars.”

“What do you wish for?” Loki asked, confused. He couldn't imagine how a star could make a wish come to be.

“Anything. But you can't say, or it won't come true,” she said seriously.

He frowned. “But-”

“Shh. It's true. I mean, maybe it's a superstition, but do you really want to risk it?”

“No I suppose not,” he said after a moment of consideration.

“Ok good. So, make a wish.”

“Is it not too late?”

“It's your first one, so I think you get some extra time.”

“Ok. Well...here I go I guess.”

“Close your eyes,” she instructed.

“Ok...”

“And now think about your wish really hard.”

“Alright,” he said after a while. I wish this was forever.

“Alright,” she echoed with a soft smile. She looped her arm through his and leaned against his shoulder happily and sleepily.

“Thank you, Sif,” he breathed, not sure if she could hear him, but he thought he could feel her cheeks smile against his arm.

()()()

Sif wished he could see himself, not just as his hated appearance, but for who he truly was. He shone so brightly in the darkest night, so clearly when he allowed you to see that part of himself. He wouldn't believe her, of course, but it made her all the more determined. He was not a monster. No, not at all. He was an angel walking among humans, a god among men. She marveled at his sheer talent, the power of his music, the clarity and soft strength of his voice.

She hoped that he could see what she saw someday, that she could convince him. He seemed so lost sometimes, but she knew how strong his will seemed to be. She felt herself drifting off to sleep and let it take her, comfortably resting against her Angel's shoulder.

()()()

He could feel her breath ghosting against his skin as she slept there next to him on the roof, his heartbeat lulling her to sleep. Carefully sitting still so as not to wake her, he savored the moment and committed it to memory as his thoughts began to drift. He had noticed her spending more time with Thor as of late, more smiles and lingering gazes. His heart twinged at the thought of it. He couldn't help the jealous feelings creeping up on him or the fear that he would be pushed aside in favor of better options. He didn't know what she saw in Thor, but then again, he wasn't all that sure what she saw in him either.

Loki knew Thor would take great care of her, it was obvious that he adored her, but he couldn't help but wonder if that was enough. Would Thor sit with her while she slept? Would he hold her when she cried, sing along with her, dance with her? Would he be able to do any of the things Loki had done with her, for her?

He twitched slightly as she shifted and her cheek came to rest against his collarbone. Her skin against his was like a fire, igniting his heart and his soul. He wanted her to have every bit of happiness that she possibly could. And he desperately wished that it could be him instead of Thor. He hoped Thor would love her and treat her like she was the best thing to ever happen to him, because Loki knew that she was the best in his own life and she deserved nothing less.

His mind brought him to an unfortunate time a few short days ago, when he had crept upstairs to leave a rose for her. When he made it to her room, he felt as if he had been punched in the gut as his eyes were met with dozens upon dozens of artfully crafted bouquets from Thor. He didn't expect that he had much of a chance, but she was always on his mind. As long as she was happy, he hoped that he could find a way to deal with it.

'But will he love her like I do?' a part of his mind wondered. He wished there was a way he could make Thor promise that he would never do anything to hurt her, never leave her, never let her feel hopeless. Like Loki wanted to, like he tried to. But he didn't trust Thor. He doubted he ever could, no matter how helpful he was being to the theatre.

()()()

“Alright,” Tony said slowly, staring at the sheet music spread across Steve's desk. “So...what are we doing again?”

Steve sighed. “Find the pieces that were assigned to Sif and pull them out so we can get them changed for Dr. Banner.”

“Right, right,” Tony paused. “Um...how do we know which ones?”

“The ones with 'Countess' written in the character notes, Tony.” Steve held one up to show him. “There should be at least one per act that needs transposing. Director Fury thought it would be faster if we could find the ones he needed while he ran through the other movements with the orchestra.”

“Good. Then this should be resolved soon.”

“I still don't know if this is a good idea, Stark. You heard Madame Frigga, what if something bad actually happens?” Steve asked with a note of trepidation.

“Come on, what's the worst that could happen? He sends another note?” Tony retorted. “It'll be fine.”

()()()

On the opening night of the new opera, Steve and Tony took their customary seats in their box. This time, however, Thor did not join them. Thor decided to sit in box five. When asked if he thought it wise to so blatantly go against the mysterious Opera Ghost’s wishes, he replied that there simply were no other seats available, and they were already disobeying him anyway by changing the casting. He was curious; he wanted to taunt the Phantom and see what would happen.

The curtains opened to reveal Maria and Peggy in intricate 18th century costumes twirling around Fandral in an equally magnificent costume. Natasha had really outdone herself this time, and the pleased murmuring from the audience seemed to concur. Volstagg and Hogun entered, singing about the Count, played by Dr. Banner, who came from backstage accompanied by Sif as the silent page.

Hogun began singing about the affair of the Count and the page, Volstagg chiming in with his concern that the two would be found out, and the chorus agreeing about the shame. The audience was laughing at the appropriate moments and it brought a smile to the managers' faces.

“Nothing like a good old-fashioned opera, eh, Rogers?” Tony commented.

“Everything was done exceptionally well,” Steve agreed. “Mr. Selvig said that we even had to turn people away at the door, Darcy managed to sell out the whole audience!”

Tony caught Thor's eye and waved at him across the balcony, who nodded in return. Everything was going as planned.

Dr. Banner began singing about how the page’s disguise was perfect, and it was. Maria, playing Dr. Banner’s wife, pretended to leave but stayed to spy on her ‘husband’ with a few of the cast, earning another chuckle from the audience at her outraged face. The rest of the ensemble joined the joyful chorus of successful sneaking around.

“Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?” a voice rang out, echoing through the auditorium. Sif looked up in alarm as Loki's voice bounced all around them.

“He’s here,” Maria gasped, breaking character as the orchestra ground to a halt. “The Phantom of the Opera!”

Some of the audience began to talk amongst themselves, confused at the sudden change on stage.

“Loki,” Sif whispered to herself, a warning tone slipping into her voice.

“Your role is silent,” Dr. Banner hissed, angered by the opera falling apart around him.

“Perhaps it is you who should be silenced!” Loki’s voice rang out again and Dr. Banner looked up, startled.

Dr. Banner swooped off stage to take a sip of his water and gather his wits, and then flicked his wrists at the cast to get them back to starting positions before nodding at Director Fury to start the act over. These things did happen, of course, and this time, this thing was happening. He worked hard for this role and he was going to take it. And, being the wonderful star that he was, he had to appease the audience and keep them calm in times such as this, naturally. As he began to sing, his voice suddenly croaked and almost no sound came out even though he was visibly belting his part.

He was visibly shaken but tried to continue with the quieter section of music. The beginning notes came out more clearly and as his confidence began to return, he increased his volume. As soon as he tried singing in a normalized tone, his voice croaked again and fell silent. Dr. Banner began frantically trying to sing in alarm but the only thing that could be heard was a ghostly laughing echoing across the auditorium.

Sif looked around nervously, he had promised her. If that didn’t mean anything to him, what other unspeakable things that he had threatened would he do?

The beautiful chandelier on the ceiling began to flicker.

“Look!” the Phantom’s voice sounded again. “He’s singing to bring down the chandelier!”

Some more panicked members of the audience gasped loudly as they all looked up in alarm at the blinking lights. Dr. Banner shook his head with tears in his eyes and looked at the manager’s box, “I can’t do it!”

Steve hurried from his seat onto the stage, thankful for the managers box having a direct staircase to the side curtains. “Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, please!” He motioned for Coulson to get Clint to drop the curtains and the cast hurried off the stage. Coulson climbed a ladder to handle the ropes from above as Clint hurried to the lights and curtain panel. Fury gave him a meaningful look from the pit and Steve paused to look at the musicians hidden there. Some looked frightened, some looked like they just wanted to be instructed what to do. The bass player knocked over his music stand and looked confused trying to get all his music back in order. Steve briefly thought he looked familiar, but the man's hair obscured his face. A nearby clarinetist helped him as Fury rolled his eyes at them. “The performance will continue in fifteen minutes,” he looked at the chandelier that had stopped blinking, and his eyes shifted to an empty box five, “with the lady Sif playing the role of the Countess, taking the role of the Count.”

“In the meantime,” Tony added as he stepped suavely onto the stage, “we shall be giving you the ballet from the third act of tonight’s opera!” Though Tony seemed on top of things, Steve could see the fear in his eyes. He was also aware of the absolute glare being sent up from the conductor. He looked back down at the pit to see the clarinetist hurry back to help the panicked bassist find the correct music for that part.

“Now, Director Fury, now,” Tony urged quietly.

The orchestra fond their bearings and started the music of the ballet as the stage finished getting cleared behind the curtain. The drapes were raised and the ballerinas flitted to their positions and hurried to get into step with each other.

Peggy noticed a shadow cross over the stage and paused mid-step as she looked up, causing Maria to bump into her. Maria gasped as her eyes fell on the scene. The Phantom was standing on one of the catwalks above the stage, looming behind Coulson with a length of rope.

“Coulson!” she screamed as the Phantom made eye contact with her for a split second. Coulson spun around and stumbled backwards in shock, scrambling to grab onto the edge to keep himself from falling. The rest of the ballerinas looked around, frightened, as Natasha shoved a laundry cart towards Clint, the pair of them acting calm and collected as a team. The Phantom hit Coulson with a golden cane he had in one hand and he fell off the catwalk towards the stage.

There were terrified gasps and screams from the audience as Coulson fell as if in slow motion. Clint ran with the cart onto the stage and caught his stage manager in the cart full of cloth.

The stage was in complete chaos.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm, it was an accident! Simply an accident!” Tony called out, though his voice betrayed he was uncertain of that fact.

“Sif!” Thor yelled as he ran down the side stairs towards the stage. “Sif, wait!”

()()()

Sif ran. She hurried through the candles to their practice room and frantically pressed keys on the piano to no avail. After a moment, she gave up, running again without realizing where she was going until she made it to the rooftop. Below her she could hear Tony commanding the audience to remain seated, that it was an accident; but she knew it had been no accident.

It was causing her to question everything. How could her Angel make such beautiful things in one moment and then almost kill someone in the next? It was all so confusing to her. She had hoped he would change, that he wouldn't be so frightened or violent. He acted so differently around her. She had thought that he would listen, that he would do it for her. She had thought that he was beginning to love her.

She wanted to know why he kept frightening people, just when he didn't get his way. She wanted to know why he hid from everyone but her. She wanted to know why he wanted so desperately for her to be in the leading roles. He had promised her he wouldn't hurt anyone else.

Sif stood in the middle of the roof in the snow, trying to catch her breath. She slowly walked a little closer to the edge, stopping in between two stone roof decorations.

“I'm sorry,” she thought she heard; just a lilting whisper drifting through the night air. Sif thought she imagined it.

“Why?” she spoke aloud to herself. “He tried to kill Mr. Coulson when he promised that he wouldn't. What will he do next just because they disobeyed him?” With a sigh, she sat on the cold ground and touched a statue next to her absentmindedly. “I see his eyes everywhere. I can feel them, like they're burning. Oh God, who is he? I thought I knew him. I thought I even was falling in love with him. And some people say he doesn't exist! Well do they believe me now?” she asked cynically. “How can they not, not after what just happened. I've been there, I've been to his world of night. I thought I could understand. I even saw his face there in the darkness. And his voice, it fills my spirit. There's always music in my mind and I know only he can put it there. His music made my soul soar. I can hear like I've never heard before. But I don't understand how things can be so wonderful and so frightening all at once.”

She sighed again, trying to gather herself. “Yet...his eyes were the saddest eyes I've ever seen. They were pleading and loving and golden in the darkness.”

“Sif,” she heard the whisper again, and looked around but still found herself alone on the rooftop.

“Loki please if you're here, show yourself, I cannot do this,” Sif begged.

“Forget your fears, nothing can hurt you, I'm here,” she felt the whisper caress her ears, so softly she thought she could have imagined it. No one stepped out for her. “Let me calm you. Let me dry your tears. Let me guard you, guide you...”

The whisper was so peaceful, so truthful, so comforting. It was a relief and a warm embrace. She couldn't dare hope her Angel would do all of that for her, that he was even there on the roof at all.

“Say you love me,” she whispered back. “Say you need me. Promise me all of it is true,” everyone had broken promises to her but she had a strong feeling she could trust this voice.

“Let me be your shelter. Let me keep you safe. I can make sure no one will find you.”

“I just want-” but what did she want? “I want music. I want you to hold me, hide me, teach me.”

“Then say you'll share your life with me. Together we won't be alone. Say you need me with you anywhere you go, let me go with you. That's all I ask.”

“Say you'll share your love with me, promise me and I'll follow you.” She felt as if she was almost in a trance again, like the first time Loki had brought her to his music. It made her heart ache to remember.

“Every day, night, and morning,” the voice promised.

“Say you love me,” Sif said again.

“You know that I do, Sif,” the voice held more conviction. It was almost audible enough to know she wasn't imagining it, and to know for sure whose voice it was. It sounded like it was right in her ear and also like it was across the rooftop, like two voices at once.

“You know that I do,” louder this time, definitely from behind her. It felt different somehow, but still held a devotion and a promise and she felt herself turning to see-

“Thor? Oh Thor, was that you?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Yes? Are you alright, Sif?”

She sniffled and that's when she realized she was crying. Wiping a tear from her cheek, she stood up to face Thor.

He gently held her face in his hands and wiped her remaining tears away. “You know that I love you, truly, Sif.”

A small laugh escaped her through her tears. “Those were such beautiful things you said. Yes. Yes, I'll marry you, Thor.”

He looked bewildered for a moment but smiled nonetheless. “That would make me very happy indeed.”

She sniffled again, at a loss for words. “They'll be wondering where I am. I should be getting back.”

“I'll take care of you, Sif.”

She nodded at him and took his hand. She leaned up and kissed him shyly, and they walked back inside together.

()()()

Across the dark snowy rooftop, from deep in the shadows, Loki emerged barely clutching a dark red rose in his shaking fingers. He felt weak, shattered, like he couldn't breathe. He stumbled over a pipe and sank to his knees on the frozen tiles.

“Was I so wrong in my believing?” he whispered brokenly, looking at the door they had gone through, now shut. “I didn't want to hurt you, I only wanted to help you...” His fingers felt limp but the flower still remained in his hand as he drew in a shuddering breath, trying not to sob there alone on the roof.

“I...gave you my music,” his voice was high and hurt, shaking as he felt his heart stop. “I gave your song wings...” he stared at the footprints where Sif had been and with a single finger, he traced the edge of the snow. “And now...now you repay me like this? How could you betray me?”

He brought the rose up to his cheek; he knew he was crying now but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. “He was bound to love you when he heard you sing!” he cried. He could feel the snow seeping through his pants at his knees, and he stood, not bothering to brush it off. Loki leaned heavily against a stone adornment.

“Sif,” he whispered brokenly as the rose fell from his grasp, crumpled petals landing alone in the cold snow.

Voices drifted over to him from the stairwells, and he could faintly hear the pair of them talking about their plans. Whether or not it was his imagination making things worse, he couldn't tell. “No,” he put his hands over his ears, trying to block it out, trying not to add any more pain. “No, no...”

“I love you, Sif,” he heard Thor say. He felt his emotions fading into anger, taking over him as he pushed himself off of the statue, standing solidly on the roof now facing over the world.

“You will curse this day! You will all curse the day you did not do as I asked!” With a swish of his cape he was gone from the rooftop, climbing back down into the Opera House.

