Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Outside of time and space, a time agency operates to ensure that no one deviates from the predestined paths that three space lizards have previously outlined.

To Loki the idea seems ludicrous.

He’s always believed in free will. He doesn’t think that anyone has the prerogative to tell him which way to go. Not because he is a spoiled prince (which is not true, he is many things but ‘spoiled’ doesn’t fit the description).

He supposes it’s because he values the dignity of choice. Even when he makes the wrong ones — and he has, more times than he’d care to admit — he’d rather stumble down his own path than be guided like a marionette on strings. To him, freedom isn’t about comfort or indulgence; it’s about responsibility. A spoiled prince wouldn’t shoulder the burden of his choices, but he does. Every mistake, every consequence, every scar, they’re all his own, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And so, when people tell him what he should do, he listens politely, nodding in all the right places. But in his mind, he’s already decided. He’ll choose his own way, even if the world doesn’t agree with him.

It was a belief that had guided him through countless decisions. Until one day, a single sentence shattered it. He said the wrong thing to the right person, and this pissed off the one organization he should have never crossed: The Time Variance Authority. He didn’t even know it existed!

Loki had never imagined that words could alter the course of his life so suddenly, nor could he have foreseen that those words would lead him straight to the TVA’s doorstep. But when six officers clad in black gear stepped out of an orange warbling door in front of his cell, he knew his day was about to take a much more interesting turn.

Well… it’s not like he was not having an unusual day. Just before the TVA officers popped up out of nowhere, a prison riot broke out. It was chaos all around him, but he knew he was not going to make it out of his cell like the rest of the prisoners. So, after seeing one of them walk past his cell, he mentioned something that at the time seemed unimportant, but something that was not inconsequential. Because if that had been the case, as of now, he would not be flanked by two guards in the reception of the TVA’s headquarters.

He’s tried to break free, but no matter the effort, the collar stuck around his neck effectively prevents a sudden manifestation of his powers.

After a long moment of consideration, he decides not to lose his temper. Perhaps a more congenial approach might help him reach an agreement with the clowns in charge of orchestrating this pantomime. Whatever fate awaited, it couldn’t be so terrible. He supposes he’s not the first one who unwittingly decides to deviate from the preset path he had no idea had been carved for him. And if that is true, then there must be a place where they are all placed, where all the ‘Variants’ are placed. If he plays his cards right, who knows? Maybe he’ll end up being the one warming the throne.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Before he learned what the TVA does, earlier that day (Is time a linear concept at the TVA?), he met again with someone he was not expecting to see:

Inna Volkova.

“Let me go! I didn’t do anything!”

The voice sounded vaguely familiar. It was just a pitch lower, but surely it was not the first time he heard that voice.

“I don’t even know who you people are. Just let me go!” she kept pleading, not desperately, just very resolutely.

“Agent Volkova?”

He recognized her.

“Who the fuck are you?”

But she didn’t recognize him.

“I need to speak with her,” he demanded with a cool, regal tone, very polite considering the circumstances. The agents beside him didn’t let up.

The agent — younger than he remembered — was dragged away a few minutes before him. He immediately believed he was not going to see her again, and his heart gave a stupid flip at the possibility. But after a purely bureaucratic process where he had a change of outfit and was made to sign a heap of documents, he was taken to a different room. And there she was.

Before he had the chance to interrogate her, someone spoke over the speakers. He learned afterwards about the agency and its place in the cosmos. He also learned about the precious Time-Keepers (the space lizards) and how they were supposed to dictate the proper flow of time.

He learned that nexus events originated whenever someone strayed from the path they were supposed to follow, and the TVA was in charge of correcting the mistake so that the Sacred Timeline remained intact.

Agent Volkova listened to the explanation with an air of confusion that was hard to miss. He was curious to know what her nexus event was, why the universe had put her in his path once more. He thought it was rather ironic. But he couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved to see a familiar face, even though it wasn’t a friendly one.

“Next case!” a male voice shouted from inside a courtroom. The agents beside Loki pushed him forwards, encouraging him to walk to the front and stop behind a stand. The judge on the bench didn’t bother to spare a look. He spoke listlessly, “Laufeyson. Variant L707, A.K.A. Loki Laufeyson, is charged with sequence violation 19-01-03. How do you plead?”

His brows shot up in disbelief. “Plead? After being dragged here like a common criminal? I plead inconvenienced… on your behalf, for wasting everyone’s time.”

“How do you plead?” the judge insisted, looking at Loki over his glasses.

He scoffed, letting slip an arrogant smirk. “Does it even matter? I was already paying my dues, rotting in that dungeon for your so-called justice. What more do you want from me?”

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Your imprisonment was for crimes of your own world, Mr. Laufeyson. But you disrupted the flow of time itself, fracturing realities and creating echoes that threaten the continuum. Your actions go beyond Asgardian justice. Now, you answer to us.”

“Disrupted the flow of time? Spare me the riddles. What did I do that was so catastrophic?”

“Your choice of words to Algrim in that dungeon. Seemingly trivial, but not unimportant. You told him to go right. He was meant to take the stairs to the left.”

He has to be joking.

Loki’s fists clenched beside his body. “And what exactly would that have changed? Surely, you’re not dragging me here over directions.”

The judge leaned forward. He wasn’t tactful when he decided to disclose the reason behind Loki’s lexical choice. “Had Algrim gone left, he would have encountered Queen Frigga, giving the Dark Elves access to her chamber. Their entry would have led to her death at their hands. You prevented your mother from fulfilling her role in the timeline.”

Loki’s heart skipped a beat. What was the meaning of this? Was he responsible for his mother’s death in the Sacred Timeline? No, that can’t be right. He strategically told him to go right because he didn’t want him to stumble upon his mother’s chambers. So, why would the Loki from the Sacred Timeline insist that he take the stairs to the left? Did he want his mother to die?

No. That sounded nothing like him.

“Where is she?” he asked, the question leaving his mouth in tatters. He raised his tone. “Where do you have her? Where is my mother?”

“Pruned. Like the rest of the timeline.”

He felt a tingling sensation starting at the tip of his nose and his eyes filled with tears. He swallowed down the guilt and he swallowed down the despondence, unaware that it was only going to give way to rage. Unadulterated rage.

“I find you guilty and I sentence you to be reset,” the judge declared without any further ado.

Loki’s brows drew together in confusion. “What? What does that mean?” In his haze of disorientation, the guards that had brought him there grabbed him from both sides. Loki tried to shake them off, but he couldn’t. His resolve wavered, desperation seeping through the cracks. “What does it mean? Is it bad?”

“Next!”

The doors burst open, catching Loki’s eye as he was being ushered away.

“Get off me!” a female voice protested. It was agent Volkova’s voice again. She was being dragged to the stand where he had just been. “Don’t touch me! Just let me go!”

He halted in his step, eyes trained on the mortal woman. One of the guards beside him grunted, “Keep walking, Variant.”

The order seemed to garner agent Volkova’s attention. She stopped squirming and protesting to bolt her eyes to him. Their gazes locked. She looked even more confused than she did when they watched the welcome video together in the waiting room. It was as if she was straining to solve a puzzle, as if trying to figure out Loki’s presence, but the collective effort was starting to give her a migraine.

“Variant V002, A.K.A. Inna Volkova, is charged with sequence violation 8-14-22. How do you plead, miss Volkova?”

The agent’s eyebrows knotted together just as she turned to look at the judge again. Loki felt the guards beside him trying to yank him away, but he feared he might never see the mortal again. He needed to speak to her, not because he wanted to befriend the woman he committed crimes with, but because she was the only familiar face in the courtroom.

It all happened too fast.

Agent Volkova, with her sharp Black Widow instincts, attacked the guards she was flanked by. She lunged, twirled and ducked, disarming the guards and stealing the device that controlled her collar skillfully. About three more agents burst through the doors, but Inna was commendably faster. Her moves were precise. Surgical.

Loki would have been impressed if he hadn’t known who she was.

He seized the distraction to do the same. He attacked the time hunters beside him, kicking the prune sticks out of their hands and snatching the controller to get rid of his time collar.

The commotion they caused set off alarm bells, as a string of codes rang through the walls. Loki helped agent Volkova fight against the guards that kept coming to restrain her, and with resolute finality, he took her from her forearm and urged her to run away from the courtroom and hurry down the winding hallways of the TVA.

And he thought his day couldn’t get more interesting.

Now, back in the present, Loki closes the door behind him. He pants, trying to control his erratic breathing, and it seems that agent Volkova is doing the same.

When he finds the switch, he turns the lights on. They are in a narrow supply closet. The alarm bells still ring outside and, if he focuses enough, he can hear the heavy footsteps of the guards hurrying down the hallways. They are fugitives now, and there is no turning back. Damned be whichever congenial, diplomatic approach he was planning to follow.

“Why are you helping me?” the agent asks, voice taut and slow. She regards him with mistrust. So on brand for Inna. He knows the look.

“Because I know you,” he answers cautiously, assessing her expression. “And you would have done the same for me. But you don’t seem to recognize me.” He tries not to sound like a disappointed puppy who has been denied a treat.

He has no right to be disappointed. Inna is not his friend. She never was.

“I’ve never seen you in my life. I don’t go out much,” she crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you Hydra?”

The question is a bit unexpected.

“What?”

“We’ve had some Hydra operatives over the years. Maybe that’s it,” she fixes her hair and gives him a look that he could only say carried a trail of respect. “You’re not Red Room, obviously. I would recognize you.”

“No, I’m not… I’m not Hydra. Or Red Room. I’m not…” he interrupts himself. An idea strikes him, and he readies himself for whatever answer may tumble out of her mouth. “Excuse me, how old are you?”

She quirks a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Humor me, please.”

A sharp exhale. “Nineteen this year.”

“I see,” a frown tugs at his brows, he taps his chin in thought. “I’m starting to realize that what the clowns said might be true. And you… You’re not the agent Volkova that I know. You’re from a different timeline.”

She huffs a laugh in disbelief.

“Do you listen to yourself? It’s ridiculous,” she leans against the wall, back colliding with a mop and a bucket that almost fall to the ground with a resounding noise if it hadn’t been for Loki’s quick reflexes.

He unconsciously inches closer to catch the materials midair before they have the chance to hit the ground and expose them to the danger of being caught. His face, once he looks up, is dangerously close to hers. Not that there was much space to freely roam inside, anyway.

“Careful with that,” he warns her, voice low and grave. “We’re fugitives.”

“Sorry.”

He clears his throat when he catches himself staring at her lips, his heart rattling his chest. “We need to get out of here. Find somewhere safe to hide in until we’re no longer in peril.”

“Agreed.”

“And though this might be hard for you, we have to know we can trust each other,” he punctuates his words, “Because in the end, we’re all we have left in this forsaken place.”

Chapter Text

They unlatch door after door and climb down several staircases until they wind up on a quiet floor that looks deserted.

They have been walking in tandem for a while now. The TVA’s headquarters seem to be bigger than the Asgardian palace and much more difficult to navigate too.

As he gets caught up in his own mind, the mortal strays from the path. Instead of spitting a reprimand, he trails behind her and follows her into an automat whose only item on the menu seems to be a fluorescent green key lime pie.

“Do you think this stuff is edible?” she asks, transfixed by the deserts that line up the shelves.

“They look radioactive,” he finds himself answering. “A lump of mud with a dash of salt might be more appetizing than those pies.”

The comment draws a reluctant smile from the agent. She might think he can’t see her, but he catches the faint curve of her lips in the reflection of the glass in front of her. He doesn’t know why the small gesture makes him smile too.

“You were so sure earlier,” she says without turning around. Loki approaches a table and sits down in tentative moves. “Do you believe them?”

His mouth opens as if to speak, but then falters, closing again in hesitation. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes narrowing as he searches for an answer. After a moment of stillness, he exhales slowly, his brow furrowing in thought.

“I don’t know what else to believe.”

The answer catches her eye. She swivels in her heels and regards him, but she doesn’t speak.

“I was marinating in a prison cell before this. I had not imagined my day could get any worse than that.”

“They broke you out to put you in another cell?” she asks.

“A different cell. A different type of justice, I suppose. But I’m not so sure they were planning to put me behind bars,” he swallows and stares down at his hands for a moment. “The judge said he sentenced me to be reset.”

“What does that mean?” her eyebrows draw together.

He shrugs. “Nothing good, I believe.”

“You think they were going to do the same to me?” she asks, sitting on the surface of the nearest table.

“Maybe,” he responds. He honestly has no idea how the TVA operates, or what happens to the alleged offenders once their trial ends. Maybe they all face the same destiny, maybe not.