Downstairs, back on stage, Sif finished her song as the Countess in a whirlwind of emotions. As the company took their bows, a broken scream echoed around the auditorium and the chandelier came crashing down upon the stage right at her feet.

And with that, the season ended.

()()()

It had been two weeks since the last night of Il Muto. Two weeks since she had last heard from her Angel. She wondered if he would come for her soon. He always taught her between plays; she was trying to figure out if something was different this time.
She waited. Day and night she waited. Then she decided it was time to take matters into her own hands. He had shown her the way to him. Why, then, shouldn't she try?

She lit the candles, following their path to their room where he told her how to call him.

She called. She played a note on the piano like she was instructed.

There was nothing.

She tried again. Again, and again. But nothing.

She hesitated, not sure where to go from there. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he just couldn't come now. Surely he would talk to her soon.

The next day she tried again. And the day after that. And the day after that. Nothing.

()()()

He heard her call for him. Heard her playing, desperately trying to talk to him, to make him appear. He couldn't bring himself to do it.

As he watched her through the other side of the mirror, he placed a hand on the cool glass when he saw her cry. Then he was suddenly reminded of Laufey and the mirrored maze. He dropped his hand in disgust, fleeing from the room, and never going back to watch her.

He listened to her day and night, and her visits became less frequent.

()()()

As the days went on, she became afraid that he had abandoned her. She kept double checking corners and shadows in search of him, never seeing anything there.

She began to get more reckless about trying to get him to show himself. She had taken to walking down hallways in the dead of night singing softly what she could recall from all the melodies he had shown her. She knocked on the parts of the halls that she knew were hidden doors, she stuck notes in places only he would know where they were, she even kissed Thor in front of his passageway to the roof, just trying to get any sort of reaction out of Loki.

“I dare you to come out, Loki!” she cried one night in the piano room. “I dare you!”

Thor had found her crying in the hallway later that evening. He led her carefully back to her dressing room, mistaking her emotions of longing and desperation for fear. He reassured her that the Phantom was no longer around, and everything else was just her imagination. That only brought a fresh wave of tears.

One of the nights in the empty room, she thought she had briefly heard the faintest echo of his voice.

()()()

“Why must you torment me so?!” he yelled at the empty room. All of his careful construction and planning so that he could constantly hear everything was now a curse. He couldn't stand hearing her sing. It hurt that she sang so easily and well for someone else. He couldn't stand hearing her call for him or playing the piano trying to summon him. It would hurt too much to see her again. He couldn't stand hearing her cry. It broke his heart over and over again.

He put his hands over his ears again, the movement as practiced as a prayer, in his vain hopes to stop the pain, if only for a little while. Loki felt tears come to his eyes and didn't stop them. He sniffled to himself miserably when he heard her stop. It hurt just as badly. He wondered if one day she would not come at all. The thought of that felt like a knife in his heart.

But he couldn't be with her. He couldn't go see her. It would be torture, sharing his music with the only person who ever could listen and understand like she did and then having to watch her leave over and over again, not knowing his longing or his ache, happy with her fiance. He was in the cold. In the dark. Where he belonged. Where he could hide. Sif belonged in the light.

He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't have her keep coming to him. He paced the room full of frightening things, full of old abandoned props and sets and supplies, and then he made his decision. He walked to the candles that showed the way. Reaching out a hand, he knew that if he did this, he wouldn't be able to go back. He slid one candle over to the right, tilted one of the mirrors just a few degrees, and turned to watch the reflections along the path change to a completely different way.

()()()

She let a few days go by, trying to come up with a better plan, and then thought of her mirror; the way he had first brought her into his world. She laughed in relief and pushed the mirror aside happily, ready to run through the hallways back to him when she froze.

Behind her mirror was just the stone wall. She pushed against it, thinking it was an illusion, but it felt solid. Her knuckles confirmed that as she knocked against it. With a fearful thought springing into her head, she rushed to the hidden alcove hiding the candlelight passages to their practice room. She lit the candles with shaking hands.

She ran through the flickering pathways as quickly as she could without losing track of them. He must be there, he must. Reaching the door, she flung it open, only to come face to face with a solid wall.

“No...” Sif was heartbroken. It had to have been real, how else could it all have happened? She couldn't be crazy; he couldn't just be a dangerous myth and a ghost story. He was so much more than that.

She hurried back to the candles to check that she had lit the correct ones, though she knew with a sinking feeling that she had.

Starting from the entrance point she went to every door she could see, finding other walls, storage, hidden doors, and unknown tunnels; everything but the passageway she had come to know. Finally, with a hysterical sigh of a laugh, she flung open the last door in the room, way off in an unfamiliar corner, but a familiar hallway met her eyes. She realized she had been crying as she tried to catch her breath hurrying through the door as if in fear it would disappear otherwise.

The hallway looked older than it had, but she knew it like the back of her hand. When Sif made it to her destination, the room, their room, all her breath left her. The room was like a stranger. All that was the same was the piano. Everything else was gone. Letting her tears fall again, she played as instructed, but no one came. Again and again she played, louder and louder until her fingers hurt and she fell to her knees on the floor sobbing and calling out for Loki, her angel, until her voice was hoarse.

She knew better. She knew she shouldn't wreck her voice like that. And yet she couldn't bring herself to care. Without him to guide her, she didn't feel much point in taking care of her voice. Could it really have been all a dream? This room: all that she had to prove that any of it existed? The room where it had happened, hadn't it?

The longer that Sif sat in the room, the more determined she was to find a way to prove to herself that Loki existed. She stared at the wall of mirrors and wondered if he could see through them or even if he could open them like he could in her room. She placed a hand gently on the cool glass, but pulled away after a moment. Maybe she was being ridiculous. There was no proof that he was anything more than a myth and a series of lucid dreams.

With a sigh, she sat on the piano bench, just waiting. She had given up on calling out, singing, and playing for him to come almost an hour ago. She knew she had to save her voice for the performances that week and she hoped that if she sang well enough that he would reappear, just to show his approval, or even have some corrections for her.

So faintly, she almost was convinced she was imagining it, she heard a ghostly melody of an angry sounding organ floating through the air around her. The chords sounded painful and tortured, and she wished he would come to her so that she could help.

()()()

Loki looked up from his newest scratchings on the sheet music at the faintest sound of a voice and a piano. Sif was back. Again. She had been trying to contact him for the past few weeks. He sighed and reached up to cover his ears but it didn't seem to help. “No...no...I can't...” he mumbled to himself. “Go! Go away!” he cried.

He could hear her, but he knew she couldn't hear him, alone in this darkness. It was better this way, better for her. “Go now! Leave me!” he wailed, trying to drown out her sad and desperate yet persistently hopeful sounding tone. He couldn't bear it.

Finally, after hours it seemed, she was gone again. Just when he thought he would have to give up and appear. He threw his arm across the stacks of music, knocking the sheaf, quills, and ink to the floor in a mess. He snatched up another quill and frantically scribbled some notes onto uneven lines. When the ink spluttered and speckled the page, tearing a small hole, he slammed his hands onto the organ, bringing out discordant strings of arpeggios. He scratched those chords down onto the lined page and forcefully drew more chords out of the instrument, ending in a terrible wail.

“No, no, NO!” he crumpled the still-wet page and cast it aside. “I've been wasting my time on this...this noise for too long. Too long, too long...” he muttered. “I can hear it in my mind, the pure melodies are in my ears, but I can't,” he picked up a stack of more papers with some consideration, then threw them back down watching as the papers scattered, “I can't give any of my music a voice without you, Sif!” he howled at the empty room.

“You're gone...” he sank to the floor, whispering to himself. Loki wrapped his arms around himself and realized that he was tearing up. Angrily, he wiped at his face. He hummed brokenly to himself the little melody he was trying to work on. It was unearthly and melancholy but he knew it could grow and become a beautiful piece. He could hear Sif's voice singing it all. If only...

“Time is just crawling by,” he muttered in frustration. “I barely know how long it has been. I can't bear to go to sleep without hearing you sing again. Only you can give my music a voice.” He knew he would sound crazy muttering to himself like this if anyone could hear him, but alone in his darkness he didn't care.

“Last time you looked for me was two weeks ago, then today. Are you finally starting to forget?” he chuckled darkly. “What if I had come out that day? What then? What if I had shown myself today? Nothing would have changed. Everything is silent without you, no notes sound as sweet, no melodies, nothing!” he hissed.

“Of course you would pick him over me. Naturally,” he added, self-loathing seeping into his words. “Who wouldn't cast me aside given the chance? Not that I blame you, Sif, but I thought you were different. I let you in and you could hear my music like I could and you could see my world like I could and you liked it. You liked it!”

“Sometimes,” he said, standing up, “I do manage to fall asleep. But then there you are, in my dreams, haunting me with your voice. And I wake up holding nothing. Nothing, Sif!” He kicked over the last stack of papers that was still in any sort of order and walked towards a small doorway.

“I can't live without hearing your voice again! I need you to sing for me, I need you for my music. My soul is broken without you. Only you can fix it. But would you even want to? I can hear your music teasing me but, and I turn to find you but you aren't there.” He left his lair, his home, and began to climb a narrow steep stairwell.

“Is this what it was like for you, hearing me teach you? Not being able to find me? It couldn't be. You don't need me. Not like I need you. And you always knew that I would come for you someday. Now you question if I'm even real. Maybe I'm not. But this pain is real, you are real, Sif, and you haunt me.” He pulled himself through a window and climbed a rickety ladder that led him to the rooftop.

“You're gone. So what's the point? What is my music for without you? Let it die, it won't matter, no more hopes or dreams. I should have always known. I shouldn't have let myself believe, even for an instant, that you could possibly stay. I shouldn't have let myself fall. You don't even know how much strength you have over me. I'll never feel alive again until I can hear you sing for me, just once more.” He stood staring over the town from the roof of the Shield Opera House, visible to anyone who would look up in the dark of the night, but forgotten by all.

He stretched his arms out slightly and he willed the wind to take him away. For the darkness to hide him forever. It would be easier than seeing her live on with Thor and forget all about him. It hurt more as it combined with his decades of self hatred and induced loathing. He loved her. He loved her so much. He had been sure she was beginning to love him back.

After what felt like an eternity, he stepped back down onto the roof from the little ledge. Rehearsals would be starting in a few hours and he wanted to keep working on finding a place that he wouldn't be able to hear music from the stage to hide in, even though he knew that when the time came, he would be in the rafters watching and listening like always.

“Loki,” a familiar voice sounded from behind him as he climbed one more step down from the roof.

“Hello, Frigga,” he mumbled miserably.

“Were you on the ledge again?”

He didn't answer. They both knew his response.

“Please, come to my office. Let's talk about this. No one will be here for at least an hour.”

He gave just the smallest of nods as he took another step away from the cold ledge towards Frigga. She put a comforting hand on his back as she led him through the door back inside.

“What's happening to you, Loki?” Frigga asked sadly. “You haven't been yourself.”

“I...I love her,” he breathed.

“I know,” Frigga replied.

“I think it's killing me.” He couldn't go any length of time without thinking about her. He wasn't able to write, wasn't able to concentrate on anything, wasn't able to have a moment's peace even less so than he used to have. All because of her. He'd never be satisfied. She was happy with Thor. Thor was attractive, Thor was powerful, Thor was amazing, everyone agreed. He could do well for her, provide for her, take care of her. Maybe it was better off this way, but it didn't make him feel any better or want Sif any less. No matter what, he always saw her when he closed his eyes.

“Loki, have you talked to her at all since Il Muto?”

His silence and the way he stared at his feet gave her his answer. Her mouth went into a thin line. “You can't keep going on like this,” she scolded. “Sif is a complicated young woman, you won't know for sure about anything with her unless you've heard it from her yourself. You know that.”

He shook his head. “I think she hates me.”

“Do you really think so low of her? Give her a chance to figure things out; she's a great girl, you know. Would someone who hates you spend most days and nights searching for you? I don't think so.”

Loki sighed. “I know...but I promised her that I would try to not- that I wouldn't...” he trailed off, regretting every mistake that he had made all at once.

“Well did you try?” She asked simply.

He nodded again. “I probably could have tried harder, or done something different, but they changed it! They ruined everything! And I was going to tell her. I was going to. To tell her how I felt a-and...”

“She'll know. Or at least understand. She's wondering if it's even real though, your lessons. Loki, you have to help her. You can't torture her like this.”

“But it tortures me! Seeing her with him, knowing she'd never stay.”

“Loki,” Frigga sighed. “Not everyone will act how you want, you'll find a way to move on, and then-”

“It doesn't matter what I think! He was there! Odin is his father!” Loki snapped.

“Odin?”

“My owner,” he hissed. “The one who kept me in a cage! Thor was there! And he did nothing! He let it happen!”

“Oh, Loki,” Frigga started sympathetically.

“It doesn't matter,” his eyes clenched shut as his brow creased. “I don't think it will ever stop hurting, but Sif... she doesn't know, and I can't tell her. I can't cause her even more pain like that. I haven't talked to her. I didn't want to overstep my boundaries that I had apparently assumed were in the wrong place. I am afraid,” he admitted.

It was a dilemma. A moral dilemma. Loki wondered if she could ever forgive him, and even then if she would. If she'd even want to. He just wanted a second chance. He hadn't meant to hurt her. Things just happened. He needed her to succeed, for her, it was what he wanted. And he was doing whatever it would take to keep those very few he cared about safe. Now, though, he wasn't sure if Sif would even care. She left and was engaged to Thor.

“I thought...I thought she felt the same way...” he felt tears in his eyes and furiously blinked them away as he tried to get his breathing back to normal.

“Well maybe she does, or maybe she did, but Loki, you left. You've been hiding for weeks now in self induced misery! She can't even tell if all of it wasn't just a dream that played on your terrorizing of everyone!” Frigga retorted.

“Maybe it's better this way. Better if she thought I didn't exist.”

“Loki. You have to talk to her.”

“I don't know how,” he conceded.

Frigga sighed softly, placing one hand on his sagging shoulder and the raising the other to cup his cheek. “Let me show you a trick,” she murmured. She began to hum the song she had first showed him all those years ago. He drew in a shuddering breath, calming down at her soothing touch and voice.

After a moment, he brokenly hummed along with her. She brushed his hair back affectionately.

“If you aren't ready to see her in person yet, write her a letter. That way she will know that you're real and you can set a time to talk with her.” Frigga suggested. “You're so good at writing notes to everyone else, I'm surprised you hadn't thought of that already.”

“I guess I wasn't thinking at all,” he replied. “I'm still worried though.”

“I know, Loki. But really, once you send her this, it'll help you both.”

“Unless Thor comes to kill me because I'm trying to write letters to woo his fiancee away,” he said sarcastically.

“Well, even if that was the case, death can't stop true love if that's what this is. It can only delay it for a while,” Frigga responded matter-of-factly. “Now write!”

()()()

Dearest Sif,
I am deeply sorry for any pain I may have caused. I never meant to hurt you. I know that I do not deserve your trust, but it is no matter. I need to tell you something of vast importance. I love you. I have loved you for quite some time. I left because I thought you couldn't have someone like me holding you back. I was jealous seeing you with Thor because you are the only one who has ever understood my world and I had vainly hoped that we could share it together forever. I understand that I am only your teacher and as such I would very much like to continue to give you lessons if you would agree to it. I will try my hardest to fulfill all promises I have made to you and fix the ones that I have broken. Please meet me this Saturday evening, a week before the ball, on the roof. We can talk more together then.
Yours,
Loki

()()()

Natasha rolled the last of the costume racks into her sewing room for repairs and locked up for the night. In the hallway, she heard a faint cello playing. She snuck down the hall, ready to scare Clint and complain about not being invited to listen this time. He deserved to be scared by her every once in a while, especially with all of the ghost stories he had been telling. And she had been looking forward to hearing his new piece he'd been working on. After all, she was his best friend. Really, how dare he not invite her? She smirked as she heard the music stop, and she hid beside an open wardrobe. About to jump out at him, she paused when she heard voices. Was that...Coulson? Natasha peeked out from behind a feather boa. It was Coulson! She let her mouth fall open in appreciative shock. It was about damn time, honestly; she had thought she would have to sit them both down for a talking to if they didn't hurry it up. With a smile, she headed back down the hall, happy for her friends.