“If… if all of this is real, then I don’t think we can get out of here.” The statement tumbles out of her mouth as if it had been wrestled out of her, as if she was coming to terms with an inexorable truth. “The video said that when someone strays from their predestined path, the TVA intervenes to correct the mistake. We’re the mistake. We can’t go back to the life we know. It’s only gonna catch their attention, and we will be dragged back here.”

Unfortunately, it makes sense. He thought for a while about free will. Someone could face a situation in millions of different ways. There is not one possible approach, but there is a right one, the one that the Time-Keepers had chosen. And if the approach taken doesn’t align with their dictations, the TVA starts a corrective process to ensure that there is only one timeline: The Sacred Timeline.

Any other approach cascades into a whole range of other things that aren’t supposed to happen. And so on and so forth, until eventually, a new timeline branches, a timeline that is not supposed to exist. So, if it’s not meant to exist, it’s highly likely that the TVA, with all their advanced resources, will eradicate it entirely.

It means that the mortal is painfully right. There is nothing to go back to. They can’t go back to a timeline that doesn’t exist anymore and live their lives from that point onwards. It’s simply impossible.

“We have to accept what is,” she concludes, gazing down at her dangling feet.

“Two time outlaws with no home to go back to,” he adds discouragingly. The mortal glances him.

“I didn’t have a home, anyways,” she murmurs, and Loki knows.

Despairingly, he knows what she is talking about, and he wishes his heart hadn’t squeezed in daft empathy when her eyes fill with tears. But he reluctantly accepts that he is condemned to feel for Inna because, unlike her, he already knows her. He knows a different version of her, slightly older (not wiser, that’s not the word), more obnoxious, more irritating. And during the time he worked with her, he learned things about her life that unwittingly softened his stoic heart, because how could they not?

Seeing this younger version just puts things into perspective. It is like standing before a famous painting in a museum — one he’d read about and heard so much about but had never truly seen. Now, he could finally take in the details, the struggles, and the triumphs that had shaped her into the woman he once worked alongside.

He feels stupid for the unbidden surge of human empathy that worms its way into his heart. He hasn’t anticipated that a few moments alone with the mortal he disliked were going to tear down the walls around himself. But he reminds himself that it is only natural to feel bad for someone who throughout their life has been subjected to as many tormenting trials as Inna has. She would surely feel the same way if the roles were reversed.

Besides, he can’t deny to himself that while he was cooped up in his cell he had never thought about Inna. He had, even though it pains him to admit it.

“Come on,” he stands up, setting the traitorous thoughts aside. He chides himself internally before gathering his bearings. “This automat might be secluded but we’ve no idea if people come down here. Perhaps we can find another place to lay low for now.”

She jumps off the table and blinks the tears away. They resume their path, venturing further into the premises until they stumble upon an eclectic workshop. Trinkets adorn the surface of the counter and misplaced machinery are scattered across the colorful floor. Funny-looking contraptions are piled up in a disorderly fashion and crammed into different corners of the workshop. It’s mayhem.

“What’s this?” the agent asks, picking up a tangled bundle of wires with a spinning top attached.

Someone emerges from under the counter, grinning madly. “That’s a Temporal Gyroscopic Synchronizer.”

And Inna’s reflexes whisper her to punch him in the face.

The man cradles his sore jaw and grumbles in pain. Loki lets out a peal of laughter at the unexpectedness, but Inna covers her mouth and issues a string of apologies.

“I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she says finally, assessing the damage with her hands. “Shit. You should never sneak up on a spy.”

“Lesson learned,” the employee murmurs, planting his hands on the surface. “Don’t worry, it was my fault. I haven’t had any visitors in an awfully long time.”

When Loki stops laughing, he suddenly remembers that they are supposed to be wanted fugitives, and the fact that they bumped into this peppy man might compromise their safety.

His instincts tell him to act fast. He pushes Inna out of his way and grabs the contraption that she had picked up moments ago. Under their scrutiny, he untangles the cord.

“Um, what are you doing?” the agent asks as Loki struggles to uncoil the wires. Does she not see the bloody problem?

“You go first, I’ll be right behind you,” he mumbles, daring a glance at her, and gestures at the exit with his chin. “I’ll take care of him.”

It doesn’t take her long to put two and two together. “You wanna kill this dude?” she asks louder than she should have. Loki shushes her, sparing a congenial look at the employee behind the counter and an admonishing one at Inna. “You have to be joking, man. He’s not a threat.”

“Yes, he is,” he counters between gritted teeth, speeding his moves.

She scoffs and tosses an incredulous look at him before directing her attention at the employee. “What’s your name and what do you do at the TVA?”

The man smiles. “I’m Ouroboros. I’m the guy who keeps things running around here. Most of the tech? I either built it or fixed it at some point. If it’s broken, I’ll figure it out. Nice to meet you!”

With a hand propped on her hip, the agent stares back at Loki with an air that silently questions his judgment. He stops trying to uncoil the wires, feeling embarrassed for a split second under her piercing gaze.

She looks at Ouroboros again. “Do you have one of those pointy sticks? Or any other weapon for that matter?”

“Time sticks? Oh, no, no,” he chuckles. “I’m not allowed to carry one. Only time hunters are, why?”

“See?” she asks Loki, voice dripping with unimpressed skepticism. “Not. A. Threat.”

He exhales a sharp breath before putting the contraption on the counter. “It doesn’t mean we can trust him.” He hears Inna scoff again. “So, Ouroboros, right?” He doesn’t expect any sort of confirmation on his behalf. “If theoretically someone was plucked from their timeline…”

“Theoretically,” the man says, as if tasting the word.

“Theoretically, yes,” Loki nods. “How could they go to the Sacred Timeline without disrupting the proper flow of time? Could that be a possibility?”

There’s a pause before the technician grants an answer. “I’m afraid it’s not possible. Sooner or later, the timeline would ripple, and the consequences would spiral out of control. Even the smallest deviation creates a cascade we can’t predict or contain.”

“Right,” he drags the word. “You said sooner or later. How long does it usually take for the timeline to react?”

“It’s unpredictable. Sometimes it happens instantly, other times it could take weeks or months, depending on the severity of the deviation.”

Months.

Not exactly small change. Even if it’s just a short visit, it would be a welcome respite from the running and escaping.

The agent grabs his arm, yanking him away towards the exit. Loki is a bit surprised. “What are you thinking?” she whispers.

“Is it not obvious?” he asks in response. “This is a good opportunity to rest, to take a moment to think before we’re caught in another chase. It might only be a few days or even stretch into months, just a temporary stop, but it’s far better than constantly running at the TVA. What do you say?”

She considers his words and then looks at a point beside his head.

“How can we be sure the TVA won’t find us right away?”

“Good question,” he mumbles. “We’ll figure it out.”

There might be a way to buy themselves more time, though it would require careful planning and a bit of luck. If they could find a loophole, a distraction, or a place to hide where the TVA’s reach couldn’t immediately track them, they might stand a chance. But the clock is ticking, and every second counts.

“So,” he wets his lips, “do you want to come?”

Gods. Why does asking her to come feel like… something’s off? He knows what they were to each other in the past. But now, she’s so… so different. The sharp edges are gone. She’s calm, almost kind and vulnerable, and he can’t decide whether that’s comforting or terrifying.

But he can’t leave her behind without offering her the chance to flee.

Just as he thinks she will not give an answer, she asks, “When do we leave?”

He smiles.

Chapter Text

“Good luck,” Ouroboros tells them before he sees them off.

It didn’t take much convincing before he agreed to provide them with a TemPad. They learned that a TemPad is a multipurpose device used by TVA agents for navigating different dimensions across space and time. Ouroboros specifically urged them to turn it off as soon as they stepped into their chosen destination, so that they could not be traced immediately. He said that it didn’t mean they could not be caught should they cause a nexus event, but it could buy them some time, especially if the TVA was not expecting them to journey across timelines.

As soon as they walk out, Loki switches the TemPad off and, with a casual flick of magic, changes his outfit. The beige overall he has been wearing so far disappears in a mist of green light and is quickly replaced by one of his usual green and gold suits. He does not realize that the fashion choice (well, actually the magic trick) is so striking it could leave someone as unfamiliar with magic as agent Volkova completely off-kilter. But in the end, that is what happens.

Inna lets out a rather loud gasp.

“What the fuck?”

She stumbles back, her breath hitching sharply as if the air itself betrayed her. Her spine meets the cold wall of a building with a dull thud. Her hands press against the rough surface behind her, and her eyes, wide and frantic, lock onto his, glimmering with the raw, unrestrained panic of prey caught in a predator’s gaze.

“How did you do that?” she asks, raising an accusatory finger at him. “Who are you?”

“Please, don’t be scared,” he smiles nervously, lifting his hands in a defensive way. “The magic is inoffensive if wielded wisely.” Flicking a wrist, he inadvertently uses his seiðr to transform her beige prison overall into the casual tank top and worn-out jeans he once saw her wearing.

It doesn’t help apparently, since the trick makes her yelp in surprise.

“See?” he probes, grinning diffidently, “You cannot deny that this ensemble is far more becoming than that unsightly prison garb.”

She must have seen something earnest in his face — a glimmer of genuine pride or perhaps a childlike hope for her approval — that makes her pause. Though she had been startled by the magic, the harmlessness of the gesture and his almost bashful grin makes her reconsider her fear.

A sigh escapes her lips, and she looks down at herself.

“It does feel better.”

He lets out a sigh of his own, like steam escaping a kettle. The quiet acceptance is refreshing, though he cannot fathom why he had silently sought her approval.

“What’s with the medieval getup?” she tilts her head to the side, glancing at his attire, a smile playing on her lips. “Don’t you think jeans and a hoodie would suit you better? Or are you going all in for the full magician vibe, you know, complete with the party tricks?” She gestures at his robes.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m just feeling a bit fancy, that’s all. Sometimes, you need to dress the part.”

He doesn’t think it wise to disclose his identity yet. Perhaps it’s better to keep the mystery for now, lest he wants to complicate things. He knows the agent. Sooner or later, curiosity will compel her to uncover the truth.

The comment elicits another reluctant smile. He hates to admit he’s growing fond of them.

A low, rumbling thunder erupts in the distance, and before he can comment on it, rain pours down on them. It inevitably reminds him of home, of his brother, and he wonders whether he’ll ever see him again.

He banishes the thought before it could crush him. He doesn’t want to think of Thor. The man hasn’t even bothered to visit him when he was down in the dungeons.

Instinctually, the agent ducks her head and crosses the wet street to find shelter in the one place that hasn’t closed for the night: a shabby, nearly empty bar. He follows her almost immediately. He hasn’t thought about the possibility of going their separate ways yet. There is something compelling about this young version of agent Volkova that makes him want to reach out, even though every instinct tells him he probably shouldn’t.

“Care for a drink or are you just curious about the place?” he asks when he joins her side and finds her marveling at the bottles behind the barman.

“Well,” she looks over at him for a moment, a bit sheepish, “I’ve never really tried alcohol.”

He has to admit he wasn’t expecting that. Not really. But she did say she was eighteen, and she also mentioned she didn’t go out much, which made him think… what if this Inna had never made it out of the Red Room in her timeline? Was that her nexus event?

“But there’s a first for everything, right?” she shrugs, the coyness in her stance dissipating as she makes her way towards the counter.

“I guess,” he murmurs, sitting on the stool beside her.

She decides on a beer, after all, they are in Ireland, where it seems only fitting, while he opts for a whiskey, the kind that looks like it had been aged to perfection. The drink is surprisingly good.

Taking her first tentative sip, she lifts the glass to her lips. As she pulls the beer away, a small foam mustache lingers on her upper lip. She brushes it off quickly, but not before he notices. A soft smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he watches her, thinking how unexpectedly adorable she looks. He ducks his head, chin to his chest, hiding the stupid grin that appeared on his lips.

Seriously, what is wrong with him today?

“What is the verdict?” he asks.

“It’s… different, but kind of good,” she takes another sip, as if unsure how to explain it. “I can see why people enjoy it.”

He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Welcome to the world of indulgence. Just a word of warning… It can be a dangerous habit if you’re not careful.”

“Well, if you’re a normal, average human, I suppose,” she says, smiling softly, but her lips press into a thin line when she realizes the sentence has just tumbled out. Her mouth opens as though she is ready to voice an explanation and quickly closes when she notices Loki’s unfazed expression. “Where do you know me from?”

“Hmm?” he asks nervously behind the rim of his glass. He doesn’t really have an answer ready for that other than the truth, and he isn’t sure whether he should share it with her.