()()()

Maria knocked on Sif's door but got no answer. She hadn't seen her friend in a while, not really, and had been worried for quite some time, especially after the fiasco at the Il Muto performance. She had almost been crushed by the crystal chandelier for goodness sake. But Maria had noticed that Sif seemed more upset as the days went on, almost lost. She assumed that the the actuality of it all was just taking time to set in.

She opened the door and peered inside, not seeing Sif. With a sigh, she looked around, trying to find a clue as to where she kept disappearing to. On her dressing table she saw a small envelope. Picking it up, she recognized the seal of the Opera Ghost. Maria dropped it with a gasp. Why would he be writing to Sif? He usually only dealt with Madame Frigga and the managers. She picked up the envelope again. Sif didn't need any more stress right now, that was for sure. The poor girl looked as if she could barely stand up half of the time. With her decision made, Maria took the envelope and tucked it behind Sif's large mirror hanging on the wall. That way, Sif wouldn't have to deal with it while she was so upset, and later if she needed it, Maria would show her where it was all along.

()()()

The new chandelier was impressive, to say the least, at least fifty percent bigger than the previous one, and much more sparkly, thank you very much. Tony was incredibly proud of it. Unfortunately, after mere hours of being installed and lit up, the power failed. This particularly irked Tony, because the gigantic light fixture was hooked up to its very own Stark Industries generator, and having that fail, especially so quickly, was, frankly, unacceptable.

“You dummy, why won't you work?” Tony mumbled at the machine angrily from the lighting area offstage. Clint and Coulson stood by anxiously with tool boxes, handing him whatever he needed. Most of the requested tools were odd homemade contraptions. “Yep. That's what I'm naming you. Dum-E, for Dumb Electronic. Hey Coulson, hand me that...um...'U'...”

Coulson rummaged through his box, finally coming up with a strange little attachment. He put it in Tony's impatiently outstretched hand. “Phil.”

“What's that?”

“My name is Phil,” Coulson smiled sheepishly.

“No it's not, your first name is...uh...” he trailed off, mind already fully focused on his little robotics.

“His name is Phil,” Clint confirmed, and blushed slightly at Coulson's warm smile directed his way.

“Mhmm...” Tony muttered distantly. “Ok, now, see if that did anything.”

“Nothing,” Steve's voice resounded from the other side of the open doorway. “Have you tried turning it off and turning it back on again?” he asked mockingly.

“Shut it, you,” Tony warned. “You know nothing about new technology.”

Steve just laughed.

“Oh!” Tony rolled out from under the Dum-E. “Hand me one of the JARVIS's! Always fixes everything.”

“JARVIS? What's that one stand for?” Steve cocked his head.

“Yeah, 'Just A Rather Very Important Something'. You got it yet?”

“Here you go,” Clint handed him an odd shaped bulb looking object with J.A.R.V.I.S. Scrawled on a lopsided piece of tape.

He unscrewed something off the side and put the JARVIS in it its place, which subsequently lit up.

“Ok, now?”

“It's working!” Pepper called triumphantly from the audience seating.

“Yes!” Tony punched the air.

()()()

Clint walked backstage, humming quietly to himself, still thinking about the previous night.

Natasha snuck up behind him and jabbed Clint with a pin.

“Ow, Nat! What was that for?!” he exclaimed.

She gave him a look that said he should know exactly why he deserved it.

“You are a dangerous woman,” he complained.

“Exactly. So when were you going to tell me?” she demanded.

“It was last night! How did you- never mind, I know how, but it was literally just yesterday, Natasha!”

“Eleven hours ago, yes. And I'm your best friend, you've gotta tell me!” She smacked his arm for good measure.

“Ow! Are you done?”

She smacked him once more. “Yes,” she said innocently. “So spill.”

“Ok, ok. So he listened to me play, and he said he could definitely get me an audition with the director.”

“And?”

“And what?” he retorted.

“Your ears are turning pink!” she accused with a teasing tone. “Ha! I knew it!”

“Shut up, Nat!”

“Did he kiss you?” She grinned at Clint's blushing silence and gasped, “did you kiss him? Was there more?” she sounded impressed and mock-scandalized all at once.

“We are not talking about this right now,” Clint looked around at the people filtering in the room as his cheeks continued to burn.

“Fine. For now. But I will get it out of you later. That's a threat, Barton.” She punched him in the shoulder playfully and headed off to the costume storage. Clint made a face, as he had no doubt in her interrogation techniques.

()()()

Saturday evening found Loki waiting nervously upon the roof. In one hand he held a rose tied with a delicate ribbon and in the other, a few pieces of music he had written that he wanted to show her.

He was there earlier than he had implied for her to arrive, he knew, but that didn't stop him pacing worriedly. On what had to be his hundredth loop of the rooftop, he started checking the door with every pass. It was starting to get late.

By the time the sun began to set, he had given up on his pacing, tired legs resting as he leaned against a statue. He tried to hum to himself to pass the time, but his heart was frantic and the songs came out too fast, notes stumbling clumsily through his lips.

By the time the sun had finished setting, he began to feel a sense of dread at the concept that she might not be coming.

When it had reached midnight, he gave up with a frustrated sigh, feeling his heart break all over again. Love really was going to kill him. He dropped the rose on the rooftop surface and headed back inside sadly. He retreated back to his lair, finding comfort in the consoling darkness surrounding him. He turned the dial on his music box, set it next to his bed, and lay there fighting tears and anger as the haunting lullaby lulled him into a fitful sleep.

()()()

As the days went by, Sif became more and more restless and worried about her Angel, especially now that people were watching her more closely out of concern. Thor kept her from wandering at night on her searches, telling her that the Phantom wouldn't be there to scare her anymore. Her friends kept asking if she was alright, and she was afraid her answers kept getting shorter and shorter. She didn't mean to snap at anyone, but she was getting so tired of it all.

How could he have just disappeared? How could he have just left? Wouldn't he have at least said goodbye? And why was he so angry? She sighed, placing her chin in her hand.

“Have you told your friends?” Thor asked.

“Hmm?”

“Have you told your friends of our engagement?” Thor clarified.

“Oh. Yes, I told them. They are very happy for us,” Sif said distractedly.

“And the managers and the rest of the theatre?”

“Not yet,” she said after a moment of hesitation.

“Sif, we need to let them know.” Thor was starting to sound disappointed.

“Yes. I know,” she sighed.

“Let us tell them at the ball, then. It can be a celebration,” he tried to get her excited.

She smiled. “Yes. That sounds like a good plan.”

()()()

Sif began to feel more and more uneasy as the ball approached. She had her costume ready, matching perfectly with Thor, and had even practiced dancing with him. But something was wrong and she couldn't put her finger on it. There was an underlying feeling of tenseness and dread, and she tried to figure it out, tried to distract herself from it, but to no avail.

“Are you ready, Sif?” Thor smiled at her.

“I...Thor I can't do this. Not yet,” she spun around to face him. “I can't tell them yet.”

“Sif,” he began.

“Please, Thor. Just give me a little bit more time. Please.” She hated seeing the pain in his eyes caused by her but he acquiesced.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly, almost like a consolation.

“Thank you, Thor,” she replied with a sad tone.

He looked handsome as well, in a warrior costume in red, silver, and black, complete with an metal winged helmet. Sif liked his costume better without it, but he insisted upon wearing it.

He took her hand and led her down the hall towards the entrance of the party. Her breath caught as she neared the crowd, her heart sped up hearing the sounds, and she tried to calm herself. She told herself it was just nerves, that she had it completely under control, but part of her still was not convinced.

Sif walked into the ball and for a moment her breath left her. There were masks everywhere, easily something to be expected at a masquerade ball, but suddenly they all reminded her of him. All her memories of her Angel came flooding back to her and it made her pause in mournful silence. She missed him so.

Thor tugged her arm gently, leading her down the rest of the stairs so as not to cause a traffic jam, as a few people nearby stopped to look at her in concern.

Her eyes flew around the room, lingering on each mask for a brief second, trying to find the one that was familiar. She needed to see him.

“He isn't here, Sif, don't worry,” Thor said reassuringly. Little did he know that his assurance was doing nothing for her nerves, and she came to find that him not being there was exactly what she was dreading.

It was the perfect place for him to hide all the while being able to talk to her. She wished he would come, just so that she could see him again. She wasn't entirely convinced that any of it was real anymore, but she was still holding out hope.

()()()

Steve Rogers stood at the top of the large marble staircase leading down into the main entrance hall of the opera house looking out at the dancing and mingling guests. Everyone was in costume and masks, and he was glad to see that they all were having a good time. He thought he recognized a few of his staff, who were all invited to attend the ball as well. He heard a metallic thump behind him and turned around to see a red colored oddly-shaped suit of armor approaching him.

“Stark?”

“Hey! You knew it was me?” Tony removed a large mask off the front of his helmet.

“Who else would wear such a ridiculous costume?” Steve took the huge contraption in. “What even are you supposed to be?”

“'Ridiculous costume' says the guy dressed as a superhero with only a shield and no cool weapons…I made this myself, look, it moves!” he did something inside the suit and some little flaps opened up.

Steve looked down at his own costume. It was simple, but it was a favorite of many parties he had been too. “It's a classic,” he complained. “I only have a shield because I'm one of the good guys. I don't need any fancy gadgets or powers to save lives and protect people.”

“You take this way too seriously,” Tony said in mock concern.

“You spent weeks building a whole costume that moves and I'm the one taking it too seriously?” Steve asked, incredulous.

“Isn’t this party great?” Tony continued, ignoring him and gesturing out at the crowd.

“It’s a wonderful start to our new season,” Steve agreed.

They made their way down the stairs and each took a glass of champagne offered to them by Darcy's intern.

“Here’s to us,” Tony toasted.

“To us,” echoed Steve.

“Too bad the Phantom isn’t here, hmm, boys?” Pepper teased as she walked up to them. “You might get some practical use from your costumes that way.”

“It’s so fun seeing everyone in a costume and a mask! Except you, my dear, why haven’t you worn a costume?” Tony said flirtatiously.

“Maybe I am in a costume and you just don’t realize,” she lowered her cream colored mask and winked at them before heading over to talk to a small group of women laughing by the punch bowl.

Steve bid his farewell to Tony as well and walked towards some ballerinas. Tony laughed to himself; if only the girls knew that their manager Mr. Rogers had no romantic interest in them whatsoever. He was just too polite and too much of a people-pleaser to stay on the sidelines at a party they were hosting. He took one of the girls' hands and led her onto the dance floor.

He remained on the edge of the dance floor, content enough for now to keep up his people-watching as the song ended and the giggling ballerina dancing with Steve ran off to her friends. Steve shrugged at Tony with an embarrassed smile and turned around as Peggy tapped him on the shoulder, asking him to dance.

Across the opposite side of the dance floor, he saw the clarinetist that he watched try to help the unfortunate bass player months back when they first came to the theatre trying to teach the man a few steps. Trying being the key word as he was very unsuccessful.

On the corner next to his, he saw Natasha smirking over a drink at a nearby Coulson who appeared to be rambling at a happy looking Clint. She made eye contact with Clint and winked at him, causing the man to blush as he drew his eyes away from her back to the stage manager.

“They’re cute, right?” said a voice on his right. “Clint's been pretty smitten for a while. It's good to see them together, Natasha was about to intervene.”

“Rhodey! How’s my favorite musician doing?” Tony clapped him on the back.

“Better than you’d think, I’m first chair and concert master now,” he said proudly.

“Yeah? Well, I own the theatre, so…”

Rhodes rolled his eyes at Tony. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Hey listen, Thor’s been looking for you, man. He’s wearing some ridiculous helmet and carrying around a big hammer. I'm going to go help Sam. He keeps trying teach James things, but he's so forgetful. He's very talented with his bass. His memory, not so much. And if Sam keeps on like that the poor man will be tired out before he even starts.” He patted Tony on the back in farewell.

()()()

Madame Frigga stood with Dr. Banner and Director Fury, relaxing and watching the festivities around them.

“It’s been a good few months. This is a great way to celebrate,” she said appreciatively. She was glad to see so many of her students having fun.

“No disasters or anything!” Dr. Banner agreed, his normal demeanor shining through happily.

“No fucking notes or any of that crap,” Director Fury said as he finished off his drink.

“I’ll toast to that!” Frigga laughed, handing him another glass.

“To the new season, the new chandelier, and peaceful times on the stage,” Bruce toasted.

They clinked their glasses together.

()()()

Steve finished his dance with Darcy, which was full of her pointing out his staring at a pair of orchestra members in the corner.

“Just go talk to them already!” she laughed as she pushed him lightly in that direction and wandered off the other way. The music was at a small break and so he made up his mind. He took a breath and crossed the floor.

“Bucky!” he called out as he approached the pair talking in the corner. He had been watching Sam try to teach the long-haired man some dances even though he was pretty hopeless, but when he had turned around in an attempted spin, Steve recognized him immediately. His best friend from all those years ago was right there in the same theatre as he was, both of them living dreams they had as children. He thought he had seen him earlier, but he wasn't sure before. And throughout his time as a manager of the Shield Opera, he wasn't as involved with the orchestra members since Tony had frequent conversations with the concert master and Director Fury always let them both know when anything was wrong.

“Bucky,” Steve said again, touching him on the arm.

He spun around with a frown, and Steve felt the smile on his own face fading rapidly. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

Steve floundered for a moment, no real words coming to mind. Bucky gave him a look like he was crazy and walked off.

“You know him?” Sam asked cautiously.

“I...I thought I did,” Steve was confused. “He was my best friend.”

“James Barnes, our bass player...serious memory problems?” Sam described, trying to jog Steve's memory to make sure Barnes was the person he was trying to find.

“Oh.”

“Oh is right, man. He had some problems with amnesia after being in the service, then his short term memory's got some issues too. You sure he's your friend?”

“That's Bucky...”

“James Buchanan,” Sam seemed to realize something. “Bucky. I get the nickname now.”

“How is he?”

“Pretty good, I guess. He just showed up one day a few years ago with a bass. Everything he was told to play he does perfectly. Then you ask him to remember to bring his sheet music and he never has it, never knows where it is. I've been trying to help him out in our spare time. He's been getting better though. Maybe seeing you again will help. He needs some long-term stuff.”

Steve thanked Sam sadly and the clarinetist bid him farewell as he went off in search of Barnes to make sure he hadn't wandered off too far.

()()()

Sif and Thor stood in an alcove watching the ball instead of participating. In their warrior-esque costumes, Sif looked elegant and Thor looked imposing. She glanced down, playing with the necklace she was wearing, where her ring was attached to a gold chain.

“I do not see why you will not wear your engagement ring on your hand, Sif,” Thor commented, looking sullen about it.

“A secret engagement, just think,” Sif looked around nervously.

“But why must it be secret?”

“Please, let’s not fight about this,”

“It is an engagement, not a crime. What are you so afraid of?”