“Yeah,” she insists and then takes another sip. “You told me in the supply closet that you already know me, and you also knew my name before you even heard the judge. And I can see…” she swallows down and stares at her beer, “I can see the way you look at me.”

“How do I look at you?” his low tone borders on vulnerability. He wants to slap himself.

“I…” her eyebrows draw together; she shakes her head. “I don’t know… But that’s not how I look at other strangers, you know?” she concludes. “You said I wasn’t the same Inna from your timeline, and you asked about my age. I thought it was a weird thing to ask, but it clearly means we’ve crossed paths at some point, just not yet if my age was a surprise to you.”

“We have,” he ends up telling her, as he tries to gather his thoughts and arrange them into a sensible, logical answer that is not going to scare her away. He can’t come up with anything of the sort. Instead, he says, “I know you’re a Red Room agent. But that is not where we met.”

From the way her expression shifts, he realizes she feels vulnerable, as though a dirty secret has been exposed. “No?” she asks softly.

He shakes his head. “You’re eighteen, which means we meet about seven years later in the timeline. It’s… it’s complicated, agent. Your life, the way it was supposed to unfold, is not what you might expect. I do not wish to overwhelm you with information you’re not ready for.”

Her gaze flicks back to the drink in her hand, perhaps in reluctant acceptance. However, Loki has the feeling she is not ready to drop the subject yet.

“Were we friends?”

He snorts so loudly that it catches her eye. “Hardly.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” there goes another reluctant smile. “We fought against each other, and when we finally teamed up, it was more out of necessity than any kind of camaraderie. There was no liking involved. Ever.”

“Why are you being so… so accommodating if you don’t like me?” she inquires after digesting his words. She narrows her eyes at him, shifting slightly on her stool to face him more directly. Her elbow rests on the counter, her chin perched on her closed fist in a pose that radiates sharp judgment. The accusing look she levels at him feels almost pointed. “You fought off the guards and helped me escape. That’s not exactly the kind of thing you do for someone you don’t care about. I wouldn’t have done it. Not for someone I barely know. There’s got to be more to it than that. There has to be some history there.”

“Is that how you see it, that I’m being accommodating?”

He is not trying to make her uncomfortable or to embarrass her. After all, he was being accommodating; she was not reading too much into his actions, though ‘care’ was a strong word. He deliberately ignores her last line, as he turns away slightly, avoiding the weight of her words. There is history, but it’s not the kind that lends itself to friendship or romance. It’s something far darker, far more complicated, and far less willing to be acknowledged right now.

“Well, yeah. I mean, you’re being all,” she pauses, looking for a suitable word, “civil. At the Red Room, we were taught that when someone’s being cordial, it usually means they’ve got something up their sleeve. A hidden agenda, you know?” She meets his gaze, trying to gauge his response. “But with you, I can’t really tell.”

“You don’t need to resort to threats, dear,” he says quietly, anticipating something she was probably thinking about. “I know exactly what you’re capable of, and you are equally aware of your own strengths. I won’t make empty promises to spare you, as you would never believe them. They would simply ring hollow.”

It is true. He can’t assure her that he will never harm her. He won’t. He has no sound reason to. But telling her that would be pointless. Words like that would fall flat, mere promises empty of substance. She wouldn’t believe them anyway, and perhaps rightfully so. Trust, especially in their world, is a fragile thing, and assurances can be easily shattered.

“Fair enough,” she murmurs after quiet consideration and takes a long sip. “At least that’s out of the way. Just a quick question,” she speaks with renewed interest, “why did we fight against each other? Surely, it wasn’t for the sake of it.”

“We were on opposing sides.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. He supposes he will share it with her when the time comes.

The answer seems to bother her, perhaps not being the one she was expecting.

“Ah, that’s more like it. You seem to,” she makes a gesture with her hand, “have some kind of training. I saw how you took out the guards.”

He spares a look. “Fight-or-flight response?”

“No,” she shakes her head and takes a short sip of her beer. “You clearly knew what you were doing. You’re more of a divide and conquer kind of guy.”

He knows what she is doing. Since threats will not do the trick, she is trying to coax information out of him, like any good Red Room spy has been taught to do. The only thing missing now is the oldest trick in the book: the art of seduction. Not in the obvious way, but in the subtle, calculated dance of making him drop his guard and reveal more than he intends. It’s what every Red Room agent excels at.

The thought nearly makes him laugh.

It would not surprise him if she tried it with him.

“It’s curious then, isn’t it?” she speaks again. “How you’d lend me a hand if we were on opposing sides.”

“It is curious,” he repeats, his voice smooth and controlled. “But I suppose curiosity has never been enough to pry open secrets.”

She leans in slightly. “And yet, you do reveal so much with so little, don’t you?” Her tone is sharp, but not harsh. “A man with magic, but no name to give, no past to speak of. Nothing but riddles and half-truths. And yet, you’re here, fleeing with me, hiding from the universe’s time police. After you said we were on opposing sides. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

A smirk plays on his lips. “Time, dear Volkova, has a way of altering allegiances.”

“So now we’re allies, just like that? You’re not going to explain what happened between us?”

His lips curved downward. “What would be the point? What’s past is past.”

“I’m just trying to understand the person I’m dealing with,” she says, her voice is controlled. “There’s a lot of unknowns between us, and while we may be on the same side for now, trust doesn’t come without reason.”

He meets her gaze; silence seems to stretch between them for a moment. “And you think understanding me will make that trust easier?”

“I think understanding anything about you will help,” she replies, her expression unchanging. “I don’t trust blindly. Not even when the circumstances demand it.”

Oh, he knows.

He smirks again. “I think you’re desperate to put me in a box. To understand me based on your own assumptions. You don’t know what we were, and you certainly don’t know why I have made the choices I have.”

She glares at him. “And you think I’m just supposed to accept that?”

“No,” he says softly, his eyes holding hers with a quiet intensity. “I don’t expect anything from you. But it’s clear we both need each other for now. Trust will come… if you let it. But questioning me will not get you the answers you want.”

A sigh slips from her mouth before she takes a long sip. He internally celebrates his own victory.

“Change of subject,” he says, finally deciding to be more forthright than her. The agent eyes him suspiciously. “Do you happen to know anything about your nexus event?”

It seems that the question tears down the guarded façade. Perhaps she is still trying to wrap her mind around this predicament they are now caught in, and any information regarding her arrest could make that process much easier.

She shakes her head in denial.

“Do you?” she asks cautiously, testing him, seeing whether he is withholding more information about her. His response mirrors hers — a slow shake of his head — but his expression grows solemn, his seriousness apparent. For a moment, she studies him, and perhaps the sincerity chiseled into his features convinces her. “I see. Did the judge tell you yours?”

He shuffles awkwardly in his seat, as he is suddenly reminded of the one thing he wanted to forget. The unease that the mention had dredged up when he was told why he was taken by the TVA manifests once more.

He lies, “No, he didn’t.”

She hums disinterestedly and takes another sip. Loki is glad she doesn’t seem willing to insist.

“I suspect the trials are mainly for the sake of protocol, more decorative than functional. I mean, where do all Variants go if they are not found guilty as charged? Is there a wing of prison cells? What would be the purpose?”

“You think the TVA might just kill them all?”

“Why not?” he asks. “If every situation has millions of possible approaches, but only one that fits the Time-Keepers’ vision, the sheer number of Variants they must detain has to be frighteningly vast. Where do you stash all those people? The TVA’s offices are big, but I doubt there is space to house them all.”

“Mmm, I guess you’re right,” she murmurs. “Or maybe there’s another place, limitless in size, that might be capable of accommodating them.”

“Like another dimension?” he asks. She shrugs but nods her head. “I assumed you wouldn’t entertain the thought.”

“Why, I mean, I’ve been detained by a time organization that operates outside of time and space, and I just literally saw you pull a full-on magic stunt right before my eyes. I guess I’m at a point where nothing seems that bizarre anymore.”

“True,” he chuckles lightly for a moment before realizing that he just did that.

It still feels weird to talk with Inna like this, as if they were friends instead of reluctant allies or partners in the face of adversity. He supposes ‘allies’ still applies, but their bond seems to be evolving into something more.

He doesn’t really know what to make of it, but oddly, the thought doesn’t bother him as much as he believed it would.

Chapter Text

Luckily for them, the rain has stopped.

They walk out of the bar and wander the streets, spitballing, trying to figure out how to stay under the radar. Being fugitives from the TVA means their presence in this timeline is precarious at best. Obviously, they can’t overstay their welcome.

Loki’s mind starts whirring. He needs to devise a plan that will buy them a little more time here without triggering a nexus event that could signal the TVA in the foreseeable future. He knows the risk of staying in one place too long is high, but with only one TemPad, he’s at a loss for their next move. He’s unsure if Inna plans to strike out on her own or stick with him for now.

She must know that having one TemPad means that their paths are intertwined unless she’s willing to take it from him. And knowing her, it wouldn’t surprise him if she was already devising a plan to separate him from the gadget.

Well, trust doesn’t come naturally to either of them. Yes, Inna guards herself fiercely, but he does the same in his own way.

Even so, this time, he finds that trusting her now feels unexpectedly natural, as though each second chips away at the walls they’ve both built. Obviously, he’s not ready to let those walls crumble entirely, but she’s given him no reason to doubt her so far. This younger version is not quite the same as the one he knew, and perhaps this is why parting ways with her is not an option he wishes to entertain — at least not right now.

“You know,” she says after a stretch of silence, “I don’t think there’s a way to fly under the radar. You heard Ouroboros… sooner or later, the timeline ripples. So, wherever we go, we’re definitely gonna cause a nexus event. We could,” she pauses to consider her words, a frown creasing her brow, “accidentally set fire to a house and kill someone important to history. Or worse, save someone who wasn’t supposed to live.”

“We’re just trying to buy some time, not to court chaos, you know,” he tries to avoid a grin. He fails spectacularly. “Just in case, let’s try to avoid too much involvement with other people,” he proposes. “And, by the way, how do you ‘accidentally’ set fire to a house?”

“I don’t know, faulty wiring? Spontaneous combustion? A really intense candlelight dinner gone wrong?” she jokes, tossing a smile at him. He barely has time to fix on the weird flip that dances in his stomach before she gets distracted. “Hey, what’s that over there?” She leans forward, pointing at a glowing screen in the distance. Her voice is charmingly tinged with wonder. “An outdoor movie theater? Is that even a thing?”

“I believe it is,” he murmurs, following the direction of her gaze.

Inna whips her head around, focusing her attention on him again, and narrows her eyes. “You don’t sound very convinced. Have you been to one before?”

Obviously not. They don’t have any on Asgard.

“Once,” he lies. “But no, I have not stayed. It didn’t hold my attention.”

“Well, it’s holding mine,” she shoots back, as she studies the rows of cars and the big screen in the distance. “Can we go over there? Just for a little while?”

Loki glances at her, then back at the drive-in movie theater. “I find it curious how easily you get distracted, especially after suggesting we limit our interactions with others.”

“You said that,” she shrugs, looking unfazed. “Plus, I’m not saying we have to stay forever. Just a quick look. There’s no harm in that, right, Merlin? It’s not like we’re going to change the course of time by watching a movie. Or… wait… shit, do you hear that?” she says, lowering her voice as though something strange is happening. When she inches closer to him, for a moment, her good acting skills nearly lead him to believe that something is truly off. She tilts her head, listening intently, and even glances around. “Yeah, boom, there goes the timeline.”

“Go on. Mock me if you—”

“Oh, c’mon!” Already invading his personal space, Inna goes all for it and grabs his biceps, giving him a playful shake, as if trying to jolt some tension loose from his rigid form. “You just need to loosen up a little,” the words come out with a teasing lilt. Her tone is light but slightly coaxing. “Let’s go watch this stupid movie. What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

Ha. He can think of a million ways this could go wrong, but none of them are worth mentioning.

Well, if he has to be honest, he doesn’t want to be the uptight, boring one in this partnership. After all, he is the one bearing the title of God of Mischief. This is more his terrain than hers.

So, a bit reluctantly, he follows her to the last row of cars. She leads him through the narrow spaces between parked vehicles and finds a spot near the back, just outside the glow of the nearest headlights, and gestures for him to sit on the ground beside her. He hesitates, eyeing the damp grass still glistening from the earlier thunderstorm. With a flick of his wrist, a faint shimmer of energy ripples across the earth, drying the patch where he intends to sit. The grass bends under an invisible force, now perfectly dry and clean.

“No need to subject myself to discomfort unnecessarily,” he grouses petulantly. Inna offers a caustic eye roll.

They sat down just as the film began, a drama thick with moral ambiguity and subtle character conflict. The plot followed two protagonists, a man and a woman, each married to unfaithful spouses who were having an affair with each other. As the story unfolded, it became clear the leads were struggling with their own growing connection, but none wanted to act on it.

“They are not getting involved,” he speaks confidently. He didn’t intend to voice his musings out loud, but the words were out before he could contain them. This obviously garners Inna’s attention, who tilts her head to the side and regards him suspiciously.

“How can you be so sure?” she asks in a low whisper. “Have you watched this before?”

“No, no,” he answers, keeping his voice at the same level as hers. “But it is apparent from the direction the film is taking.”

“How so?”

He doesn’t know why he finds her inquisitiveness so captivating, but something about the way she questions him draws his attention. It’s not the typical curiosity. There’s an earnestness in her tone, a genuine desire to understand, and it unsettles him in the most intriguing way.

He sets the thought aside and clears his throat. “They are both keenly aware of their spouses’ betrayal, but they will not allow themselves to mirror such conduct,” he ends up saying. “They only dance around the possibility of a love affair, but they know they will never entertain the idea. You heard them, they both agree that for them to do the same thing would mean they are no better than they are. So, even though he longs for her and she longs for him, none has the courage to take action. They are ultimately constrained by societal expectations and their own moral convictions.”

“Well,” she licks her lips, “sometimes, love is too powerful to resist. Maybe they will give in to what they’re feeling, even if it’s not what they intended. You never know when you’ll fall in love. It just happens, and you can’t repress it.”

Loki shakes his head. “If they were to act on their feelings now, it would undermine everything the story has carefully built. It would be far too predictable, too banal.”

She snorts. “Have you ever been in love?”

His breath catches in his throat for a moment. He doesn’t feel comfortable answering that question, so he avidly ignores it. “This is not a film about love or adultery. It’s a film about loss and grief. Look closer.”

Inna evidently dislikes his terse answer, so she resolves against conversation for the remainder of the film. He feels oddly fazed when the movie ends and what he predicted comes to pass. He fears it’s because a part of him had hoped, despite his words, that they would defy the predictability. That he might have been wrong about them, wrong about love and its constraints. The unsettling thought lingers, and he quickly shakes it off, unwilling to acknowledge that maybe his own certainty might be built on more than logic. Perhaps, despite his convictions, a part of him longs for the very thing he dismisses.

He is unsure of what to make of it.

Another film starts playing, but this time, Inna doesn’t pay attention to it and suggests they should get going, so they start walking away.

“I wasn’t trying to contradict you,” she starts in a low murmur. She sounds a little exhausted. “I was just hoping the first film I watched after leaving the Red Room would have a happy ending.”

He swallows down, keeping his eyes trained on the path ahead. “I suppose not all stories are meant to have happy endings, even if we wish they would.”

“Guess not,” she sighs.

Against his better judgment, he finds himself lingering on her words and analyzing her expression. He feels that her poignancy is tethered to the person she left behind. Or more accurately, to the person that left her behind in his timeline. The other spy. The Avenger.

Before he even registers the rising tension within him, his hands ball into fists, his knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. The thought gnaws at him, stirring a flicker of irritation that he can’t quite push aside. Then, as if cutting through the fog of his frustration, an idea sparks, an idea that reminds him of what they were discussing earlier.

“I think I know how to stay off the TVA’s radar,” he says, choking his thoughts, as he circles back to the conversation they had earlier. Inna stares at him and raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the abrupt change of subject. “We need to travel to a remote location.”

“A remote location?”

“Yes!” he says overenthusiastically. “Think about it… If we isolate ourselves from society, there are less chances to interact with other people and possibly alter the course of some random person’s life. Steer clear of everyone’s path, and there’s no risk of causing a fire that could cost someone their life.” He grins knowingly and spots Inna’s lips nearly twitch upward at the comment.

“Okay,” she drags the word. “Makes sense, I guess, but where do you suggest we should go?” she asks, brows knotting together. “Or should I ask when?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he answers smoothly. “But we have a TemPad in our hands, don’t we? We may as well put it to good use.”

“I thought you said we weren’t here to court chaos,” Inna says. “Jumping across time sounds like chaos.”

“No, we won’t be courting chaos,” he answers, fingers digging inside his pocket dimension and pulling out the device. “I’m not proposing we leap from one timeline to another for the sake of stirring trouble. Quite the opposite. I’m trying to find somewhere quieter, someplace remote, far from the reach of civilization. Just like I said. This city screams contradiction.”

“Yeah, no, let’s just steer clear of anything remotely exciting,” she quips, rolling her eyes. “You really know how to kill the vibe, Merlin.”

“This is not a quest for excitement, agent,” he counters distractedly, glancing at the screen. “We are fugitives, remember? We must remain off the radar, out of reach, until it is safe to move again, and I just think that getting involved with other people might invite unnecessary complications that could expose us and signal the TVA. If we removed ourselves from the equation, it would take longer for the timeline to ripple. I thought you agreed with me.”

She sighs. “Remain off the radar and do what exactly?” she asks, tapping her foot impatiently. He looks briefly in her direction and sees her with her arms folded over her chest.

“Still deciding,” he says, finally pressing a button which opens up a Time Door. There is a smirk pasted on his face, which he surmises Inna doesn’t like one bit. “Will you join me, or shall I leave you to wallow in your dissatisfaction?”

She snorts like a horse. “Just because you have the TemPad doesn’t mean you get to decide what we’ll do.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “it’s exactly how things are playing out, isn’t it?”

Without warning, she shoves him through the portal, her hands steady as she follows closely behind. He lands on his back with a thud and groans. The moment they cross to the other side, she swiftly grabs the TemPad from his grasp and closes the Time Door.

She bends slightly, placing her hands on her knees as she leans in to meet his gaze. A playful smirk tugs at her lips. “I suppose I get to decide, too.”

“Yeah?”

Still on the ground, he seizes her wrist and pulls her toward him, and she topples onto his chest. She crashes onto him, her breath catching as she lands, but before he can take advantage, she shifts her weight and scrambles to keep the TemPad out of his reach.

He twists beneath her, his muscles straining as he attempts to wrench the device from her hands, but she’s undeniably quicker, rolling off him and using her body to shield the TemPad. With a swift move, she pulls it close, but he’s right behind her, reaching out and tugging at the device. She stretches one arm to keep the TemPad just out of his reach while using her legs to push him back. Refusing to relent, he arches his back, rolling toward her again, trying to seize the device. Each time he gets close, she manages to twist away.

“Let go!”

“You let go!”

Loki knows that, like him, she is deliberately sparing him the full force of her abilities, even though if they stopped holding back, they know they could harm each other. Surprisingly, he doesn’t use magic to whisk the device away from her hands either. It’s just a weird, playful exchange.

“We’ve established that we need to trust each other!” he grumbles, chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath from their scuffle.

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t,” she shoots back, her breath ragged, her voice breaking from the strain of the fight. “Working together means both of us get a say in where we go.”

One of Loki’s hand wrestles to pry her fingers loose while the other tries to steady her thrashing.

“I want to see things through my own eyes!”

He feels an unexpected pang in his chest. It’s as if each syllable she speaks draws a thread back to the life she has never lived. Unlike him, who has perhaps relished too easily in the privileges of his station, Inna has been denied the chance to explore, to discover, to truly see the wonders that lie beyond the confines of the Red Room. Survival is much more important than indulgence, he knows that. But he can’t blame Inna for being naturally curious about the world she never got to see.

If the tables were turned, he’d probably be doing ten times worse, trying to explore every forbidden corner and pushing his limits to the absolute edge, even despite his current predicament.

“Okay! Fine!” he growls, through gritted teeth, as she keeps kicking him. “Time out! Time out!” When she doesn’t relent, he blurts out, “You can choose our next destination, just stop kicking me like I’m a bloody punching bag! You’ve got the TemPad. Let’s call it a draw, alright?”

Easing slightly away, she puffs, and Loki catches a glimpse of a pleased grin. “Glad to see you’re finally getting the picture.”

As he sits upright, he dusts off his robe. “I’d advise you not to get too complacent.”

“And I’d advise you to take it easy for once, you might find it more enjoyable,” she counters, the obnoxious smile still gracing her features. “Now, as for our next destination, I’ve got a few ideas.”

Chapter Text

For a moment, Loki feared Inna might bring them to an anarchic city on the brink of collapse, a place teeming with chaos and disorder, plucked right out of a disaster movie. But to his surprise, the portal she opened leads to a peaceful, empty village at night, its cobblestone streets lined with colonial cottages and picturesque shops, far from the tumult he had anticipated. He sighs in relief.

“For the record,” she begins in a quiet murmur, “I agree with you.”

“About?”

“Staying on the low,” she gestures around. “Getting involved with others is the opposite of that,” she says, offering him the TemPad. “Here, you can have this back.”

He blinks at her. “You are relinquishing the very item you had just kicked me for?”

“I was trying to get a point across,” she answers distractedly, peering at her surroundings. “I get that you want to ensure our survival, but that doesn’t mean we have to live like caged animals. You mentioned we have to trust each other, and I agree. But we have only one TemPad, so like it or not, we’re a team, and I deserve a say in how we live just as much as you do, even if it’s just to survive.”

He lets out a sigh. He knows, deep down, that she is right. They have to work together for this to work. He strangely trusts that she will not do anything stupid to betray him, to steal the TemPad and flee with it. She could have tried earlier. To her, Loki is a man with magic, but no name to give, no past to speak of. She said it herself back at the pub.

Yet she is still here, walking at his side along the still streets of a village he can’t name.

He suspects that she will soon start asking questions about his life again if he doesn’t address them first.

She stops abruptly when her eyes catch sight of something — a bakery. She is transfixed by the cupcakes lining the shelves, and there seems to be a touch of nostalgia swimming in her brown eyes. For a long time, she remains silent.

Loki half-expects her to say something, but when she doesn’t, carried by his own curiosity, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” her voice sounds thin and dulcet. She peels her eyes away from the window. “This reminds me of someone, that’s all.”

He ventures a guess, “Romanoff?”

When the name tumbles out of his mouth, like an exorcized child in a horror movie, she whips her head around to stare at him in disbelief. He sees a sliver of longing, but the sentiment passes a moment too soon. She resumes her walk, and it takes Loki a few seconds to catch up with her.

“It’s not fair that you know so much about me, and I’m over here trying to figure you out like a puzzle,” she grouses, not truly angry, not truly offended, just a little playful. “I don’t even know your name.”

Well, there it is.

But she’s not wrong, though. He’s always saying or doing things that inevitably imply he already knows her, which is funny considering he doesn’t really know her. All the knowledge he hoards about the agent has been acquired through intense perusal of dog-eared Red Room files and S.H.I.E.L.D. files. Whatever personal detail or quirk he knows about Inna is the byproduct of his own deductions and a lot of speculation. Sure, the spy has entrusted him with bits of personal information in his timeline, but it’s mostly been for the sake of their professional relationship. He’d needed the aid of someone who could report data about the heroes they were going up against, and Inna turned out to be that person.

“In any case,” she continues when Loki’s tongue becomes uncooperative, “Me and Natty, we always dreamed of tables piled high with the kind of desserts that make you close your eyes and savor every bite. We used to joke that we’d go on a ‘sugar tour’ when we were both out, eating nothing but cake for a whole day.”

The corners of her mouth curve slowly in a wistful smile that quickly fades away when she lets out a deep breath.

“It’s a shame I’ll never get to see her again. I’ve missed her sorely,” she says finally, and Loki feels stuck. It’s the most personal admission she’s ever made, and he feels unprepared for the weight of it.

Now that he knows she will never go through all the torment that she is supposed to experience, he feels a strange wave of empathy for the Inna he left behind.

This isn’t the same woman who left her past behind in smoldering ruins. This Inna, standing before him now, is different. She hasn’t yet been shaped by hurt, by betrayal, by the choices that would one day harden her heart. She doesn’t know what’s coming; she doesn’t know that the one she misses will be the one whose heart she will break.

In his timeline, Inna betrays Romanoff. She turns her back to her and to the organization that took her under its wing when she left the Red Room. He remembers the cauldron of rage that simmered within her, a seething, unrelenting fury that burned bridges and consumed what little trust she had left. Inna was so angry at everyone she once held dear, Romanoff included. But this younger Inna doesn’t carry the weight of those choices. She doesn’t know the rage that consumed her or the heartbreak that followed. She doesn’t know what led her to betray Romanoff, or the cascade of consequences that followed.