“Just wait til the time is right,” she pleaded.

Thor hesitated, then nodded. “In time I hope that I will understand. But I will not question it further. Let us dance now, Sif!”

She allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor. Three songs in, Sif was beginning to enjoy herself. The distraction of focusing on the dance was actually causing her to have fun.

“May I cut in?” a quiet voice sounded from her left.

“Certainly!” Thor said good-naturedly. “I'll be at the punch bowl, Sif,” he kissed her cheek and left her standing with the stranger.

The man looked like something out of a painting of a masquerade ball. From every strand of his slicked back hair in place to the tips of his perfectly shined shoes, he was the image of power. Sif couldn't help but let her eyes wander over his frame. His suit was immaculately pressed, not a single wrinkle in sight, and the collars were buffed to a perfect sheen. The ironed crease of his pants was in perfect alignment with the tops of his shoes. Even Thor had hesitated for a moment in appreciation for the man's clean and stylish look. The only parts that he wore of a costume nature were the heavy silken cape cascading from his shoulders in a rich green and the intricate gold mask that covered three quarters of his face in an artful curve.

His gloves were crisp and perfectly fitted to his hands, she noticed, as he took one of her own in his and placed his other lightly on the curve of her waist. She rested her other hand on his shoulder a bit nervously as he maintained his expert posture. She looked into his eyes finally and saw that he was staring back at her. When the music began, he graced her with a small smile and she knew she had seen this man before; his eyes especially.

He leaned a bit closer to her as he pulled her gently through the waltz and she felt breathless. It was like she was dancing in a dream, because this was her Angel, and only in her dreams was she able to see him. And now, in front of everyone, he was here. Real.

They danced like no one was there, eyes never leaving each other. Through the whole dance, he stared into her eyes with an expression so intense, Sif could barely maintain the eye contact after a while.

As the orchestra played the last few lines, the dance slowed, and he reached a hand to touch her cheek gently. The scent of soap and parchment followed his movement as she leaned slightly into his hand that was cool through the fabric of his glove against her burning skin.

When the last note died, he brushed a kiss over her knuckles. He looked as if he was about to say something. His eyes flickered down but then his expression suddenly changed. “Thank you,” he said stiffly, the distant coldness so opposite of the man she had just been dancing with. He took a step back, gave her a low bow, and disappeared into the crowd.

With a slight frown, she wandered back over to Thor.

“Who was that?” Thor asked.

“He never said his name,” Sif replied, but she knew in the corner of her mind that he was her Angel. She just didn't understand why his demeanor had changed so suddenly.

“He's quite a good dancer,” Thor commented.

“Yes, quite,” Sif agreed quietly, wondering what had just happened between them.

()()()

'How dare she?' Loki fumed as he stalked into a deserted hallway. He thought she cared about him, wanted him. Were all those nights calling for him nothing? Were they just to mock him? He bet they could have quite a laugh over it, especially Thor. He had poured his heart out for her through his music and his letter; how could she act like none of it ever happened?

He took a breath, trying to calm himself, remembering what Frigga had told him as he tilted his head with a frustrated grimace.

'Maybe she hadn't read the letter', a part of him wondered, 'for some reason or another.' That would explain her not showing up on the roof. And her surprise to see him. Maybe she really did think he wasn't as real as she had believed. He knew that her fiance had been telling her for quite some time that Loki was no longer around. Oh how wrong he was.

Loki had spent the past few months working hard on composing an opera, all for Sif. Hoping that maybe then she would understand his feelings finally. 'Fine,' he told himself. He would give them the opera. Give them one more chance to obey, and give Sif one more chance to truly decide.

He quickly wrote a few notes, added them to a leather folder he had stashed away, and put on the rest of his costume. If they thought he was a demon, an angel, a phantom, a ghost, then so be it. He would be everything they wanted and feared.

When that trombone player had insulted Frigga, all he had access to was a shovel. Granted, it did the job he intended quite well, but now he had experience and more tools; all much more deadly and precise than a shovel.

()()()

Sif heard a gasp resonate around the room and looked in the direction most people had now turned to face.

At the top of the marble staircase was the man with the golden mask, now wearing golden horns as well. He took very deliberate steps down the stairs and the golden staff he held in one hand seemed to glow with every step. In his other hand he held a leather bound ream of paper.

Everything went silent as he neared the bottom of the stairs. “Why so quiet, everyone?” he asked with a smirk, in a liquid silver voice. “Did you think that I had disappeared forever?”

He laughed and stepped off of the last stair, turning towards Tony. “Have you missed me, sir?”

The crowd parted as he took a few more steps towards the manager. “I have written you an opera.” Tony's eyes widened as the man swept his staff towards him. He turned sharply, cape billowing, and tossed the ream of paper towards Frigga and Fury. “That is the finished score. ‘Don Juan Triumphant!’ I suggest that you all comply with my instructions.” He focused his gaze on Steve who had frozen next to Dr. Banner, “remember, there are worse things than a shattered chandelier.”

His eyes turned to Sif, who took a step towards him as Thor tried to hold her back. She pushed his hand away and continued walking towards him until they met in the middle of the room. “It's you,” she whispered as if she didn't believe it. He stared into her eyes and one of her hands slowly began to rise towards him.

His eyes darted around the room for a moment, checking the crowd. Then he looked down at the ring on her necklace, and grabbed it angrily.

“You will still sing for me,” he whispered harshly, all of the loving gentle music gone from his tone as he replaced it with threat. He dropped the jewelry and it felt cold against her skin.

He stepped back suddenly, and with a rapid turn of his cloak and a flash he was gone. Sif felt like her breath had been knocked out of her. She looked up and there was chaos in the entrance hall. Steve and Tony tried to calm all of the guests down as some of the people more familiar with this sort of scenario fled to their dressing rooms and the backstage area.

()()()

Thor ran backstage, looking for Madame Frigga. He finally spotted her, looking more resigned than panicked as she walked towards the dark of the curtains.

“Madame Frigga!” he followed her. She turned back towards him for a brief moment but continued on her way into the dark.

“Frigga, please,” he caught up to her and grabbed her arm gently.

“Please, Thor, I don't know any more than anyone else.”

“You and I both know that is not a true claim. You have seen something before, have you not? You know him more so than the rest of us!”

“I don't know what I've seen, please don't ask me.”

“Madame, for all our sakes, please,” he begged.

Madame Frigga looked around, ensuring that they were alone, before quietly beginning to trust him and telling him her tale. “It was many years ago. Almost twenty-one now. There was one of those fairs set up not too far from the city. You know, the one with the tumblers, conjurers, magic tricks, trained animals, and human oddities...”

“Human oddities?” Thor squinted.

She nodded. “Yes, and there was...I will never forget the first time I saw him. He was so frightened. I just knew that was where he came from. He had no one, Thor. He ran to the city all bruised and covered in blood and dirt. I took him in, took care of him. I found out later that he was locked in a cage.”

Thor looked thoughtful for a moment, like he was remembering a far off thought. “A man in a cage...”

“Oh, he was only a boy!” Frigga said sadly. “A young boy. But a prodigy! He's a scholar, an architect, a musician...”

“Our composer...” Thor interrupted, piecing together the facts.

“An inventor too, Thor,” she continued. “He told me how he was once forced to build a maze of mirrors for his previous...owner...”

“His owners?” Thor looked moderately horrified. “But why was he locked up, Frigga, if he is gifted so?”

“He said everyone thought he was a freak of nature, more monster than man,” she said sadly. “Not well, from birth apparently, he was an unnatural blue and silver.”

Thor made another face like he was trying to recall a forgotten memory.

“I was sad for him,” Frigga said. “When he told me how he escaped I let him stay with me. There were wanted posters and police searching for him, and I was going to lose my job for hiding him here. So he hid. For me. The circus never found him, they said he had died...the world forgot him and it seemed he liked it that way for a while, until he could recreate himself. I introduced him to music to try to help him, and he took to it so strongly. I do not get to speak to him often but I can never forget him. I see him here in the darkness, I always know that he's there.”

“So he must trust you...” Thor said thoughtfully.

“I've said too much,” Madame Frigga looked more panicked now. “I'm sorry,” she looked around again and then hurried off. Thor watched her go.

“And there have been too many accidents!” she called back.

“Accidents?” Thor sounded affronted. “Too many indeed. We must find this man!”

He strode off quickly in the direction of the managers' office.

()()()

Steve and Tony had the contents of the leather bound book spread out across their desk. Tony stared at a cast list with a look of exasperation while Steve thumbed through the sheet music.

“This is crazy,” he mumbled. “Have you seen the score?” He held it out to Tony.

“This is crazy,” Tony echoed. “Look at this cast list.”

“Banner will be furious,” he warned.

“This has got to stop. It's our theatre, goddammit, we can't let him keep going on like this,” Tony said obstinately.

“Think about it though, Stark. We can't afford another chandelier mishap. We have to plan this more carefully this time. There has to be a way to work through this more efficiently. I do agree he must be stopped though.”

Tony flipped a few other papers over, letting out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh look. More notes.”

Steve sighed, “what do they say?”

Tony cleared his throat and began to read:

Dear Stark,
About my orchestrations: We need another cellist. Get a player who has a better tone. And that third trombone has to go. The man couldn't be deafer, so get somebody who plays in tune.

Steve only shook his head in frustration. “They won't like our only reasoning being a letter from a ghost! I suppose we could hold auditions,” he sighed after a moment. “Hopefully Fury won't mind bringing in some new people. It's really up to him though.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Tony replied dryly and read the second letter aloud.

Dear Rogers,
For my opera, some chorus members must be gotten rid of. Find out which have better senses of pitch. I've also managed to assign minor roles to those who cannot act.

Tony's head snapped up. “Did you-”

“I didn't know! I thought he'd need the script!” Steve's defense fell on deaf ears as Doctor Banner burst into the room in a full outrage.

“This is insanity!”

“Doctor Banner, please,” Tony tried to calm him. “Look what you've done,” he admonished Steve who gaped helplessly.

“Have you seen the size of my part?!” Banner fumed.

“Doctor, listen-” Steve tried to come up with a solution.

“It's insulting!” Banner interrupted. “Just look at this! An insult! The things that I have to do for my art,” he flopped dramatically onto their couch. “If you can even call this gibberish art,” he held up the script indignantly.

The managers' door opened again, this time admitting a nervous looking Sif and a determined Thor.

“Oh look,” Banner said spitefully. “She's here.”

“Ah, Sif. You're quite the lady of the hour.” Tony put a hand to his temple in frustration.

“You've managed to secure the largest role in this Don Juan,” Steve explained, handing her a copy of the script. Her expression transformed into one of confusion.

“She doesn't have the voice,” Banner muttered.

“Banner, please,” Tony warned.

“Then I take it you're all agreeing Sif should have no part in this?” Thor announced.

“What?” Sif looked at him, betrayed.

“She's behind this!” Doctor Banner stood up suddenly, pointing at Sif. “She wants the leading roles!”

“I don't think we have much of a choice,” Steve tried to reason with Thor as he ignored Dr. Banner.

“She's the one behind this!” Doctor Banner cried again. “Sif!”

“How dare you?” Sif snapped back, having had enough.

“I'm not a fool,” Banner retorted. “This is too perfect. You work with this...this murderer that almost killed me and you make him put you in the leading parts no matter the cost!” he accused.

“How dare you?” Sif said again, “you know that I'm not like that, just as you are not like this. Please. I don't want any part of this argument. It's not my fault! I don't know anything about this. I hadn't seen him in months! I won't do it!”

They all silenced. “Sif, surely-” Steve began.

“But why not?” Tony interrupted.

“She's backing out!” Banner said to himself happily.

“Sif, it's your decision,” Steve said reluctantly. “But why not?”

“I will not do it being accused of stealing. I have not seen him in so long, I don't want to do it.”

“You have a duty,” Tony held up the cast list.

“I cannot sing it,” Sif replied. “I can't...” She sounded as if she had been punched in the gut, sad and hopeless.

“Sif, you do not have to, they cannot make you,” Thor said gently, laying a hand on her shoulder.

There was a knock at the door and Frigga entered cautiously, sensing the environment in the room.

“Please, sirs, I have a note...” Tony motioned at her to read it.

Fondest greetings to you all. I have a few instructions just before rehearsals start now that I have you all in one room. Bruce Banner must be taught to act, not his usual hulking around the stage. Thor, you should let our Don Juan know he must lose weight, it's not healthy at a man of Volstagg's age. And my managers must learn that their place is in an office, not the arts, not anymore.

Doctor Banner looked offended and Steve's eyes went down. Tony looked like he was ready to argue.

As for Miss Sif. No doubt she'll do her best. It's true her voice is good. But she knows, though, if she wishes to excel, she has much still to learn, if her pride will let her return to me: her teacher. All is forgiven about the note that you ignored, Sif.
Your obedient friend and Angel.

Sif gasped softly at the signature of 'Angel.'

“What note?” Tony demanded.

“I...I never got a note,” Sif frowned.

“We have all been blind,” Thor looked thoughtfully determined. “And yet, this is our answer.”

“Go on, we're listening,” Tony encouraged and Steve nodded reluctantly.

“We shall play his game and perform his work. But remember that we hold the ace: for if Sif sings he is certain to attend,” Thor explained.

“We make sure the doors are locked,” Steve added, catching on.

“We make sure we have men there,” Tony agreed.

“And we make certain that they are armed. When the curtain falls, his reign will end. During the show we will check the audience and the boxes, and we will surely find him. Then we will arrest him.”

“Or we could shoot him,” suggested Tony.

Thor nodded. “If necessary, yes.”

“This is madness!” Frigga interrupted.

“I'm not so sure,” Tony disagreed. “If it works-”

“Madness,” she emphasized.

“The tide will turn in our favor this time,” Steve said confidently.

“Sir, believe me, there is no way of turning the tide.”

“You stick to ballet,” Tony snapped. Steve gave him a warning glance.

“Then help us,” Thor pleaded. “You know more than us, instead of warning us, help us!”

“Sir, I can't,” Frigga said regretfully. “I wish that I could, but-”

“Don't make excuses,” Tony warned.

“Or are you on his side?” Thor accused.

Frigga looked up with a glare. “Sir, believe me, I intend no ill. But we have seen what he is capable of, and that is just the beginning.”

“We are prepared, we'll get him this time!” Tony argued back.

“I still think Sif is behind all of this,” Banner complained and was annoyed that everyone ignored him.

“If we succeed, we'll all be free from this so-called Angel,” Steve replied.

“Listen to me, you should fear him, sirs, please,” Frigga begged.

“Sif will sing and we'll get our man,” Tony said decisively.

“If Sif will help us,” Steve amended.

“Say your prayers, black angel of death,” Thor warned though no Phantom was in sight.

“Please don't...” Sif said quietly but no one listened to her.

“Only Sif can help us,” Tony retorted to Steve's earlier statement.

“Please do no to this!” Frigga warned.

“We will end him!”

“If you don't stop I'll go mad!!” Sif cried and the room silenced and turned to her. “I'm frightened, please don't make me do this. I don't want this to happen. You don't know what he'll do and I don't want this to be anyone's end. I used to dream to catch him but not like this. We've just found him again. I need him there singing songs in my head. Please,” she emphasized. “I need him there singing songs in my head,” she whispered more in reassurance to herself.

“She's mad,” Banner commented.

“You said before that he was only a man. While he lives, he will haunt all of us until we are dead.” Thor tried to explain logically.