And so, obviously, she misses the Avenger. How could she not? She clings to the memory of their bond, unaware of how much she’ll someday destroy, and how much she’ll regret it.

Maybe the Red Room is not the place a child should grow up in, but even within that dark organization, Inna found a beacon of hope, a person she could call ‘home’ that made for the lack of a physical one. He’s never had such a thing, and while he can’t relate, he can understand. How tragic it is, Loki thinks, that even in that pit of shadows, where loyalty is weaponized and love is considered a weakness, she had found someone she could rely on.

And how cruel that it was all taken from her.

Because of some twist of fate, Inna had been forced to turn on Romanoff, to break the bond that had once been her lifeline. It was no small act, was it? It couldn’t have been easy to betray the one person who had been her anchor in a world so devoid of warmth. The weight of that decision must have been unbearable.

Loki wonders what it must have felt like to lose that connection and to be the one who severed it. He can only imagine the bitterness that must have festered afterward, the way she must have carried that wound disguised as rage, that forced her to ask him, of all people, to join his army, to offer her undying loyalty just so she could get her revenge.

At the time, he hadn’t cared about her reasons. Inna was not his friend. She was another pawn, another weapon to be aimed at the world. But now, watching this younger version of her, untouched by the bitterness that had driven her to him, he sees the tragedy in her choice.

She hadn’t come to him because she believed in his vision or his strength. She had come to him because she had no one else left. And in her anger, she had thought that aligning herself with a god of destruction was the only way to reclaim what she had lost… or at least, to make the people who had taken it from her suffer. And if she had to burn the world to do it, so be it.

His heart — ridiculous, daft heart — clenches in empathy.

“What?” she asks. From the look on her face, he realizes he must have let his eyes linger too long on her.

“Nothing,” he murmurs. “I thought I knew you, but now I’m not so sure.”

She doesn’t respond, and Loki doesn’t know what she can possibly be thinking of. He doesn’t let it occupy his thoughts for long, as an idea emerges. It’s a very silly idea.

“Come,” he beckons her, turning around and retracing his footsteps.

“Where are you going?” she asks, trailing behind him. When he doesn’t grant an answer, she dares to grab his shoulder. Loki doesn’t seem to mind. “Hey! I asked you—” Her words cut abruptly when he stops in front of the bakery. “What’s happening?”

“You want to know more about me,” he makes a funny gesture at the shop window. “So, I’m going to show you.”

“What are you trying to prove? What, are you a baker or something? Why did you bring us back to the—”

He shushes her and, without warning, he places his hands on her shoulders. He smiles quite mischievously, and in a matter of seconds, he teleports them out of the sidewalk and into the bakery. The familiar tingling of shifting between spaces dissipates as soon as they land carefully on the warm wooden floor of the dark bakery. The scent of sugar and cinnamon quickly enwraps them. It’s a pleasant smell.

Inna fails to find her footing, baffled by the journey, as she staggers and grabs Loki’s biceps to keep herself from falling to the ground. A yelp escapes her lips when she realizes the shift of her surroundings, and Loki doesn’t remember when the last time was that he saw someone so confounded by his magic.

“What? How?” are only two of the monosyllabic questions that tumble out of her mouth. Another wave of questions surge when he uses his magic to summon a beam of light.

“Calm down, Inna,” he orders gently, as he finds himself smiling fondly. Her apparent disgust towards his magic should make him angry, not endear her to him even more.

He can’t figure out what’s got into him today. He’s too… soft.

“I told you the magic is inoffensive.”

“And I believe you, I just… I wasn’t expecting that,” she says, glancing around them. “The outfit trick back there has nothing on this!”

The initial fret disappears and gives way to something he could only describe as fascination. Admiration, even. Perhaps she is not disgusted after all.

“Why did you wait until now to show me this? This is perfect! We’ll never have to worry about getting caught again!” her smile vanishes. “Wait, if you’ve known this all along, then why didn’t you say anything?”

He shakes his head when her eyes fall upon him. “I’m afraid I can only traverse short distances and places I can visualize. Without the see-through window shop of the bakery, I would not have been able to take us here.”

“I see,” she murmurs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Well, it’s still pretty cool. What else can you do? I promise not to freak out.”

He snorts amusedly and walks to the back of the shop, Inna hot on his heels. He stumbles into the kitchen, where the darkness envelops him. He flicks on only a few lights that barely brighten a corner of the kitchen, careful to keep the rest of the space in darkness.

Inna crosses her arms over her chest and stares at him, clearly expecting him to pull a stunt. Like a showman, he opens his arms, grins charmingly and shapeshifts into her. Her jaw nearly drops to the floor before it turns into a bright smile. A chuckle escapes her lips.

“That’s so fucking cool!” she walks closer to him, assessing whatever little detail he sees of her, the curve of her jaw, the slope of her nose, the long fringe of lashes. “God, it’s like watching myself in the mirror. Can you mimic my voice?”

“Sure can do,” he answers using her voice.

Her smile grows wide. “This must be so useful in battle.”

“It depends,” he says with his own voice, returning to his own flesh and bones. “I can assume anyone’s appearance, but I can’t take their strength or skills with me. I’m still limited by my own nature.”

“It’s still hella useful. For someone who’s been trained to deceive and lie, shifting into someone else would be an absolute asset,” she wonders. “Talk about the perfect disguise.”

“I guess, but you are not a spy anymore, why would you need it for?”

She doesn’t have an answer for that, but she doesn’t look at him with resentment or sadness in her eyes. Perhaps she is still grappling with the idea that the life she knows as such doesn’t exist anymore. She is not a spy, she is not the weapon the Red Room wanted her to become, she is not an assassin.

“Check this out,” he catches her attention. With renewed interest, she looks back at him.

He flicks his hand and, with a powerful stroke of his seiðr, he conjures up an illusion. The walls stretch and shift, peeling away the shadows to reveal towering marble columns ornamented with gold. The flickering lights of the kitchen transform into the warm, radiant glow of a thousand candles.

The cold, tiled floor turns to polished stone, while large tapestries unfurl along the walls, and above them, the ceiling arches high, decorated with colorful designs. At the other end of the hall, the Valaskjalf’s throne, the one his father sits on, materializes.

“Holy shit,” he hears Inna whisper.

He peers at his surroundings, a pang of melancholy strikes for a moment. He, too, is coming to terms with the fact that his old reality is gone. He may never retreat to his chambers or seek solace in the gardens or hide away in the Royal Library. He may never see his father on that throne, or his mother standing by his side. For better or for worse, he may never see Thor again.

“This is… like it’s been taken out from a fairytale,” from the sounds of it, she is smiling, and this is enough to bring Loki back to reality, the sad, piteous memories fading away. “It’s so beautiful.”

He clears his throat, his eyes soften. “This is my home, Inna.”

She gazes at him, wide-eyed in disbelief. Or perhaps it’s just sheer surprise. He really can’t tell. “Get outta here!” she says, thrown-off kilter. “Are you serious? This is where you grew up? What, are you some kind of prince?” The questions are not meant to mock. She just seems genuinely taken aback.

He nods. “This is Asgard’s palace. The Valaskjalf.”

“Asgard?” Her eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Asgard. Like that place from Norse mythology?”

“Yes,” he whispers. A lightbulb ignites above his head. Weaving another intricate illusion, he manages to summon a replica of his family. The glimmer in her eyes sends a confusing ribbon of warmth to his chest. “That’s my father, my mother,” he points at Thor. “My brother.”

Tentatively, Inna walks up to each of them, holding out a hand that, of course, goes through each illusion. “They look so real.”

He drags his feet slowly and stations beside her. “Illusions are one the first things my mother taught me. They were small at the beginning, but with the passing of time they grew stronger. I don’t usually weave illusions if it’s not to deceive people. To get my own way.”

“It’s not so different from what I do,” she confesses, sparing a brief look at him, then corrects herself in a whisper, “Or… what I was trained to do.” Before he has the chance to speak about it, she asks, “So, your mom, did she teach you magic?”

As he answers, he looks into his mother’s illusion’s eyes. “She did. She taught me everything I know. Illusion projections, duplication casting, shapeshifting. She always said that magic is a reflection of the heart that wields it. Intention shapes its outcome. Pure motives yield creation, growth, harmony, whereas corruption twists it into ruin.”

“It’s not so inoffensive then, is it?” she repeats his words with a playful lilt dancing around her voice.

“Well, if I have to be honest, no,” he acquiesces. “The power itself is neither good nor evil. It merely amplifies what already resides within the practitioner. If I want to turn a beam of light into a devastating bolt of energy in battle, I can do it.”

“Cool,” she murmurs. “Were you born with those powers? Can anyone learn magic?”

He finds himself unexpectedly excited by her curiosity.

“There are those born with a certain,” he pauses, searching for the right word, “resonance.” He looks at her for a moment, unaware that she was already staring. “It’s an innate energy, a force woven into their very being. It’s not something you can acquire. It’s inherent. If you have it, you only need to cultivate and refine it through practice.”

“Does your brother practice magic, too?” she asks, drawing closer to Thor’s illusion. She ventures to gently brush his hair, though obviously, her hand goes through the illusion. Loki doesn’t understand why the small act sends a pang of something bitter to his mouth.

“Not the same kind of magic,” he says, setting aside his thoughts. “His power over thunder and lightning is an innate, internal power. A natural bond with the nature around us. He uses a hammer to focus and tune his control, but the power resides within him. His strength lies in the skies, mine lies in magic.”

“Thunder and a hammer?” she flashes a look that drips of skepticism, then she looks back at the blonde god. “What? You’re gonna tell me now that this guy is Thor?”

The bitter taste returns to his mouth. He opens and closes it. To confess the truth so openly now would make him seem like a lunatic. But as she half-expects a coherent answer and Loki doesn’t seem to have one ready for her, she directs her attention at him. Something must have been written all over his face because she gasps in the same way she did when he first made his display of magic.

“No way,” her eyes flick between Loki and his brother’s illusion. “Are you for real? Is he Thor? Your brother’s the actual God of Thunder?”

“Yes,” he murmurs begrudgingly. It’s becoming harder to ignore the bitter taste that makes a home in his mouth.

Inna chuckles quite endearingly, as though she was a scientist who had just made a pivotal discovery. Her laugh is warm and full of wonder, no trace of derision, just the kind of delighted sound that comes when good fortune feels almost too good to be true.

“Wait,” she says when the moment passes. She points at his father’s illusion. “So, he must be Odin.”

“The All-Father,” he agrees, grateful that she changed the focus. He can’t find anything else to say. Really. He doesn’t know what she must make of it all. But instead of calling his bluff, Inna stares at him. Like actually looks deep into his eyes, as hers narrow in a suspicious way. He clears his throat, feeling unusually transparent. “What?”

A smile tugs at her lips. It’s a knowing smile. Rascal. Pleased.

He finds it beautiful.

“You must be Loki, then. God of Mischief.”

He couldn’t quite explain why, but the fact that she figured out his identity so quickly stirs something within him, a strange sense of excitement. Why, if she knows about Thor and Odin, why wouldn’t she know about him?

“You are,” she confirms her deduction on her own volition when he seems unable to hold back a smile and deviate his gaze. “I know it might be unexpected, but in the Red Room, we were taught the same subjects any school would cover, including mythology. So, yes, I know about you. Thought you’d have red hair, though.”

“You are a very astute woman,” he ends up saying. With a simple flick of his wrist, the illusions fade away. The throne room, his family, they all disappear in a mist of green light.

“No,” she shrugs sheepishly, “I just connected the dots between your words and what I’ve observed so far.”

“And what have you observed so far?” he presses.

“The way you seem to always be in control, even when you’re not,” she says and he almost immediately regrets having asked. She carries herself towards a fridge and opens it, scanning its contents. He tries, but fails, to peel his eyes away from her when she crouches down and her tank top rises slightly, and her pants slip down a bit, revealing the skin on her lower back. His mind is in a gaming mood today. “The way you speak, the games you play, and the contradictions you allow. And I’ve seen how you stared at your brother just now.”

Springing to her feet, she grabs something quickly from the fridge and then closes its door. When she swivels around, he sees her carrying a dish full of chocolate cupcakes.

“There’s something there,” she continues before he has the opportunity to intervene. “Bitter, maybe even jealous. It’s not hard to spot when someone’s harboring resentment. The way you looked at him, like you wanted to be in his shoes or maybe wished things were different between you two. It lines up perfectly with what I’ve read in the myths. The rivalry, the envy. Very on brand for the Trickster God.”

The warmth and endearment he’d felt towards her suddenly ebbs away. Inna is obnoxiously perceptive. Even this young version. He doesn’t know why the Hel he asked her that if he wasn’t ready to confront the truth.