“I don't know what answer you expect from me. This game is so twisted, like chess if you want me to be a pawn and the queen all at once. You're making me risk my life, his life, and all of your lives for this. This is the Phantom's Opera. All of this, not just Don Juan,” she took a breath trying to calm herself. She wondered if she could betray the man who inspired her voice, and if she really had any say in the matter at all. Her mind went to the managers, so sure of their plan but not even wanting to understand the risk it put them all at. She thought of Thor, putting his life on the line so blindly for this mission. She thought of Loki, unsuspecting and vulnerable as he watched his opera.

She was so afraid someone she held dear would fall that night. Someone would not make it through the opera. But with all of them staring at her, and with Loki's wishes for her to sing the part he wrote for her, she found that she could not refuse.

“Sif, please do not think that I don't care; but all of our hopes and prayers rely on you now.” Thor placed a hand on her shoulder.

Sif gave one nod as the tears fell from her eyes, helpless to do anything else, wishing she could warn Loki.

“So it is to be war between us,” Thor declared. “This time, clever friend, the disaster will be yours!”

()()()

“Hey, Clint, wait up!” Coulson jogged to catch up with his stage-hand. “Fury just gave me a copy of the script for this Don Juan opera. I've got you an audition set up in just a few days!”

Clint smiled at him. “Really?”

“Yes, so get practicing. I'll do your ropes today. And I'll start looking for someone that can take your place here if you get the part.”

“Thank you so much,” Clint couldn't contain his gratitude as he kissed Coulson right in the middle of the hallway, not caring if anyone was around.

He couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he hurried to the little room where he practiced. Tied to the cello he used was a small bundle of hand written sheet music. He saw that it was parts from the Phantom's opera and that his cello had been polished and restrung.

()()()

Sif tore her room apart, desperately looking for the supposed note. She flipped papers, shook our pockets and dresses, opened all of her drawers, even checked inside of her books.

She was crawling on the floor to check under her bed when Maria walked in. “What are you doing?”

“I'm...looking for something.”

“Did you lose an earring?”

“No, it's a piece of paper...”

“Oh?”

“A note...I was supposed to have a note...”

“Oh...” Maria looked ashamed. “Sif, I...I found a note from the Opera Ghost...I...hid it, I saw how much pain he caused you, you were just starting to seem better. I thought it would help you. I'm so sorry. I didn't read it, I...I'm sorry.”

“Where is it?”

Maria showed her where she had tucked it behind her mirror. Sif let out a disbelieving laugh. Of course it would be in the mirror she stopped checking because seeing the stone wall behind hurt too much.

“It's alright. Thank you, Maria, for looking out for me.” Sif touched her arm earnestly.

Maria gave her a smile and let her be alone to read the note.

Sif read the letter. And then she read it again. After her third pass through of it, she realized that she was crying and leaning against her chair for support. She needed to talk to someone, someone who would understand.

Quickly, she walked to the carriage house.

“Hello Miss Sif,” Heimdall greeted from where he stood by the door, brushing a gold colored horse.

“Hello,” she replied hollowly. “Could you take me to the cemetery please?”

()()()

In his extensive time at the Shield Opera House, Heimdall had seen just about everything. Most people assumed that as a driver and a gatekeeper, he wouldn't know all that much about the happenings of the theatre. But that would be where they went wrong. He saw it all. He was observant and no one paid him any mind.

The Phantom. Loki. That was certainly an interesting one. Oh yes, he knew about him. He even knew his name. And Miss Sif had definitely brought out a change in him, that was for sure. He had been more open, more visible and accessible, and Heimdall thought that one of these days he was going to get himself caught. But then he had disappeared, back into his darkened realm.

Heimdall knew he was composing; he could hear the organ faintly from the carriage house. The horses seemed to like the music. Though he didn't know why or what the composition truly was for, he knew it was going to be big. He just hoped that whatever it was that was going on between him and Miss Sif would get resolved soon.

()()()

Sif stepped out of the carriage, thanking Heimdall quietly. She walked slowly through the archway, as if in a dreamlike trance. It was a long path to her father's grave, but it gave her time to think and to collect herself. After all, it had been some time since she had been able to visit and so much had happened and changed since she last came to talk at his headstone. As she glided through the monuments and graves, between the saints, sinners, and stone angels on the familiar cemetery path, she felt so lost.

She sank to the ground in front of his headstone. “Hello, father,” she placed her hand on the engraving of his name. “I'm sorry I haven't been here in a while. I've been feeling so confused lately.”

She sighed and settled onto the frozen ground a little more comfortably. “There were times where you were the only friend I had. And I've always valued your opinions the most out of anyone. When you died I felt so lost. My world fell apart. That's when Madame Frigga found me for the theatre. You were always all that mattered to me. And I wish you were still here. I wish you could be here with me. I'm so lost.”

“I met someone. Someone who made me feel like I wasn't alone anymore. He reminds me of you some; he's kind to me and he's always there singing songs in my head. I thought it was you at first, sending an angel to let me know you're alright. But he's real, father. He's a real person. I dreamed it wasn't so for so long, and I thought I was going crazy, but it's all true.”

“Do you remember Thor, father? I was reunited with him recently as well. We're...well, we're engaged. I wish you could be here for that. I wish you could tell me if I'm making the right choices. I don't know if I can decide between him and my Angel. I thought it could be decided for me since my Angel disappeared, and Thor protected me, but he's back.”

“You always dreamed so big for me. I wonder what you would think of what's going on. I wonder what you'd choose for me if you could,” she leaned against the stone. “This is the wrong place for you, you know. It's all so cold and still and hard. You were so gentle and warm, father. He's cold too, but in a different way. Loki. My Angel. I wish he was here too. I wish you could have met him.”

“I have no idea what I am to do,” she said and she was aware that she was crying now. “There's a new opera, and Loki wrote it. He wants me to play the lead. But my managers and Thor...they want to catch him that night. They might even kill him, father. He's done some frightful things but he doesn't deserve to die. I don't know what I would do if I lost him too. I love him. I love Thor too, but...Oh I wish you were here, you could help me. I wish Loki were here, I wish I could just talk to him. It's been so long and I feel like things could be fixed if we could just talk. Please help me, father.”

()()()

Loki watched from a safe distance as Sif crossed his line of sight on the way to her father's grave. When she sat in front of the tombstone, resting one shaking hand on the cold granite, he followed her footprints in the snow. She was crying, that he could tell, but he was out of earshot. He didn't want to interrupt this moment for her so he would not dare risk her hearing him draw closer. Instead, he remained still and just watched her, waiting until it was time to reveal himself and come back to her.

He wondered if she had read the note yet. And if she had, if she listened to any of it. She seemed so lost. He couldn't stay away any longer. It broke all of his strength and willpower seeing her cry like that. He carefully walked around the edges of the tombstones and approached from behind her father's grave.

“Wandering child, are you wanting my guidance?” he said softly so that his voice floated to her while he stayed out of sight.

“Is that...?” Sif spun around, looking desperately for him. “Who's there?”

“Have you forgotten your Angel?” he asked gently., taking a step out from hiding. She was searching frantically, but as soon as her eyes landed on him, she looked both relieved and nervous.

“Oh Loki!” she cried. “Please don't leave again, I've missed you so much. Why do you sound so sad?”

He took another step towards her, watching her carefully. “You've wandered on your own for too long, away from me. You denied me, Angel. You turned from me.”

He was just out of her grasp, just a few inches more than an arms length away. Seeing him so close again was elating, and yet she felt as if he could disappear again at any moment, that it was all just a figment of her imagination. He continued walking, eyes never leaving her, but her heart ached as the distance between them increased again.

“I'm sorry that I denied you; I was scared and alone, I didn't know-”

“We don't have to be alone ever again, Sif.”

Thor had been watching Sif from a distance, worried something might happen to her while she was visiting her father, as she was too upset to pay attention to people sneaking up on her. He watched the exchange between her and the Phantom, frozen on the side, seeing the man for the first time since the Masquerade. He was just as frightening without a costume and theatrics.

“Sif!” Thor called, trying to bring her away from him.

“I am your Angel of Music,” he whispered in his lilting commanding tone. “Come to me, Angel of Music.”

“Sif, why do you keep going to him, this angel or demon?” Thor's questions fell upon deaf ears as the Phantom continued to call to her. “How do you lure her? Who are you, strange angel?” The Phantom ignored his questions, reaching out a hand to beckon to Sif. She walked towards him slowly, reverently, leaving behind unwavering footprints in the snow.

“Cease this torment, Angel of Darkness!” Thor called out. “Sif, Sif listen! Whatever it is you may believe, this man, this thing, is not your friend!”

That caused Loki to pause his seducing of Sif back to him. He laughed darkly, “I see you haven't changed a bit, sir.”

Thor only let the confusion pass over him for a brief moment. “Let her go! For God's sake let her go!”

Sif seemed to break out of a trance. “Thor?”

Thor ran to her and pulled her into a protective embrace. Loki froze for a moment before throwing a spark that burst into flames at Thor's feet.

“Bravo, sir,” Loki said mockingly. “Such spirited words!” He threw another bit of fire at Thor as he pried an iron spike out of the fence around the graves.

“Is it just more tricks with you?” Thor growled.

Loki just laughed again. “Let's see, sir, how far you will go!”

“You are just tricks and violence!” Thor pulled a heavy iron decoration off the ground, holding it like a club.

“Thor, no!” Sif tried to hold him back.

Thor began to walk slowly and resolutely around Loki.

“That's right, sir, keep walking this way!” Loki taunted.

Their iron came together with a clash as they swung at each other.

“You can't win her love by making her your prisoner!” Thor yelled, causing Loki to freeze just long enough for him to get in a hit.

“Thor, please, don't!” Sif cried, staring in fear at Loki's form sprawled on the ground.

“Sif, stay back,” Thor warned. He advanced towards Loki, who pulled himself up from the snow.

Loki sneered. “So you aren't as dense as you look. I'm here, sir, the Angel of Death! Come on, come on! Don't stop! Kill me!” He threw another ball of fire at Thor, who dodged it just in time.

Sif ran between them. “Stop this!”

The two men stared at each other, panting, as Sif walked to Thor, grabbing his arm. “Thor, come on, let's go. Just leave it.”

“Oh, don't go, it was just getting fun,” Loki complained.

Sif looked back at him sadly, but continued to lead Thor back to the carriage.

“So be it! Let it be war upon you both!” Loki spat, and in a flash of smoke he was gone.

()()()

“...and this is page two from the first act,” Sam held out a piece of music from a dwindling pile to Barnes who carefully placed it in the right place in his stack. “And this last one is the ending here. No, man, the very ending,” he corrected as the bassist set all his pages carefully on his music stand. “There you go, you should have it all together now.”

“Thank you, Sam,” he said quietly.

“You know,” Sam began. “Rogers is pretty convinced he knew you. That you were friends.”

He frowned. “Rogers?”

“You know. Steve Rogers. The manager. Talked to you at the ball?” Sam tried to remind him. “Aw come on, man. Tall? Blonde? Used to be on Broadway?”

His frown deepened, trying very hard to remember, as a light of recognition dawned in his eyes. “Steve?”

“Yeah, Steve,” Sam nodded.

“He...he was on Broadway?” he asked, a little in awe.

“Yeah, he was really good too. You remember him?”

“I...he always wanted to perform,” he said quietly, with a tone of fear that he was getting it wrong. His hand went to his pocket where he kept a well worn scrap of his life before his amnesia. It was a small piece of paper, but he held it like a treasure. “Steve...”

“You should go talk to him,” Sam decided.

“What? Now?”

“Yeah, now. Before you forget. This could be really good for you! Come on, I'll go with you.”

He followed Sam like a puppy down the hallway to the managers offices. Pepper let them in without a word, sensing their urgency. Steve was filling out some paperwork, but looked up at the sound of his door opening. When his eyes met them, his expression changed to one of sadness.

“What can I help you with?”

“Alright, man, tell him what you told me,” Sam prompted.

Barnes took a step forward towards Steve hesitantly. “You...you wanted to be on Broadway...” He held out the scrap of paper and after a moment Steve opened his hand. He set it there carefully, afraid to let go of the one physical piece of his memory he was so desperate to find.

Steve held his gaze as Bucky stepped back hesitantly, then looked at the object placed in his hand. It was a small crumpled paper. Unfolding it, he saw that it was a ticket stub from the day they had sat outside the Opera House as kids planning their futures. His eyes widened and he froze.

“I remember you,” Barnes said quietly, reverently, as Steve clasped the little paper. “I...I remember Bucky...”

Steve could only let out a breath of a laugh as he felt tears come to his eyes, still staring at the memory.

“I don't...it's not all there,” Bucky looked worried. “But I remember you.”

Steve looked back up at him, seeing the same relieved and tearful expression as his own reflected on Bucky's face. Unable to hold back, Steve rounded his desk and embraced his long lost friend. After the briefest of moments, Bucky relaxed into the hug and returned it just as fiercely.

()()()

Thor was her best friend. That was easily admitted. They had grown up together after all. He was always looking out for her. She truly appreciated him and loved him. But she wondered if her love for him was anything more than brotherly. Did she really think of him romantically?

She knew it was a good choice: he was well off, a business man, intelligent, strong, protective, and completely devoted to her. She had said yes because she thought she would be stupid not to. At the time, she was so overwhelmed, emotions going haywire from all of the things that were happening. She wouldn't mind spending the rest of her life with him, that she was certain of, but when she thought about it, she realized she didn't love him like he loved her. It wouldn't be fair to him. And she found that her heart belonged to someone else.

Walking through the dormitories, she saw Madame Frigga's door was open. Sif knew she at least believed that the Phantom existed.

“Madame Frigga, could I please speak with you for a moment?” she asked hesitantly. “I don't know who else to talk to.”

“Of course, Sif,” she motioned for the girl to come in and sit down. “Would I be correct in assuming that this is about Loki?”

Sif's head shot up from where she had been intently studying the carpet. “You know his name?”

“Yes, I know him quite well. I was the one who brought him here. But that's a story for another time, what is it that you wanted to talk about?”

She took a breath, gathering her wild-flying thoughts. “Thor was...is my friend. My best friend. And I would do anything for him. But Loki...he's my friend too and I'm just so worried about what's going to happen. I think that they're going to kill him,” her voice broke. “And they need my help to get him. But I don't want...I don't think I can do it. I know I would do anything for Thor, Loki too, but not this. I can't do this. I can't let them kill Loki, I just can't. He's done so much for me, he's meant so much to me, I've just now got him back, he's my...he's...”

“Sif, dear, I think you love him,” Frigga said simply.

Sif sniffled in response; she knew it too. She just hadn't been able to fully admit it. And if it came down to it, which she was certain it would, she would have to choose one over the other. Thor: her friend and her protector. Loki: her teacher, her inspiration, her music. They both meant so much to her and she wished it could be any other way. But they were pitted against each other in every way, even just in their existence.

“I don't know if I can choose when the time comes. I love them both, not in the same way, but they're both so important to me. I don't want anything to happen to either of them.”

“Do you know their plan?”

“Not entirely,” Sif slumped a bit in her chair. “I know they plan to watch Box Five very closely.”

“Are you going to sing?” Frigga asked.

“I have to, don't I?” she replied bitterly. “It's Loki's opera.”

“You don't want to let him down,” Frigga said, understanding. “Have you spoken to him?”

“Only briefly, not like I want to,” Sif sighed. “He fought with Thor. I just...I feel like he's going to disappear again. I don't want to lose him. I finally saw the letter that he wrote that he mentioned at the ball. He...he said he loves me.”

“He loves you,” Frigga said definitively. “In his own way, certainly, but he does love you. He will do everything he thinks is best for you.”

“I think I might have known. I was just to afraid to accept it. I had suspected ever since he kissed me.”

“Oh?” Frigga asked, interested. Sif only blushed. “That's certainly new. As confident as he seems, he's always been incredibly shy about things like that.”

Frigga placed a hand on Sif's shoulder, “he has a kind soul, he is just misguided sometimes. You've helped him a lot, Sif. He's a much better person with you.”

()()()

Clint cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat in the creaky wooden chair placed in the center of the stage. Fury stared directly at him, unmoving. He glanced to the side and saw Coulson smile at him. He returned the expression nervously and adjusted the papers on the stand.

“Well, Barton, it's your lucky day. It seems our Ghost has written this opera to require one extra cello.”

Clint was startled and smiled slightly; even though the Phantom was frightening he was still true to his word in every way. He had fulfilled all of his promises and then some.

“Start at the cello entrance in the allegro movement,” Fury decided.

Clint nodded and the director counted off.

He played through the section, well practiced. His fingers flew over the strings, the bow fitting naturally into his hand.

When he finished, there was soft clapping coming from the curtained area Coulson was inhabiting. Clint breathed out an embarrassed but pleased huff of a laugh. He hadn't missed a single note.

Fury leaned back, impressed. “Alright, Barton. You got the part. Rehearsals start tomorrow. Find someone to take his place in the flies, Coulson.”

“Already on it, sir,” Coulson beamed.

“Of course you are,” Fury rolled his eyes.

“They're right here, actually.”

“Alright,” Clint said looking at the young pair in front of him. “So you two are going to be taking my place?”

“Yes,” the girl said. “I'm Wanda. This is my brother Pietro.”

“You got any experience in backstage work?”

“Enough,” she said pointedly.

“She does the lights, and I do the ropes,” Pietro said, more helpful than his twin.

“He's the fastest you'll be able to find.” Wanda said proudly.

()()()

Director Fury tapped his baton on the podium in frustration. “Again!”

He counted off and the chorus started singing their part again, tired from repetitive rehearsals all day, but getting better. Sif sang her lines, barely having to look at her script anymore at that point.

Volstagg stepped forward. “Those who tangle with Don Juan,” he sang, emphasizing the syllables incorrectly.

“No, no, no! Volstagg I swear to motherfucking God. Like this. Those who tangle with Don Juan.” he over emphasized to prove his point. “Every other goddamn syllable. Chorus, rest. Volstagg, again!”

“Those who tangle with Don Juan,” Volstagg tried again, nervously.

“No. Better, but no. Those who tangle. Tan. Hit it harder on the tan.”

“Those who tangle with Don Juan,” he sang again, better than before but still not right.

“His way is better,” Dr. Banner spoke up from the back of the chorus, obviously in one of his worse moods. “At least Volstagg makes it sound like music.”

“Sir, would you speak that way in the presence of the composer?” Frigga asked as she led the ballerinas across the stage.

Dr. Banner rolled his eyes. “The composer is not here. And if he were, I would.”

“Are you certain of that, sir?” Madame Frigga asked ominously.

Dr. Banner looked around frightfully, one hand going to his throat in remembrance of the Il Muto disaster.

“Again!” Fury called out. “Five, six, seven.”

“Those who tangle with Don Juan!” Volstagg attempted.

“Why does it matter what we sing?” Banner complained.

“Have patience, sir,” Frigga said.

“No one will know if it is right or wrong, no one will care. No one has heard of this opera before. No one will even come!” Banner whined. “Those who tangle with Don Juan,” he sang mockingly. “It doesn't matter!”

“Tan...tan...” Volstagg practiced. He turned to Sif. “Is that right?”

“Not quite, sir. Those who tan. Tan.” she emphasized for him.

“Come on, guys, please.” Director Fury tried to restore order to his rehearsal. He went to the piano, playing the chords leading up to that section loudly. When his hands left the keys, suddenly the piece began playing itself, forcefully and robotically. The chorus sang along with it in fear.

Sif broke away from the group. “In sleep he sang to me...” she murmured to herself. “In dreams he came.”

“Sif,” a voice whispered, but she was alone in the hall.

()()()

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted as he took the few steps down into the pit where his friend was trying to memorize his music.

“Steve,” he stared at him like he was the only familiar thing in the world keeping him together. Bucky frowned slightly. “You were smaller...”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, I...we were kids together. I used to get beat up a lot. You tried to keep me safe. I enlisted a while ago and that toughened me up.”

Bucky looked nervous.

“Don't worry, I'm done with that now.”

A ghost of a smile crept onto Bucky's face. Steve cleared his throat, “anyway. I brought you some stuff. Thought it might help.”

He held out a small metal tin. Bucky took it carefully, running his fingers over the old rusted surface and painted on biscuit advertisement. His brow furrowed as a deep memory tried to break free.

“We made this...right?”

“Yeah,” Steve took the seat next to him. “Yeah we did. I added a few more things I found and kept too, just a couple pictures.”

“We were going to bury it.”

“And open it when we turned fifty,” Steve laughed. “But I think now is a good time. Our younger selves would forgive our early timing.”

Bucky took the lid off carefully. A piece of yellowed tape held a scrap of paper to the inside of the lid reading 'Property of Steven Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes' in a neat, meticulous childish handwriting. The second name was crossed out with 'Bucky' written scratchily next to it. On the top of the small pile inside, there was a newspaper clipping from a small town paper about the heroics of the two boys.

“That's from when we saved Mrs. Peterson's dog when it fell in the river,” Steve explained.

“Spot,” Bucky said after a moment with a smile of remembrance.

“Yeah, Bucky, Spot. He was a good old dog.”

Underneath the article were a few photographs.

“I found that one of you a few weeks after you moved,” Steve said, pointing. “And that one is the house where you used to live.”

“You lived next door.”

“I did. That one's my old house. And that picture's of me and my mom.”

“Sarah...?” Bucky wanted to make sure he got it right.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Sarah. She died a few years ago,” he finished sadly.

“I'm sorry.”

“She'd be glad I found you again.”

Underneath the photographs were some drawings done by the boys. Bucky laughed at his own as he flipped through them. One in particular looked like a dinosaur in a wig. “You were always so much better at art than I was,” he said. The last in the stack was one of Steve's. It was a drawing of a much younger version of Bucky.

“I never showed you that one,” Steve said, a little embarrassed. “I thought you'd hate it or something, but I put it in the box when you weren't looking.”

Bucky smiled. “It's really good. I would have liked it.”

Beneath the artwork was a scattering of more random treasures: three brittle rubber bands, two mismatched buttons, a paintbrush, a couple of washers, four old pennies, five dull crayons with peeling paper, a bent deck of cards, a handful of colorful marbles, and three interesting looking rocks.

Steve took the ticket stub Bucky had given him that he'd carried around all those years and put it in the box.

“There,” Steve said. “All our treasures.”

Bucky picked up the stub again. “I want you to have it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I think I always meant for you to have it.”

Steve carefully tucked it in his wallet. “I'm glad you're starting to remember,” he said.

“Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“That you won't disappear on me again.”

“You know where to find me now,” Bucky said. “I'm not going anywhere else.”

Steve put a hand on Bucky's shoulder. “It's good to have you back, Buck.”

()()()

Thor, Steve, and Tony sat in the managers' office looking over some notes Steve had written when he had spoken with the Chief of Police.

“We'll be given fire marshals and policemen, I've explained the gravity of the situation to the chief,” Steve began. “They're sending one fire marshal per door to the auditorium and we'll also get a few marksman stationed around near the pit.”

“Should I watch from Box Five again?” Thor questioned.

“I don't think so,” Tony started. “We want it to look as normal as possible, like we're following all his orders.”

“Surely he'll notice all the policemen,” Steve complained.

“Yeah, but we aren't doing anything he said we couldn't,” Tony said smartly.

()()()

It was opening night. The orchestra was tuning, the ballerinas were stretching, the actors were doing vocal warm ups. Everything seemed to be going according to plan, and yet everyone was still on edge. Thor, Tony, and Steve led a small group of men into the auditorium. The chief fire officer blew his whistle and the group of fire marshals and policemen halted. Clint turned the lights on in the auditorium.

“You all understand your instructions?” the chief verified.

“Yes, sir!” the police replied.

“When you hear the whistle, take your positions. I will then instruct you to secure the doors. It is essential that they are all properly secured. Then the marksmen will take their places.”

“Are we doing the right thing, Tony?” Steve whispered.

“Do you have a better idea?” Tony whispered back.

“Should I give the order, Thor?” the chief asked.

“Give the order.”

The chief blew his whistle and the fire marshals spread out through the aisle-ways, each going to a door along the edge of the theatre.

Thor led the managers and the chief towards the pit.

“Do you have a clear view of box five?” Thor asked one of the marksmen.

“Yes, sir,” the man replied.

“Remember, when the time comes: shoot. Only if you must, but shoot to kill.”

“How will I know, sir?”

“You will know.” Thor said confidently.

“Thor, are you sure this will work? Is Sif able to perform?” Steve asked.

“Do not worry, Captain.”

“We're in your hands now,” Tony said.

“My men are all in position, sir,” the chief spoke up again.

“Go ahead then.”

The chief blew his whistle in a different pattern and shouted out into the auditorium, “are the doors secure?”

Each door was slammed and locked methodically, one at a time going around the edge of the theatre. When each was safe, the fire marshal would announce that it was secure.

All of the doors were secured without any issue, and just as the managers were about to give the call to open the theatre to let in the public, a lilting whisper of a voice rang out, echoing around the auditorium.

“I'm here, the Phantom of the Opera.”

Some of the policemen looked around nervously. One of the fire marshals stepped away from his door towards the voice.

“I'm here, the Phantom of the Opera,” the voice teased again, sounding as if it were on the opposite side of the theatre.

A few more of the police went towards the source of the voice and the marksman in the pit took the safety off his gun.

“I'm here!” the voice called from the box and the marksman shot at the empty curtain.

Thor whirled around to face him. “You are an idiot!” he yelled furiously. “You will kill someone! I said only when the time comes! There is no one there!”

“But sir,” the marksman began.

“No buts!” the voice laughed. “For once, Thor is right.”

Everyone was looking around nervously, most in different directions.

“Seal my fate tonight, yes? I hate to cut your fun short. But this joke is wearing thin. Let the audience in! Let my opera begin!”

()()()

Pepper walked outside to deliver the message to Darcy and Eric to go ahead and open the doors and she halted at the long and organized line wrapping through the queue.

“Hey Pepper!” Darcy greeted enthusiastically from the ticket booth. “We're sold out! Again!”

“Completely?”

“Yeah!” Darcy bragged. “My intern does a pretty good job.”

Ian was at the end of the line making sure everyone had their tickets out and ready. Eric waited at the doors patiently to show everyone their seats. Darcy climbed out of the booth to help Eric at Pepper's request and they opened the doors to the happy patrons.

When the last of the line was seated, Eric clapped Ian on the back and headed off to talk to the chief of police. Ian looked at Darcy who waved him off to do whatever he wanted.

Pepper smiled at Darcy, “good job on the sales, Darcy, thank you.”

Darcy smirked back.

“Tony was really worried about the tickets with all the cast changes and the chandelier fiasco. It's surprising we had anyone come at all.”

“Yeah, well, I'm just that good,” Darcy said proudly.

“You are,” she agreed. “Really. Thank you.” Pepper grasped her shoulder in solidarity and held on a moment too long. Darcy's smirk widened into a smile.

()()()

Tonight was the night. He knew what he was doing, but he knew it was incredibly reckless. Loki could see no other way, it was now or never.

He adjusted the cloak on his shoulders as he looked in the mirror. His mask lay on the table next to him. He stared at the scars, tracing them with his eyes, and the blueness of his skin. He wished it had grown back normal. He wished people weren't so hateful of him. It was just his face, his body. Just skin, nothing more.

When they first met, Sif had come to him not knowing why but just pursuing the feeling that she had, for music, for companionship, for understanding. He thought that in her mind she had fully chosen him. They worked so well together, creating things that had never been before heard. He wished she would drop the defenses she had suddenly put up. It was maddening to see her just out of reach. He wondered how she could not see the way he felt.

Pulling his hood up, Loki disappeared backstage. It had to be tonight. He would tell her, show her. He couldn't bear waiting any longer not knowing where things stood between them. No more games. No more if's, when's, or resisting. Sif would have to choose tonight. No going back or glancing behind, for himself of for Sif. He shook a tremble out of his hand and his fingers clenched uneasily at his other arm.

Yes, it would be tonight. The bridge would be crossed. It would be up to her which side she would be on when it burned.

()()()

As the play progressed, Sif was pleased to see that nothing dreadful had happened. Everyone was playing their part well, the orchestra was doing wonderfully, and the audience looked fully invested.

Natasha rushed over as soon as she made it through the side curtain to help her into her dress for the final scene. The ballerinas distracted the audience expertly as the stagehands quickly arranged the props and backgrounds. They rolled a huge fake stone archway with a curtain against one of the stage's side curtains for the actors to slip away through. A table set with a feast followed along with two long benches.

Luckily, the scene was written so that one of the characters was directing his servants to help set up the room. Fandral was playing her love interest in the scene, pretending to be his master, and ordered a few of the dancers to rearrange the pillows.

The chorus took their places and began to sing, explaining the complicated plot climax. Dr. Banner was in the chorus as well, but Loki had graciously allowed him a few solo lines.

Volstagg emerged on stage, singing his part, finally getting the pronunciations correct. He sang with Fandral about their plan to switch places to trick Sif's character, who was on her way to their 'house.'

The pair went away to switch clothes, hiding in the curtain in the stone archway while they waited for Sif's character to come in.

She made her entrance, singing her lines perfectly, happy now that everything was working out. She sat at the table and pretended to eat one of the apples. Fandral's character entered, pretending to be Volstagg's, and began to sing to her seductively.

The man onstage was not Fandral. She knew that instantly. As soon as the first note of the song crossed his lips she almost let out a sob; it was Loki. She was so relieved to see him again but also she knew that they planned to arrest or kill him tonight, depending on if he cooperated. And she knew that he wouldn't go with the police. Not only was he not in Box 5 or the rafters, he was on the stage, singing the lead in one of the final songs. He had such a flair for the dramatic, she knew he had planned entering on this song as soon as she heard him begin to sing. It really was the Point of No Return for them both.

His voice shook as he ended his first set of lines. Sif, following all cues and staying in character, came up to him to sing her part. She grasped his shaking hands and held them to her, wishing that his character didn't have a hood so that she could try to convey things to him with her eyes. All she had was her voice. She sang regretfully and sadly, changing the emotions of the song, trying to give him any sort of indication that she knew it was him, that he was in grave danger.

His character was supposed to embrace hers and run his hands over her arms and hips, but Sif watched as his shaking hands hovered mere centimeters over her skin. He didn't seem to realize how close he was to being found out, being killed. And he was still so nervous and respectful of her, making her choose to be in physical contact on the stage or not.

She wished there was some way that she could tell him to run, to leave, before they realized it was him on stage. All she could do was sing her part. She threw herself into the role, trying to emote her fear and warning to him, but she knew it was falling upon deaf ears as he sang back with such intensity that it was as if he was singing like he was going to lose her at any moment.

Near the end of the song she broke away, waiting for him to say his line which was her cue. But he didn't speak. She caught sight of Director Fury's face change as he figured out what was happening. It was now or never. She had to do something.