A low, dark chuckle escapes his lips. “You’d be wise not to believe everything you come across.”

“Then what should I believe?” she asks after licking the cream off a cupcake. “Because what I’ve seen from you so far fits the myths a little too well.”

“You are too keen to draw conclusions.”

“Am I? Or am I simply seeing things that are there?” she asks, not as defiantly as he’d expected. Her voice is surprisingly soft. He averts his eyes away. “I wasn’t trying to mock you, you know. I’ve been trained to observe people. It’s what I do. Connect patterns, understand behaviors. It’s not about believing everything I see but recognizing the signs that are already there. So, if I seem accurate, it’s because I know what I’m looking for.”

“There’s a danger in assuming that what you see is the whole truth, agent.”

She raises an eyebrow, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What? You’re going to tell me that I’m only seeing what you want me to see?” She shakes her head slightly, more curious than mocking. “C’mon, I thought you’d be more original than that.”

“I never said you were wrong. I only said you should not assume that what you see is the entire picture.” He steps back, his voice is unintentionally cold, even though a simmering current of grudging admiration threatens to erupt. “The mind can deceive itself with too much certainty.”

Inna watches him carefully. “I’m not assuming. I’m analyzing. There’s a difference.” Her gaze sharpens. “But then again, maybe you wouldn’t know what it’s like to question everything so deeply. You seem too confident in your own power.”

Loki pauses at that; his eyes narrow slightly as he studies her. For a moment, there’s something in his expression that betrays an emotion he’d rather not show. “You are far too perceptive for your own good.” The words come out more as a low mutter than a statement. “It’s a… troubling quality.”

She doesn’t seem to let his words faze her, as she offers him a small, knowing smile. “It seems to trouble you more than it should.” She meets his eyes directly; her tone is soft, but it doesn’t waver. “Maybe you should learn to trust what people see, even if it’s not what you want them to. Maybe they’re seeing something you haven’t noticed yet. And it doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing, you know?”

He snorts. He knows she’s right, and oddly, her wit doesn’t upset him.

Perhaps it would bother him if it were anyone else. But not Inna. Not anymore, at least. There’s something about her sharp perception that doesn’t quite unsettle him the way it should. He’s almost relieved, in a way, that she sees through him like she does. It reinforces a strange respect for the spy that he doesn’t want to acknowledge just yet, and maybe something else.

The thought lingers as the silence stretches between them.

Chapter Text

Loki discovers that Inna has an undeniable sweet tooth.

He looks at the chaos scattered across the bakery’s kitchen floor. Crumbs from half-eaten cupcakes and cookies, the remains of icing smeared on napkins, and a few half-finished pieces of cake abandoned in their wrappers. There’s a trail of frosting that leads to the corner of the room where Inna had haphazardly dropped a handful of sweets. A half-eaten pastry sits beside her, bits of cream filling leaking out like a small rebellion against the chaos. Empty cupcake liners are strewn across the floor, and the lingering scent of sugar and butter fills the air. It’s a mess, but a kind of mess that feels strangely comforting.

“See?” He settles more comfortably on the floor, leaning back casually against the kitchen island, the smooth edge pressing into his lower back. “In the end, you do know me.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know of you. That’s not the same.”

“Then allow me to correct the record, since the myths clearly failed you,” he lifts a finger. “No, I have never stolen Thor’s hammer. I can’t even lift it for starters. No, I have not caused the death of Baldr. I’ve no idea whether he was real,” he lifts another finger. “And no, I have not, thank Gods, given birth to Odin’s eight-legged horse.”

Inna lets out a peal of laughter, her head tilting skyward. “Why would anyone need that many legs?”

“Exactly what I was wondering.” A grudging smile plays on his lips.

He has never anticipated that talking to Inna could be that fun. Although he never let his thoughts linger too long on it, he’d wondered, during the long hours he spent holed up in his cell, what it would feel like to speak to her about anything other than battle plans and the strategic intel she’d fed him. He’d grown accustomed to their conversations being purely tactical, with her supplying him with the names, weaknesses, and motivations of the heroes she’d worked with. Their relationship was always strictly professional. But now, as they exchange words without the weight of betrayal or subterfuge, he finds himself curious about her thoughts.

It’s… unexpected, like everything else he’d been feeling and thinking about all day.

“So, what was it like, growing up on Asgard?” she asks after a moment, catching his eye. She was licking the frosting off a cupcake. “Living on the land of gods must’ve been… not as easy as it sounds.”

“I thought someone like you would glorify it.”

“Me? No, I don’t put much stock in glorification,” she shrugs her shoulder. “Believing a place like that is only an unblemished paradise is a bit shortsighted and naïve. You can’t assume a golden citadel is without its cracks.”

“Bless,” he smirks briefly, his gaze deviating from hers. “I suppose being a prince has its luxuries. There is some glory to it, to being the Prince of Asgard, the Son of Odin. But it’s not all golden halls and bountiful feasts. On Asgard, there’s a place for light, for strength. But there’s also a place for darkness, for the things that are hidden.” He looks at her again and studies her expression. He hesitates before continuing. “Have you read the myth about Jörmungandr?”

“The one about your, um, giant reptilian offspring?” she jokes, probably wondering why he brought up the tale. “It’s not true, is it? That the snake’s actually another one of your neglected children? That’s not what this is about, is it?”

“No,” a subtle smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he meets her gaze. “Sorry to disappoint. It’s still just a bedtime story parents tell their children.”

“Figures.”

He pauses, cradling his chin in thought for a moment. “On Asgard, it was believed that the serpent Jörmungandr was a threat to the gods of Asgard, so my father banished the serpent to the depths of the oceans of Earth. It is said that it survived and grew to incredible size, possessing the length to surround the entire planet. They called it the Midgard Serpent.”

She tilts her head thoughtfully. “Oh, yeah, there was a prophecy tied to it, wasn’t it?”

He arches his brow, clearly impressed. Or perhaps simply amused. “Yes, it is said that on the day of Ragnarök, Odin’s firstborn will face the serpent in battle. They say the god will slay the beast, but not before its venom seals his fate as well. Both of them are destined to die. Now, imagine poor little Thor growing up with that hanging over his head. Terrified of the day he’d have to face this monstrous snake.” He pauses for effect. “So, naturally, I couldn’t resist having a little fun with him.”

“What kind of fun?”

“Once, when he was particularly insufferable, I turned myself into a snake, and I coiled up, waiting for him to notice me. And when he picked me up, thinking I was just some harmless creature, I stabbed him.”

She huffs a short laughter. “You stabbed him?”

“Well,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, “it was a very small cut. Hardly worth the fuss he made about it. But you should have heard him scream. The palace guards thought we were under siege. Father was not amused.”

She spares a smile, the kind she’s been giving him more and more lately, the kind he’s starting to realize he can’t get enough of. It’s warm, genuine, not a contrived grimace that has been wrestled out of her, like the ones he saw pasted on the other Inna’s face. He’s starting to realize just how much he looks for it, how much he’s come to need it without even understanding why. And as it lingers, he finds it reflected in his own expression, a quiet warmth he didn’t expect but can’t seem to resist.

It’s baffling, the way his stomach twists whenever her lips curve like that.

“You surely know what the snake stands for, don’t you? I mean, metaphorically,” he asks when the moment passes. Inna gives a small nod. Of course, she knows. “When you grow up among so many revered gods, you start to expect the same glorification for yourself. If Odin himself raised you, it’s hard not to feel like glory and power should come as naturally as breathing. That’s what me and Thor were taught, after all: that we were destined to be great. But I have been there, on the cusp of greatness, or at least I thought I have, because as I sat in my cell on Asgard, I realized it was never meant for me.” His eyes do a quick sweep over the room, avoiding Inna’s. He’s never said that last part out loud to anyone. “The gods, the mortals, they are not kind to those who stir the pot, and chaos… Well, chaos doesn’t get revered. It gets ostracized, left to slither in the dark, like a snake,” he gestures vaguely at himself. “It’s a fitting image, I suppose.”

“No, it’s bullshit,” she concludes flatly, tossing yet another empty cupcake liner to the floor, and then she launches herself into a tirade. “They just don’t revere chaos or build altars to it because it challenges everything they think they know. Myths are overblown stories. And snakes? Snakes are not just chaos or danger. They are survival. They are… transformation and rebirth in so many cultures. Sometimes humans see the world through such a narrow lens. When their lives didn’t turn out the way they expected, they made you the scapegoat. The famine? It must have been you. The illness? Definitely your fault. The floods? Of course it was your doing. They’d rather simplify you into something they can fear, and they’d rather tie all that, all the fucking disasters in the myths, to you. They just latched onto the simplest explanation, that the Trickster God did it. All of it, all the disasters they couldn’t explain,” she snorts. “It’s easy for them to do that, isn’t it? To make someone the villain, to turn a name into a cautionary tale, all so they can sleep tight at night. What a bunch of assholes.”

Oh.

He feels… What’s this? Understood?

That’s a first.

“People always need someone to blame when things go wrong. It’s far more comforting to personify chaos than accepting that sometimes things just fall apart,” he agrees. “But just because some of those stories are fake, it doesn’t mean they all are. And I can’t say that I am… proud of all of them.”

“Well, fuck them. You’re the Trickster God,” she says and brings her knees to her chest. “The mischief is kinda part of the deal.”

He shuffles awkwardly, his voice drops, and he realizes that he is on the verge of exposing a rare flicker of vulnerability, something he almost never allows himself to show. “I’m not just referring to the tricks,” he says. “I mean, the murders.”

For a moment, their gazes meet, yet she doesn’t offer him pity or scorn. Loki thinks it’s refreshing. Over the years, he’s felt the weight of chastisement in every glance, every whispered tale, every monument to his failures. As he looks at Inna, he doesn’t find any of that.

“I have killed, too, you know?” she murmurs softly.

But Loki doesn’t think that it is meant to inspire pity. He believes she is just trying to make him feel less isolated in his guilt. To show that there is darkness in her, as well. So, he listens, just like she did moments ago.

“For the Red Room, those who falter under the weight of weakness are discarded without hesitation,” she continues. “I learned not to empathize with other girls because we… we were usually coerced into sparring against each other. As a young girl, I quickly picked up who were the strongest and who were the weakest. I wasn’t stupid, I knew my masters did the same when they studied us during training.”

She clears her throat and glances up at Loki to see what expression she is going to be met with. He’s not sure what she discerns, but it doesn’t stop her from recounting her story.

“They would usually pit a strong girl against a weak girl so that the strong could eradicate the weak and the program remained devoid of defects,” she pauses, her focus drifting toward her peripheral view. “I don’t remember the girls I had to kill. I don’t remember their names, or what they looked like. It’s strange, really, how they fade from your mind after you’ve… done what I did,” she confesses. “I think the mind does that to protect itself. Shuts out the faces, the voices, the feeling of their eyes on you before it all happens.”

She idly toys with the pendant of her necklace. He’s come to notice it’s a nervous habit she has.

“I wish I did remember, though. But it’s all… it’s all a blur.”

He tries to arrange his words into a proper answer, though he knows they may not bring her the comfort she needs. He knows, all too well, that some things can’t be fixed with words. He knows that the weight of what she’s lived through can’t be erased, no matter how gently he speaks because he’s been there himself. But he feels strongly that he has to say something. It’s not often that someone gets to pour out the stream of consciousness that’s been bottled up for so long, and he wants her to know he’s listening, that he can relate to it, to the weight she carries and has been unacknowledged for so long.

“Survival doesn’t leave much room for sentiment, does it? Sometimes it demands things no one should have to bear. You silence the faces, the voices, the feeling of their eyes on you. You do what you’re taught, and then you force it all down, every thought, every feeling, until there is nothing left to linger on. To let it consume you would mean surrendering to weakness, the very thing they seek to eradicate,” he pauses without taking his eyes off her. “But to forget isn’t to absolve yourself of the burden. It’s simply to move forward despite the enormity of the sacrifice. The faces you erased may fade, but the strength it took to keep surviving, to keep fighting, remains. It’s the price you paid, and no amount of forgetting will ever lessen the toll, Inna.”

She plays with her necklace some more and shoots a look in his direction. It’s unreadable, but it’s not acerbic, not ungrateful. Perhaps she isn’t yet ready to accept what the organization truly is, because to do so would mean questioning everything she has built her life around. Loki keeps thinking that it is easier to hold on to the semblance of loyalty than to face the betrayal of what she believed it stood for. He oddly wants to find more comforting words and sear them into her brain, but he knows they may not have the desired outcome.