She was just about to open her mouth when Loki sang softly to her, familiar words she had heard whispered on the rooftops months ago. Words she thought were spoken by Thor but had come to assume she had imagined.

“Say you'll share with me one love...one lifetime...lead me, save me...from my solitude,” His voice was breaking as he faltered through the words, so much quieter than the acting before and completely out of character. She turned to face him, frightened for his life, and saw that he had taken his hood off. He had to know that she knew, that they all knew at this point. She shook her head slightly, wanting to warn him.

He looked almost terrified as he turned to her, eyes pleading. It was then she realized that he had to have known the whole time about the risks, the danger, what could and would happen to him. He had to have known, and yet he still did it. For her.

It had been him on the roof that night, just as she almost dared herself to hope. She knew tears were shining in her eyes as she stared back at him, unable to do anything else but listen and look upon her Angel.

She desperately hoped Thor and the policemen didn't realize anything was wrong, though she knew it was in vain. The theatre was silent as everyone looked on with baited breath.

“Say you want me...with you here...beside you...” Loki carefully pulled a ring off of his smallest finger, looking at it for a moment, before holding it out to her. She took it and hesitated, trying to speak, trying not to let any tears fall.

He took a breath, seeming to gain more confidence. “Anywhere you go let me go too.” She reached up, biting her lip. He had to know. He had to. It was suicide. “Sif, that's all I ask of-” The mask fell off in her hand.

Her eyes widened in shock and she felt her jaw drop as she heard his shout. The blue side of his face was towards the audience. She heard them screaming as his hand flew up to try to cover himself. She just stared with wide eyes. He looked both furious and terrified as he grabbed her hand and pulled her through a trap door she didn't know existed in a crack of light and puff of smoke. The last things she heard from the chaos above was Thor's booming voice commanding the police officers not to shoot.

()()()

There was an awful scream from the stage. Throwing back one of the side curtains to flee, Wanda had found her brother, Pietro. He was laying in the passageway, strangled, with the rope still around his neck.

She screamed again, tears flooding her eyes, as Clint rushed up from the pit to help her.

He pulled her away. “Come on, Wanda, you don't need to see this,” he coaxed.

“No! Pietro!!”

Clint tried to hold her as she lunged for her brother, sobbing. Coulson caught her as she fought feebly against him, collapsing in his arms.

Clint made eye contact with Coulson who gave him a single nod. He nodded back grimly. “Alright. Let's get this guy.”

The stagehands formed search parties with some of the more willing audience members and Coulson gave them instructions on which way to begin looking.

()()()

Loki pulled Sif through the abandoned hallways and passageways, and she was practically running to keep up with his furious and frightened pace. He had her wrist in a vice-like grip as he pulled her into the dungeons of his despair, into his mind's prison, where he deserved to be: in his darkness as deep as hell. He heard his ring clatter to the ground behind him as Sif lost her grip on it with his insistent pulling but he did not stop.

They reached the main rooms he had created for himself but he found no comfort there, knowing everyone was after them and would stop their search for nothing. He hoped he at least had some time before they found a passage or door; he knew that he always kept them hidden but with people like Thor leading the way, he had no idea what to expect.

“Why do you think I stayed here? Why do you think I was chained up and beaten, sold, put on display to scare children and for people to laugh at?! Not because I had done anything wrong, but because of my face! I had done nothing wrong but existing,” Loki spat, “and for that I was condemned! My crimes came later, if you call them that, and only were out of necessity!”

Frightened and commanding words from the opera house above filtered down like whispers. “Murderer! Find him!”

Loki dropped her arm to cover his ears as his eyes clenched shut, “No, no, NO!” His eyes flew open as he rounded to face Sif. “Everyone hated me! No one treated me kindly, only two people my entire life! And then you...you-” he cut himself off with a frustrated noise and turned away again, his arm accidentally knocking his music box onto the ground where it played quietly.

He threw some sheets off of mirrors he had covered out of loathing; he felt he didn't deserve to hide from himself anymore as he kept himself away from the world. A wardrobe he uncovered opened and Sif saw the dress from the first night she had come, now understanding that it was meant to be a wedding dress. He let out a harsh, cold laugh at it.

“Are you finished?” Sif spoke up and Loki froze. “You're so frightened you never give anyone the chance to see past anything! You push everyone away just as much as they push you! Things have changed, Loki, why can't you see that?”

“My fate which condemns me to be so angry has also denied me any companionship. My face, this affliction, it poisons me and any relationship I could ever have. I had to leave the woman I wish I could call mother because if she stayed with me she never would have been able to have any sort of life that she wanted. My face caused such fear and hatred. The first gift I was ever given was a mask! From Thor no less! He has forgotten me, I'm sure, but I can never forget the moment he threw a mask at my feet to wear.”

Sif sighed sadly at him, “Loki...”

“Do not pity me!”

“I don't! I only feel sorry that you cannot see what is right in front of you! I do not hate you, Loki! I have never hated you!”

He laughed bitterly.

“Your face holds no horror for me!” Sif snapped. “It's your soul that I see, that you showed me!”

His jaw twitched as he tilted his head slightly, trying to reel himself in. “So it is my soul that is corrupted as well. I see.”

()()()

The pandemonium on the surface was absolute chaos.

“Oh my God, Steve. We're ruined. Completely ruined.” Tony said, aghast.

Steve just stared. “This can't be happening. We have to fix this.”

Taking a cue from Coulson, who split the stagehands and orchestra into search parties that just broke apart from each other to investigate, they gathered the police force, willing audience members, and other actors and dancers and started forming their own groups.

()()()

Thor ran onto the stage, frantically trying to find the trap door that the Phantom had used. He jumped at a hand on his elbow. “Madame Frigga!”

“Come with me, sir. I know where they are,” she said seriously.

“Can I trust you?” Thor questioned.

She gave him a wry smile. “I'm afraid you must. But remember to keep your hand at the level of your eyes.”

“But why?”

“The ropes, sir. He is very skilled with them.”

Peggy appeared next to them. “Like this, sir,” she held up her hand in example. “I'll come with you.”

“No, Peggy, you mustn't!” Madame Frigga commanded. “Stay here and make sure the rest of the ballerinas are safe!”

Frigga turned to Thor. “Come with me, sir. Hurry.”

She led him down a hidden flight of stairs, both with their hands by their eyes. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she stopped. “This is as far as I dare go, sir. You will find them if you continue going down.”

“Thank you, Frigga.” Thor clasped her hands briefly in his, and then continued on his way.

Frigga looked stricken for a moment, then quickened her pace back up the stairs. When she reached the top of the flight and re-entered the hallway, she closed the door behind her. It looked just like another wall panel of the hallway. She leaned back against it as a mob hurried past her searching for the Phantom.

“Track him down!” they called. “Find this murderer!”

()()()

Thor raced down yet another stone flight of stairs. He hoped he wasn't too late. Suddenly, the stair underneath him gave way and opened like a trap door sending him plummeting down into the darkness below. He barely had time to take a breath as he fell into a deep pool of water. Struggling to reach the surface and coughing up the water that had gone down his nose, he saw a light in the distance. Seeing as it was his only option, he began swimming towards it trying to figure out his next move.

The closer he got to the source of the light, the shallower the water became, to the point where when Thor realized he was in a long canal of a hallway, he was sloshing through water only as high as his mid-thighs.

He continued down the path towards the unknown, only wanting to find and protect Sif. The tunnels and hallways felt like a maze, but he ran onward.

()()()

“Pepper, please be careful,” Darcy warned as she ran up to her boss, who had just split off from Tony and Steve's search party with directions to check the dormitory hallways. Pepper tucked a small object Tony had given her into her sleeve.

“Are you worried about me?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, something bad is going to happen, isn't it? That's why everyone is on edge and there are cops everywhere and Thor has a gun. And I got-” she cut herself off before she could ramble past the point of recovery. “Nevermind.”

“What?” Pepper's head cocked slightly.

“Promise you won't laugh?” Darcy said after a moment of hesitation.

“Why would I laugh?”

Darcy sighed, “I brought this.” She held out a small pocket knife. “I mean, it's not a gun, but I thought it would help. Maybe if I could just come with you when you check the hallways, then-”

She was cut off with Pepper's lips on hers.

“That's really sweet of you, Darcy. Thank you for wanting to protect me. I really appreciate it.”

“Wow. Ok. Yeah. So can I come with you or not?”

Pepper gave her a wry smile. “What if I want you to stay somewhere safe?”

“Pepper.”

“Alright. But we have to be quick. And stay with me.”

“Hey, I'm the one protecting you, not the other way around.”

“Of course,” Pepper said, touching the funny little contraption Tony had given her through her sleeve. He said it would stun a fully grown horse if the metal ends were pressed against its skin when she pushed the button. He had one of his own and a few other modified weapons, leading his search party confidently towards the under-stage storage rooms. “Hey, Darcy? Tony gave me this thing. It's supposed to knock someone out for hours if you hit them right. Do you want to hold it?”

Darcy nodded with a gleam in her eyes.

They checked dressing room after dressing room, bedroom after bedroom, and didn't see anyone except Barton and Coulson's search party heading the opposite direction. Natasha's group was securing the interior of the stage and the orchestra was handling the auditorium and lobby.

There was a shuffling noise coming from around the corner. Pepper paused and put a hand on Darcy's shoulder, raising a finger to her lips and then pointing towards the source of the noise.

The shuffling sounded closer and the culprit rounded the corner. Darcy screamed, jabbing the metal prongs into his shirt. He jolted and fell to the ground, twitching.

“Darcy!”

“HA!” she yelled triumphantly, then looked down at her victim with a successful smirk. “Oh crap.”

Volstagg was lying on the ground. “I'm sorry!” she gasped at him. “I'm sorry,” she turned to Pepper. I thought he was...Crap!”

“Good aim, just...watch what you're doing next time,” Pepper said, a hand going to her temple.

Darcy held out the contraption meekly. “Maybe you should keep it now.”

()()()

A splashing sound interrupted Sif and Loki as Thor approached them from a side waterway. Thor climbed out of the water with a gasp. Loki groaned bitterly to himself. Of course he would come out of the swamp looking perfect like that. It was ridiculous, really. It just kept reminding him of all the things he could never be.

“Oh look, my dear, we have a guest,” Loki said with a sneer.

Sif spun around, locking eyes with her fiance. “Thor!”

“What a delight, I'd rather hoped you'd come, sir,” Loki mocked. “My wish has come true, you have certainly made my night.” His grin was not of happiness; it was more of a grimace, holding a dark threat somewhere in the corner of those upturned lips.

“Free her!” Thor demanded. “You may do what you wish with me, but set her free, have pity.”

“Your fiance makes such a passionate plea,” Loki said dryly.

“Please, Thor, I don't need help, it's useless.”

“I love her! Does that mean nothing to you? Show some compassion. Do not keep her in this labyrinth; like the maze you built for your owner, Phantom” Thor said angrily. “I know what you have done.”

“My owner?” Loki snarled. “You mean my father! He forced me into it often, to remind me of how my mother hated me so much she died of shame! The world showed no compassion to me!” he advanced upon Thor, throwing a rope around his neck as the man had his back turned, trying to get to Sif. “YOU showed no compassion to me!”

“You talk as if I know you, Phantom,” Thor accused, eyes going back to Loki's face with a glare of defiance, knowing he was in peril as he had forgotten to keep his hand raised.

“You remember Sif so clearly, why is it, then, that you do not remember me? You are well acquainted with my owner as it were.” Loki glared, tightening the rope. “Sif met you only a few years after I did, was I so insignificant?”

Thor remained still. Loki threw his mask at Thor's feet furiously, where it broke into two pieces. “Do you truly not remember? You gave me this mask! You mocked me! You were there! You did nothing! You saw your father treat me worse than a monster and you did nothing!”

A light of realization dawned in Thor's eyes. “Silvertongue?” he whispered.

“Ah, so you do remember me!” The rope loosened even though Loki was still visible angry. Thor remembering him affected him more than he was willing to admit.

“I was trying to help you! I am not my father, no matter how much I had mistakenly wished to be. I have never believed in his ways and thought that it would aide your wish to hide!” he looked at Sif, “Sif, I am sorry.”

“You don't owe me any apologies, Thor,” Sif shook her head. “Loki, Thor is not like Odin. He is a good man.”

Loki felt his heart clench.

“Let me see her, please,” Thor pleaded.

“Be my guest, sir,” Loki dropped the rope threw up his hands in frustration and stepped out of the way between them as Thor rushed over to Sif. “I bid you welcome,” he said sarcastically, frustration, hurt, and anger coming out in a cruel, icy tone of mock-politeness. “Did you really think I would harm her? Why should she pay for sins that aren't her own?”

Thor looked over Sif and saw there was no harm done to her. “But...”

Loki snatched Thor's dagger off of his hip and thrust it into his hand. “If you mean to kill me, do it! Do not just drag this out all night! Make it a quicker death than forcing me to watch this and live on.”

“Loki!” Sif burst out. “You do not understand- Thor wait!” she commanded as Thor turned to press the knife into Loki's throat.

Loki laughed. “This is your choice, Sif: your point of no return! Refuse him and send me to my death. Stay with him and leave me to my prison, to die alone. I thought that you loved me in return. I thought that was what all the trying was for. I see now, it was always him.”

“Any tears I might have shed for your fate are gone now, Loki, you do not know what I want!”

“Forgive me, Sif, I did everything for you and it was all for nothing,” Thor said sadly as he began to understand what she was trying to say.

“You were my friend, my idol, but all my illusions were shattered. You disappeared, you abandoned me! What was I supposed to do, Loki? You made me think that you weren't real! And just when I had started to...just when I...”

“Just when you what, Sif? Speak! There's no point in trying to soften the blow, he will win, it has always been that way. Let me die here, and do not lie to save me.”

“You were my Angel of Music,” Sif whispered.

“Sif I know now, why you would not wear my ring,” Thor said sadly.

“Do not torment me!” Loki snapped as Thor lowered the dagger some.

“It was my intention to kill you, Phantom, for I was sure Sif was in danger,” Thor began. “I see now that I was wrong,” his gaze moved back to Sif. “I hope you do not throw your life away for his sake, Sif. But if this is what you truly want, I will not attempt to
stop you. I fought so hard for you...”

“I'm sorry,” Sif said, more emotion in her voice than in the words themselves. “Loki, you deceived me, and I gave my mind to you blindly. I was so lost when you left me.”

“I only left because you-” he stopped himself with a frustrated intake of breath. “No matter. Make your choice, Sif. Let him kill me so I do not have to know for the rest of my life you love him!”

“I do not love him!” Sif burst out. “I haven't...Thor is my greatest friend, but I do not love him, not like that.”

Thor bowed his head, already in understanding of that fact, but still saddened.

“Don't lie to me!” Loki yelled. “Just kill me already, Thor, I know you're going to. You've always hated me.”

“Do you not think that I wanted to help you? I wanted nothing more than to stop him!” Thor retorted.

“Then what kept you from it, I wonder?” Loki's tone changed to a more sinister tone. It was calmer, but to Sif it was more frightening. “Afraid of losing your precious money and power and daddy's approval?”

“Afraid that if I stepped in he would do the same to me! And then how could I have helped you if I were broken too? Or if he made me do as he did, and force me to torture you, how could you trust and allow me to help you then? It was an obligation to remain indifferent!”

Loki quieted; Thor's words came as a shock. He could hear the honesty, as much as he wanted to stay disbelieving. “But you never...”

“By the time I thought myself capable you had long since escaped. I could not easily remember because I was so young, but I did not forget, brother.” Thor placed his dagger back in its sheath. “The company is different now that I am in charge, I swear to it.”