“Mission accomplished?” he asks after a long moment of silence. Inna lifts her gaze and arches her brows, apparently perplexed by his query. “I mean what you and Romanoff joked about. The, uh, the cake-filled day you always wanted.”

Light returns to her face and a smile clambers up her lips. “Oh, absolutely. This is what dreams are made of.”

He smiles. “Let’s see if your stomach agrees with this ‘success’ tomorrow.”

She looks down at her half-eaten cupcake and then at Loki. He recognizes the face she makes, the glance she offers, the curiosity she often harbors almost tangible. A new doubt seems to arise.

“Hey, how do you know Natty?” she makes a tangential question. “Did I tell you about her when we met in the timeline? Because freely giving personal information doesn’t quite sound—” When he narrows his eyes at her, she stops abruptly. “What? I just… I can’t imagine her running in your circles, God of Mischief. Or me, for that matter. So, what gives?”

A sigh escapes his lips. “I told you I don’t want to overwhelm you with the past. It’s years’ worth of knowledge that could be too much to take in. And what difference would it make if I told you how your life was supposed to go?”

“Color me curious,” she says softly, extending a leg and kicking Loki’s very gently. He finds the gesture stupidly, ridiculously adorable.

“You need to forget about the life you know as such,” his voice becomes softer. “The what-ifs will not change what’s already gone. They will not bring you what you want.”

“What do you know what I want?” her stare hardens a little. It’s as though she is already anticipating the answer he is going to deliver.

“You want to know whether Natasha is coming back for you.”

He truly has no idea why he says that. But he is more unnerved by the way it tumbles out, as if the words had a life of their own. There’s an edge to his voice he hadn’t intended. Sharp, almost accusing. It’s a feeling he doesn’t recognize, an unacknowledged jealousy that quietly took hold, and he curses himself for it. He has no right to feel this way about Inna, but the thought twists something inside him.

And when his focus turns to the spy again, he realizes that his words had touched a nerve.

Perhaps she was not expecting to hear them. Not truly. Perhaps she thought he was going to hold them back to spare her the sting of humiliation — humiliation not just from the fact that he knows more than she had let on, but from the uncomfortable truth of waiting, of holding onto something foolishly, desperately, while expecting a return that was never promised.

Her jaw clenches, and her gaze deviates.

His chest tightens. He wants to take the words back, to pretend he hadn’t said them. A touch too late, Loki regrets it, but he feels that sooner or later, the topic will be addressed again. And perhaps if he tells her, no, it will not bring her peace, but perhaps it can bring her some sort of closure. In the end, that’s all they need: to let go of the life they once knew.

“She does,” he answers quietly. “She comes back for you after you leave the Red Room, and for a year everything seems idyllic. But then you are both assigned to different missions. You don’t see each other for a long, long time. When you return, you realize that Romanoff has switched sides and no longer works for the Red Room.”

“That doesn’t sound like Natty,” she spits quickly. There’s not an ounce of anger in her eyes nor disbelief but a latent acceptance that maybe she doesn’t want to tackle yet.

“I’m not telling you what I think will happen. I’m telling you what I know,” he keeps his voice low and measured. “Somehow she convinces you to join her, and you agree to tag along, even if you can’t quite bring yourself to admit it.”

“What?” she asks in a low murmur, brows knitting together.

“I know how it sounds, but again, these are all just facts,” he explains. “This is what happened in my timeline, and maybe this is what’s supposed to happen, considering there is only one possible approach. Only one way this can unfold. Every other path… every choice that doesn’t fit what should be is erased. There’s no room for anything else, and you know that.”

It seems to dawn on her now because he is right. He knows that Romanoff left, graduated, and moved on, while Inna was left behind at the Red Room, caught in the gap between the past and whatever future she was still holding onto. He doesn’t know exactly how it felt to be in Inna’s shoes, to wait for someone who may or may not come back, but he knows how this story plays out.

In the end, Loki knows enough.

Why would he lie about something so specific? He wasn’t there for the years spent apart, wasn’t there for the reunion or the moments that followed. He couldn’t feel the confusion or the loss, but he understood it. And in the end, he isn’t wrong. He knows the truth. And somewhere deep inside, she’s starting to believe it, too.

A sad, incredulous laugh leaves her mouth as she stares at the ceiling. “All my fucking life…” her words trail off, and he can already anticipate what she is going to say. “I’ve busted my ass to become the best fucking Red Room agent, and I simply… And Natasha, she just…” Her eyes fall upon him. “Why?”

She stares at him as if he had all the answers. He is almost certain that she will not like what he has in mind.

“Romanoff owed someone a debt. She was offered a second chance by someone who saw a flicker of good in her, and for once, she chose to trust that. As for you…”

He doesn’t think it wise to say out loud what he has in mind, but well, he knows Inna will try to coax the words out of him.

“What?”

“You were in love with her, Inna. It was clear you were going to follow her without question.”

The admission comes louder than he’d anticipated, and he can see that it baffles her for a moment. Of course, why wouldn’t it? He is speaking as though he is privy to a secret she’s tried so hard to bury. He understands what it might look like to her, but it’s simply undeniable that he has already seen every corner of her past, or at least every corner that the other Inna has given him a glimpse of. To him, their intimate bond is not a secret, not a hidden truth that’s only hers to know about. It’s there, out in the open. He knows about the friend and lover that had once been the object of her affection, and he knows about Inna’s longing to see her again.

Perhaps he hasn’t known what it’s like to love someone with such fierce devotion, to be so consumed by it, but he can certainly see how it might strip someone bare, how such an all-encompassing affection could cloud their judgment and make them do something they have never considered before. He believes that this is what compelled the other Inna to chase after Romanoff, to follow her to the other side of the tracks and take the high ground.

She scoffs so loudly that it seems to reverberate in the kitchen.

“That’s a reach,” she says. There’s a bite to it. “Saying shit about me as if I’m some kind of open book for you to interpret.” In a fit of anger, she quickly gets up and shakes off the dust from her clothes. “What, being a god gives you some kind of power to analyze me or my feelings?”

She storms off, scuttling away from the kitchen and back into the bakery. The abruptness of it all renders Loki frozen. However, when the initial shock wears off, he lets out a snort and decides to follow her. He thinks it is ironic how hours ago she told him that maybe it is time for him to trust people’s perceptions. Because right now, it seems like the one who needs to trust what others see… is her.

“Oh, give over! You wanted to know. I told you it was a lot to take in,” he scolds her, aware that there’s more to it, more information she may not be ready to digest. Not yet. “But you just can’t leave it alone, can you? And when it’s not what you expected to hear, you can’t handle it.”

“Stop acting as if you know me!” she yells, swiveling and charging furiously at him.

“I do know you!” he spits back, matching her energy.

It takes him a few moments to realize just how dangerously close Inna is, and he doesn’t know why the realization nags at him like a pestering fly buzzing in his ear. He also doesn’t know why his eyes instantly fall to her lips. The thought, the impulse — they’re utterly ridiculous. What the Hel is he thinking?

“You were, or maybe you are,” he lowers his tone, but doesn’t ease away, “In love with Romanoff. Past or present? Is it still there, somewhere?”

She doesn’t respond. He feels that stupid, bitter pang slamming right into his mouth, twisting something inside him. He’s no fool. He knows he doesn’t have the right to ask her these things, let alone demand answers about her life — about who she loves or has loved. That’s none of his business, not in this timeline, not in the timeline he left behind. But the words came out anyway, driven by some tacit emotion he doesn’t care to acknowledge.

And for a moment, he hates how bloody vulnerable he feels, how the line between their past and present is blurring. He shouldn’t care.

But he does.

“Inna?”

Her eyes fill with tears. “I don’t know,” she murmurs, gazing away and playing with the heart-shaped pendant of her necklace. “I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I was expecting, what I hoped for… But this… all of it…”

She covers her face, her fingers slowly tracing upwards as she pulls her hair back in frustration, and then she wets her lips. She lets her gaze wander to anything else — the floor, the walls, the underlit kitchen behind him — anywhere but his eyes. It’s deliberate, almost practiced.

“You were right,” she finally admits, and Loki vicariously knows it pains her to say that out loud. She hates being wrong. “It’s overwhelming. This, you… all of it.”

He feels his heart cracking over the confession, as he anticipates what she might say next. He doesn’t realize how much it hurts until it’s out.

“I think…” the words trail off, and she dares a brave glance at him. “I think it’s best to call it quits and go our separate ways, Loki.”

Chapter Text

Days go by as quickly as the turning pages of a book. Loki adjusts his eyes to the shafts of light that seep through the blinds, sits on the bed and stares at the TemPad on the nightstand.

Inna insisted that he take it. He figured it wasn’t worth the argument — she’d already made up her mind about leaving — so he didn’t protest much. He just accepted that this is his new life for whatever time he has left until the TVA shows up to his doorstep.

Both opting to stay in the timeline that Inna chose, he’s moved to an abandoned house in the English countryside. It took a considerable amount of magic to restore and enhance the place, but he can say it was worth it because now the ramshackle abode has become a sanctuary he could call a temporary home.

He knows that solitude has its comforts, but there’s weight to it now. For some time, loneliness felt like a good thing. He thought he could do with the moment of respite. But the quiet of the abandoned house is different from how he remembers silence. It’s as though he half-expects to stumble into the dining room and see Inna devouring a dish of cupcakes, or stumble into the living room and see Inna sprawled on the sofa blabbering about the life she always dreamed of or questioning him about his royal duties and the royal family he left behind.

It is a bloody impracticality. No matter the task he throws himself into, his mind seems to gravitate toward her anyway. Whether he is chopping wood, foraging or rereading the books he stores in his pocket dimension, he ends up thinking about Inna. About her endless tirades, her bitter outbursts, her incisive observations, her… her dulcet laugh, her pert smile, her lively conversation, her gentle teasing.

There they are. The idiotic adjectives he can never seem to shake, even when he is certain he shouldn’t be thinking about her in such a way. It is ridiculous, really. She is nothing like the kind of person he should be admiring. But he does. He likes the sound of her laugh and the radiance of her smile, he likes the way she talks and the way she teases him, and he even likes the things he should find grating.

He likes the fire in her tirades, the way her passion burns through even the most mundane topics. He likes the strength in her outbursts, the way her voice rises with purpose, challenging the world around her. He likes the sharpness of her observations, how they cut through his pretenses and reveal the truth, even when it stings. There’s something so utterly magnetic about the way she refuses to let things slide, something compelling about the intensity she brings into every conversation. It’s maddening, but he can’t help but admire her for it.

The thing is.

The. Thing. Is.

He needs to address this before it gives him a nasty migraine.

He misses her. He misses the way she made everything feel lighter, the way she softened the edges of his otherwise rigid world. He misses the way he could let go of the performance he put on for the world and simply be. He misses the way she saw through him, through his lies, his pretensions, the layers he’d carefully built to protect himself from the world. He misses the things he admires about her, and the ones he knows he shouldn’t.

But… Gods… Acknowledgement feels like a burden.

He doesn’t know what to do now. He only knows that he can’t go back for her; after all, she had never given him any clear direction, any signpost to follow. The thought of chasing her feels futile, like trying to seize a wisp of smoke. But there’s more to it than that. There’s something about her departure, about the way she slipped away without a word that slams a sense of understanding right into his gut.

He imagines her, wherever she is, feeling suffocated by the weight of everything between them. The thought of pressing her into a confrontation, forcing a reunion when she isn’t ready, seems wrong. It’s a form of control he’s used before, manipulating circumstances to fit his will, but it doesn’t feel right. Not this time. The impulse to take action, to fix things, clashes with something deeper inside him. The truth is, he’s terrified that if he does go after her, it’ll be to push her further away. To trap her in a moment she needs to escape.

For a full week, he keeps isolating himself in his cottage. He knows that any slip-up, any exchange with another person could fracture the timeline and inevitably set off a sequence that would alert the TVA. It has been the M.O. that has kept him safe for a long time. But as a week spans into two, he finds himself asphyxiated.

It’s quite funny, considering that the cottage is a welcome change from the cell he was rotting in on Asgard.

So, for yet another week, as the clock strikes midnight, he ventures into town, drawn like a moth to a flame. His destination is always the same: the bakery. Every single night. It’s a foolish hope, but he clings to the belief that he might find Inna there. Perhaps she wouldn’t be inside, but maybe just outside, wandering nearby, waiting for him as if the universe might grant him that small mercy.

But one night, as he makes his familiar pilgrimage, the outcome shifts. He doesn’t find Inna, but instead, he finds a note. It’s tucked into the door of the bakery, the edge fluttering slightly in the breeze, waiting for him to notice.