Sif stepped forward. “I cannot imagine the life you have known, Loki. I hope that I have the courage and abilities to show you that you aren't alone,” she crossed the room to him and Thor stepped back against the wall.

Sif raised one hand gently to the right side of his face and cupped his blue cheek, tracing her thumb softly over a scar. He leaned into the touch slightly without realizing closed his eyes.

“Thank you, Sif,” he breathed. “I will remember this kindness forever.”

She leaned up on her toes and kissed him. Loki froze and his eyes opened in shock. After a moment his shaking hands came to rest on her shoulders.

The kiss felt like life coursing through his veins and tasted like forgiveness and hope. It was everything he had ever wanted and yet it was so much more than he could have ever imagined. As her lips met his, his heart felt like it would burst. He had never felt so alive, so accepted. He could not have imagined it so. It was every song and every symphony coming to life all at once within him. His heart raced and fluttered and he was so overwhelmed that he could do nothing but freeze in shock just trying to absorb and remember and keep it all, in fear that it was all just a dream and that it wouldn't last.

Sif took a step back and opened her mouth to speak, but the commands from the search parties echoed down all around them. “Find them! You there! Take your group through this tunnel here and report back!”

Loki looked at Sif sadly, then turned his gaze to Thor, “Take her. Forget me. Forget all of this,” his voice broke. “Go and don't let them find you here. Take my boat, Sif knows the way, leave me and don't wait, before they find you here, just go. Go. Go now!”

“You shouldn't see this, Sif,” Thor agreed and took her hand in his, pulling her gently in the direction of the boat.

“No! No, Loki, we must stop them, we can-”

“Go now and leave me!” he yelled, interrupting her, and she stumbled back.

Thor tugged her hand once more and she stepped after him around the corner.

Loki turned away so he didn't have to watch her leave, again, and he caught sight of himself in one of the mirrors on his wall. He grabbed a candelabra, smashing it into the mirror with an anguished cry over and over again until it shattered.

Loki was crying, he was fully aware of that as he sank to his knees on the cold stone ground by his music box which had fallen in the commotion. It had long since stopped playing, reaching the end of its song many minutes ago, but he picked it up gently, shutting the lid and re-opening it to start the song once more.

“Hide your face so the world will never find you,” He sang along very quietly through his tears. They were gone, Sif was gone, and he never even told her how he felt. He knew how much all of this would disappoint Frigga. But maybe it was for the best Sif didn't know. Maybe...

His thoughts were cut off as Sif walked back into the room. She leaned down slowly to pick up the ring he had given her off of the chipped stone. She stood staring at him for a moment.

“Sif, I love you,” he whispered. He saw the tears form in her eyes and cast his eyes downward for a moment. She hesitantly approached him, bending at the knees as he reached out a shaking hand towards her.

She held his hand in her own and placed the ring in his palm, curling his fingers around it.

When he looked back up, he caught sight of the hem of her dress rounding the corner. “I love you,” he called after her and his voice broke again.

()()()

Thor led Sif back up towards the surface. She was crying, but he kept her going, both of them knowing they needed to make it up before the mob found its way down.

“Thor! Miss Sif!” Frigga gasped as they stumbled out of a doorway. The search parties stopped and turned to see them. To the mob, Sif looked as if she had just been through a terrible ordeal.

“It is done.” Thor said definitively.

The people burst into cheers and Sif choked back a sob. Frigga eyed her sympathetically and led her out of the crowd.

“We should go,” Thor followed them, and the three of them walked to the carriage house.

Heimdall led Thor's horses over, having them already prepared as if he knew what would happen.

Frigga pulled Sif aside. “It's your choice, Sif,” she reminded her.

Sif walked back around the corner to where Thor was checking one of his horses. She hesitated, trying to find the words to tell him that she couldn't go along with him.

“Thor, I...”

“You are staying, am I right, Sif?”

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. “I do love you, Thor. But you're like my brother. He needs me...and I need him. I'm sorry,” she said sadly, not able to meet his eyes.

She held out the ring he had given her, the metal warm in her hand.

He took her hand in both of his, “I know.” She looked up at that. “I believe I have for quite some time. I love you, Sif, and I only wanted to protect you. I thought that marriage would be the best way for that now that we were reunited. But I do see where your heart lies and I would not wish ill upon that,” he clasped her shoulder fondly.

“Thank you. For understanding. For everything,” Sif mumbled as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I shall see you next season. Until then, Sif,” he kissed her cheek in farewell. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Thor,” she watched him ride away before turning around and heading back into the Opera House, running down the flight of stairs she was becoming very familiar with.

He was not in the room where they had fought, and for a moment she panicked that she had lost him again. But she heard soft music floating from his bedroom.

He was sitting on the floor, holding the music box that had fallen off his organ when he pulled her from the stage into the depths of the theatre.

His eyebrows knitted together as he saw Sif re-enter the room, a few tears of her own falling.

“Sif? You came back?”

“Of course I came back,” she breathed. She took his hand and slid the ring off his pinky finger, placing it on her own hand. She reached up to rest it upon his cheek once more.

“You alone can make my song take flight,” he murmured. Her hand smoothed his dark hair back and away from his face, bringing their foreheads to rest against each other.

()()()

As the theatre was partly in shambles due to the search parties' vigor, and attendance was sure to drop off because of the danger, the rest of the season had been postponed and moved to a new location. Thor's company had just purchased a brand new theatre and he saw to it that all of the cast and staff that had wanted to had been re-employed there. He also funded all of their relocation. The newest show was due to start in a few short weeks, allowing just enough time to transfer all of the equipment over and to hold rehearsals.

Sif had been offered the lead soprano role opposite Dr. Banner, but she struggled with her decision whether or not to take it.

“You will be leaving for the new theatre soon,” Loki said, more of a statement than a question.

“Actually I still had not decided. I can delay my arrival for a short time if-”

“You should go,” Loki interrupted, heart racing. “Really, Sif, it's perfect for you. You will do so well. I couldn't be more proud or happy for you.”

“Will I see you again?”

Loki's mouth merely twitched in response. In his mind the answer was no, even if that was what they both wanted. He only held her back and brought her down, she would be much better off without him.

“Where will you go?” Sif asked. “While they are rebuilding the Opera House I mean? Surely you cannot stay during construction.”

“I do not know,” Loki admitted. “I suppose I shall just try to keep my distance.”

“I know that you've changed, I believe you. You don't have to stay here.”

“Where would you suggest I go then, Sif?” he snapped. “Back to the freak show? This is where I belong. You know I cannot leave.”

“You could go anywhere you wished, Loki. You could come to the new theatre.”

“My fate has condemned me so, I deserve to stay behind and so I must. Monsters get left behind. You do not need me there, obviously. You were fine without me, as I was so frequently reminded!” He saw the look of hurt cross over her face and left the room in a hurry with a yank of the curtains.

()()()

He didn't want to go outside. He hated, no, loathed it: the daylight, the people, all of it. Even without his face and skin showing he could always feel their stares, whether because of his unseasonable clothes, active avoidance of all passerby, or the way he always managed to keep his face and hands covered. But he felt he had to go with Sif to say goodbye. He couldn't bear their last meeting to be in the place that hurt them so much, even though it was his home. He couldn't bear having the last words he spoke to her being so unkind.

“I apologize for earlier,” he said stiffly, feeling at a loss and a bit awkward.

“It's alright,” Sif replied.

With one sentence of forgiveness, his world shattered again. He was unaware how much he had managed to build up in the short time since Sif had come back after his final confrontation with Thor. He knew he shouldn't have hoped, shouldn't have dared let himself believe that she would stay.

“I will miss you,” Loki whispered. “May I come with you to the train station?”

“You really don't have to, I know you don't like to be around people or outside,” she tilted her head, and he could tell that she was not sure why he would want to put himself at such risk just to see her off at the train platform when he could just as easily see her to Heimdall's carriage in the safety of the Opera House walls.

“I want to. I want to be there with you. I...” his eyes closed briefly as he steadied himself. “Please, Sif.”

She nodded.

()()()

Sif stepped up onto the train and paused. She took a steadying breath. This was it: her new life awaiting her. So many emotions coursed through her she could hardly contain herself. She turned around to face Loki, who had insisted on seeing her off, but had remained silent for most of their journey. He had made occasional small talk, but it was quite obviously forced, given away by the way his words caught around the barest of tremors seeping into his voice.

He held up her suitcase and she took it, setting it next to her feet. He was trying to mask his emotions on his exposed face, trying to keep his features blank even though he was avoiding her eye contact. She was going to miss him terribly.

He swallowed hard against a lump in his throat and finally looked up at her, face completely forlorn. She felt her eyebrows crease sympathetically in remorse for all that had passed and all that hadn't passed between them, having to leave quickly like this. A bit of longing seeped into his eyes and he looked like he wanted to avert his gaze, but was holding onto the last moments with all he could. They stared at each other for another moment, neither knowing fully where to go from there or how to say goodbye.

Sif held out her hand to him, a part of her wanting nothing more than to just pull him up onto the train with her. But he would never leave the Opera House; it was his home, where he felt safe. And even if he didn't stay at Shield, he would find somewhere else to start over and hide.

Loki took her proffered hand after a moment and lowered his gaze. He brushed the faintest kiss across the backs of her knuckles and took a step back.

“Goodbye, Sif.” It was barely more than a whisper.

She bit her lip as he turned and dropped her hand to walk away. Two steps. Four steps. Eight steps.

“Loki!” she called, voice breaking out of her too quiet and too loud all at once. He stopped but did not turn around. “Come...come with me!” she found herself blurting.

He turned back towards her slowly, and she could see the doubt clouding the frightened hope on his face, she could practically feel his heart pounding from across the platform, as she knew her own was doing the same. “Come with me,” she repeated, insisting.

Before she knew it he was right below her on the platform. She placed a hand gently on his cheek.

“Sif...”

“Please.”

“I...shouldn't...” he looked like he was trying to convince himself to stay on the ground. “I would only hold you back, I...”

“I love you,” Sif said simply. She leaned down to kiss him, throwing her arms around his neck. The warning whistle blew as the passengers finished getting on the train but they paid it no mind.

He looked up into her eyes, brow furrowed slightly, but allowing the trusting wistfulness to push the melancholy dejection off of his face. He took her outstretched hand once more and she pulled him up onto the train.

()()()

Thor's assistant helped him down from the train platform and into the small car waiting for him. He couldn't believe that Heimdall was still the driver for the theatre.

“It is good to see you, old friend,” Thor greeted softly, his voice worn with age. At 80 years of age, he was retired and had been living in the country for some time. He hadn't been back to the theatre district in ages. Not since Sif's passing.

The Opera House was being torn down and rebuilt, again, and therefore the new owners were having an auction of things that they had found left behind when the last of the cast had vacated. Areas were still roped off being marked as unsafe, but Thor felt such a familiarity here he knew he could walk through all of the old hallways without getting lost.

This was the first time the doors had been opened to the public, the chains and padlocks removed. He was given a bidding paddle upon his entrance, but decided to walk through the old familiar theatre first. Shield was just as beautiful and intricate as it had always been, even in disrepair.

He gazed down the long rows of seats in the auditorium in fond nostalgia, and could have sworn he saw the smallest bit of a shadow on the stage and heard the faintest click of a stage trap door closing. He shook his head, it must be his age playing tricks on his senses again.

He walked back into the main entrance just as the auctioneer was finishing up a sale. “Sold! Your number, sir?” The man who bought the item gave his information to the auctioneer. “Thank you. Lot 663 then, ladies and gentlemen, is a poster from this Opera House's production of 'Hannibal' over fifty years ago. Let's start the bidding at fifty dollars. Do I have fifty? No? Twenty-five then,” the auctioneer looked around.

Thor hesitated. It brought back memories of the first night he had seen Sif perform so long ago.

“Twenty-five, thank you ma'am. Do I have thirty? Thirty for you sir, thank you. Thirty-five? Anyone, thirty-five?”

Thor raised his paddle, coming back to the present.

“Thank you, sir. Forty? No? Going once...twice...sold, to you sir, please give my assistant your number.”

Thor showed the assistant his paddle number. He hadn't meant to bid on the first thing he saw, his plan was to bid on something only if it had great significance to him or to his friends. The next lot was from an even earlier production, and he let himself just watch. But then he saw it. Lot 665.

“Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen, is a small wooden musical box, in the shape of a barrel-organ. This item was discovered in the vaults of the theatre, and it is still in working order! Showing here,” the auctioneer's assistant started the music box. Thor froze. That was it. The music box Sif had talked about, the one that was there the day he had fought the Phantom.

“May I start the bidding at twenty dollars? Fifteen then? Fifteen, thank you ma'am. Twenty?”

Thor raised his paddle. He could not lose this one. A small bidding war began but he eventually won the music box for forty-five dollars.

“Thank you, sir.”

The assistant handed the box to him. Every detail was exactly as Sif described, the velvet lining and the brassy details all in perfect condition, just aged. Thor wondered idly if it would play when the rest of them all had died.

“Lot 666, then: a chandelier in pieces. Some of you might have heard of the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera. It was a mystery that still has never been fully explained,” the auctioneer began a little dramatically. Thor found himself staring at the man who was telling the story. Thor knew that he was the only person in the room that truly knew what happened those fateful days, many many years ago. “We are told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very same chandelier from that famous disaster. Our workshops have restored it and wired it so that we can get a hint at what it will look like when it is reassembled. Perhaps we can frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination! Now, gentlemen!”

The auctioneer pulled a switch and a few men hoisted a strong looking rope. The chandelier rose from the floor, its cloth cover falling to the dusty ground, and lit up with a flash. It glittered there, almost magically making the room look like it had those years ago.

Thor thought he heard a faint laugh from above. “Frighten away the ghosts, indeed,” a whisper drifted past his ears. Thor wondered if it was the Phantom or an actual ghost.

The auction finished, earning enough money to start the restoration process, and Thor collected his new possessions. He held the music box carefully as Heimdall drove him on the familiar road to the cemetery. He traced his fingers along the edges of it, lost in a daze of remembering.

His assistant helped him start to walk the gravelly path to where Sif was laid to rest, but he waved her away. Just as beautiful as she had been in her youth, her gravestone had a portrait of her during her final stage days. It was not long after that that they had lost her. He leaned down, straining his back, to place the music box on the snowy step. She had loved it so. He was about to turn around and follow his footprints, the only ones in the old cemetery, back to the car, but he stopped. It was then that he noticed a single deep red rose laying atop a golden mask right by her headstone. They had to have been there no more than an hour, with only the faintest dusting of snow on the petals and old gold.

Glancing around, he knew he would find himself alone but could not stop his eyes from searching the gravestones and trees.

()()()

Loki watched in silence as Thor placed the music box on Sif's grave from the hidden side of a mausoleum. Thor froze, startled, then his eyes darted around after seeing his mask. Loki felt the ghost of a smirk fall across his lips as he looked on. He had left his mask there, as a token of his love. It held so much meaning to him, to Sif, to their relationship, to them all really. He knew Thor felt the same about the music box. They had both loved her this long.

He pulled his hat a little lower out of habit and stood up, letting himself be seen.

“Loki,” Thor breathed, almost disbelieving. He took a step towards the Phantom, hand reaching up slightly. He allowed the corners of his lips to quirk up into a smile at Thor, eyes watering with tears yet to be shed that he also saw mirrored in the other man's.

Loki tipped his hat to him with a small bow of his head, and with a turn, disappeared into the snowy night.