As he unfolds it, he reads: ‘Closer than you think.’

He turns in a slow circle, the note crumpled slightly in his grip, searching the night for some sign of her.

“Inna?” he calls softly, his voice is barely louder than a whisper, slightly afraid to disturb the stillness around him.

But there’s nothing. Inna isn’t there.

Gods, he doesn’t even know if the one who wrote this was Inna. But if not the mortal, who else, then? Who else could be challenging him like this?

He inhales, then exhales. He turns the note around and summons a pen. This is beyond ridiculous.

‘I’ll keep coming back,’ he writes on the back as some sort of warning… or well, perhaps just a bit of a heads-up.

Then, he leaves the note where he found it, unbeknownst to him whether she’ll ever read it or if it will be lost to time.

Thankfully, the following night, the note is there, wedged between the doorframe. He doesn’t know whether is the same one or a fresh note. But there’s only one way to find out.

‘Stubborn as ever,’ it says, the handwriting slanted with a teasing flourish, and at that, a smile breaks his impassive expression, but there’s something else, too. A spark of excitement. Of challenge. He should find all this game inconvenient and maddening. But he doesn’t. Because he is the God of Mischief. And he enjoys a good game once in a while.

This might be her way of keeping tabs, of hanging around without subjecting herself to the madness that comes with him, a specter of a life she never lived. It’s not selfless, he realizes. He understands why she needs some space, and he believes that sooner or later, he might see her again, when she’s ready. However long that takes. Maybe it’ll kill him, but he needs to wait.

With a lopsided grin, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out the pen, and turns the note over.

‘As unyielding as the crown I wear,’ he writes on the back of the new note and places it in its rightful place.

The next day Loki wakes up earlier than usual. The sunlight filters through the blinds and projects soft stripes across the room. The light is just bright enough to make him squint, and for a moment, he remains still, letting the warmth of the sun seep into his bones. As he stretches his taut limbs, a quiet thrill stirs within him. There’s something different today, something that quickens his pulse, a sense of purpose that settles in him and had not been there the days before.

He can’t help but think of tonight, of the note she will leave for him. There’s a part of him, one that he doesn’t fully understand, that looks forward to it with more eagerness than he’s willing to admit.

He goes about his day, keeps himself busy. In the early morning, after the sunlight has fully crept into his cottage, he begins his routine. He slips on his boots, steps out the door, and breathes in the crisp air that smells of pine and damp soil.

His first task is always to check the surrounding forest. Armed with his small satchel, he forages for wild herbs, mushrooms, and berries that are ripe with the season. He moves quietly between the trees, aware of the quiet animals that watch him from a distance. The forest has always been a place of comfort for him, even before he found his way here. Back on Asgard, he would escape to the woodlands when the grind of the court became unbearable. There was something in the quiet of the forest that calmed him, a sense of peace that no palace or throne room could provide. The trees here may be different from the ancient oaks of Asgard, but they bring with them that same feeling of belonging.

At noon, he prepares a meal with the day’s harvest and the fruits of his hunt. He chops the vegetables and seasons the meat with wild rosemary, thyme, and a pinch of salt. As he works on his dish, he wonders if perhaps, by heading into town earlier than usual, he might catch a glimpse of Inna, just placing the note where she usually does before he finds it.

But the thought fades as quickly as it had materialized. No, they’re playing a game, and he must abide by its tacit rules.

As it always does, the afternoon drags on, far too slow for his liking, but when the time comes, Loki gets ready for his usual trip to town.

He arrives at the bakery and immediately spots a sliver of white paper poking out from where the door meets the floor. With quick, anxious fingers, he grabs the note and pulls it open. His eyes scan its contents.

‘Getting bolder.’

There’s something amusing about how her notes have become progressively more succinct. What once started as a few words of cautious intrigue now dwindles down to just a couple, barely enough to convey a thought. But even in the economy of her notes, the unmistakable feeling remains. Her essence, her energy. He’s also come to love the artistry in her cursive, the graceful loops and undulations of her handwriting. It’s a stupid thing to notice, small and irrelevant, but for some reason he finds the swirling letters very comforting.

‘So should you,’ he writes, pressing the pen against the paper with a flicker of mischief in his eyes.

It’s a bit risky, he realizes, to nudge her like this. The kind of challenge that could push her further away, rather than draw her closer. She needs space, she needs time, and the knowledge spurs some hesitation. He almost reaches for the edge of the paper to crumple it, to erase the words he just penned, but he stops himself.

He sighs, places it back and then steps back into the cool night, eyes scanning the darkened streets, half-expecting to see her emerge from the shadows.

But she doesn’t. Not yet.

He doesn’t mind. Not yet.

The next day, he paces the house back and forth, wondering what the answer to his note will be. His mind is at war with itself. He tries to dismiss the fickle part of himself that urges him to quit this game. He feels stupid for the three-word, insistent note he left for Inna. Why would he ever do such a thing?

At midnight, he stands in front of the bakery again. For a moment, he just stares at the door, half-expecting the note to be there, waiting for him like it always had. But tonight, nothing. The door is closed, the street is quiet, and the note is missing.

His chest tightens. The absence of the paper he has been looking forward to reading all day hits harder than he’d thought it would. His fingers itch to pick up a pen, to write something, anything, but the truth settles in. He’s not getting a note tonight. There’s nothing left to play. He thinks maybe she just got tired of it, of this game.

It wouldn’t surprise him. Not because he believes she can’t take on an honest challenge, but because he might have pushed her too far, too soon. He had encouraged her to be bold, to take that next step, and maybe she wasn’t ready for that kind of boldness, or maybe, in the quiet between them, she’s simply choosing to step back, to wait for something more meaningful.

He waits for what it feels like eternity, but she never shows up. So, a little disappointed (still undecided whether with her or with himself), Loki returns to his cottage.

It is utterly absurd how invested — how eager — he has become, clinging to a hope that perhaps was never meant to be. He tells himself it would be reassuring to believe that he simply wished to see Inna again, to speak with her, whether through notes, letters, or even smoke signals, if only because he knew she could not possibly survive out there without his help. But that is a lie.

The truth is far more damning. He longs for her, not because he sees her as fragile thing or someone in need of protection, but because she has got under his skin in a way he can’t quite shake, in a way he’s not used to. And no matter how much he tries to rationalize it, he cannot escape the simple, devastating fact: he craves her.

He lets out a sharp exhale.

Halfway through rinsing a dish, he pauses, his grip tightening as a sharp clinking noise echoes from outside. He’ll blast whatever, or whoever, is out there with magic, no questions asked.

“Shh, stupid bag!”

Oh.

He may have manifested a little too hard.

The familiar sound of her voice makes his heart skip a beat. He dashes to the door faster than a cannonball, and pulls it open, revealing Inna struggling with a duffel bag at her feet. One of the straps has somehow caught — on what, he isn’t sure — until she gives an awkward shake of her head, revealing that it’s tangled in her hair. With a frustrated huff, she tries to pull it free, only to make it worse.

“What are you doing?”

She stops struggling and lifts her gaze, only now realizing that he is watching (judging) her under the doorframe. A smile breaks through her scowl.

“Hi, Loki, I’m just…” She picks up where she left off, but despite her efforts, the strap refuses to cooperate. With an exasperated groan, she yanks at it, only for it to tighten further. Frustration boils over, and she lets out an angry scream before dropping to her knees, as her hands grip the stubborn fabric in defeat.

Before she can try again, he steps forward and crouches before her. Their eyes meet for a fleeting second, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, his fingers brush against her hair as he carefully works the strap loose, untangling it strand by strand. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. Inna doesn’t look away, and he is sure that if the crickets weren’t chirping, she would be able to hear the loud beating of his heart.

“There,” he murmurs gently.

The strap finally slips free, but he doesn’t move away just yet. Instead, his hand lingers for a moment, his thumb grazing her hairline, as if memorizing the feel of her before reality settles back in.

“How did you find me?” he asks.

He is not sure whether she feels self-conscious, but after her eyes do a quick sweep over his face, she drags her fingers through her hair, forcing it back into place, as though ashamed of the messy locks of hair dancing around her. Ridiculous. He thinks she looks adorable.

“I, uh,” she clears her throat, then smiles, “I followed you. You know, spy stuff. Just doing my job.” A hiccup.

Hold on.

“Inna, have you been drinking?”

A long pause. A scandalous giggle.

“What?” she drags the word. Her breath reeks of alcohol. “That’s a baseless accusation, sir.”

“I didn’t accuse you of anything,” he responds, his voice is gentle, not harsh, but also not amused. “I merely asked a simple question. One, I believe, you’ve just answered.”

She scoffs, rolls her eyes and springs to her feet. “Well, yes… I’ve been hydrating,” she says, and when he stands up to face her, he narrows his eyes at her, “With wine… and a bit of… maybe something else… but who’s counting? I’m perfectly fine!” she laughs. “Can you see the floor? Because it’s very interesting right now.”

He begins to gently steer her toward the door. “Let’s get you inside.”

She stumbles in, blinking at her surroundings before giving him a dramatic pout. “Oh, of course you live in a cozy little palace, all warm and perfect and prince-y, while I’ve been stuck in some sad little room that smells like wet dog and a roommate that snores like a chainsaw, and a bed that feels like it’s been assembled by someone who fucking hates comfort.”

A smile slips through. “That was your choice, Inna.”

“No, I’m sure you cheated with magic or something, you know, to make your house all lovely and perfect. It’s honestly a bit unfair for the rest of us.” And just as she finishes complaining, there goes another hiccup, loud, unexpected, and immediately followed by her own startled giggle.

“I shall get you some water.”

“No, no,” she insists, suddenly gripping his forearm to keep him in place. He turns around and finds her unexpectedly closer than he’d thought she’d be. “I came here to say something and so that’s what I’m gonna do, okay? I—” she stops abruptly and looks at him so intently that he feels an unfamiliar heat crawl up his neck. For a moment, he wonders if she can see right through him, into places he hasn’t let anyone reach, but then she says, “You have such beautiful eyes.”

He almost releases a relieved sigh.

“Ah, the wine must be doing wonders for your vision,” he says with a raised eyebrow, though, her words have lodged themselves somewhere far too close to his chest for comfort. “You’re rather new to this. So, word to the wise, best not to voice your opinions after indulging in more than one too many. Trust me, it’s easier to regret the words than the drink.” He gently pulls himself free from her grip. “I’m getting you a glass of water. Make yourself comfortable.”

She sighs like a dog after a long walk, all heavy and exaggerated, and offers a small nod. He quickly goes into the kitchen to fill a glass with water, and when he goes back into the living room, he finds Inna sprawled out on the floor, leaning against the sofa with her head resting on its surface. She’s staring up at the ceiling, her eyes fixed on something only she seems to see, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of her lips as if she’s lost in some private thought.

“Hey,” she drags the word, but doesn’t direct her focus at him, “Do you think clouds ever get embarrassed when they turn into weird shapes? Like, do they see themselves as a hyena and think, ‘ugh, I could’ve done better than that’?”

“Why would they be embarrassed to be a hyena?” he asks, leaning into the silliness of it all without any hint of mockery. He sits on the sofa and hands her the glass of water.

She accepts it but looks at Loki as though he has a screw loose. “Because they’re fucking ugly? And losers?”

“Hyenas are actually one of the most successful hunters, with a success rate of over seventy percent, not exactly the mark of a loser.”

“Oh, you’re gonna make me sound like a total fool?”

“Not at all. I think you’re far from a fool,” he smiles softly without even looking at her face. “In fact, I’d argue you’re the sharpest person I have met in a long time.”

“Yeah?”

He ventures a glance at her and finds her already staring back. He nods. Her eyes shine, not with drunken amusement, but with something softer, something that feels dangerously close to understanding. It glows, it glitters, and it sends a ribbon of warmth around his chest.

“Loki…”

“Drink your water, Inna,” he insists, prying his eyes away. “We will talk tomorrow when your head is clear. Don’t protest.”

She sighs again but seems to understand that she will not get away with it this time, so she focuses on the water in her hand. After a quick perusal, she brings the glass to her lips and takes a slow, thoughtful sip.

He regards her for a moment, before jumping to his feet and vacating the room. He bustles around his bedroom on the second floor, looking for a comforter. He thinks about getting some night clothes for her, too. The thought of seeing Inna wandering around in his shirt summons a reluctant smile and a lightness in his chest. It’s just a passing thought, but he can’t stop thinking about it even if he decides against it; she has her own bag with her belongings, he assumes she has something suitable for the night.

When he returns, Inna is already asleep in that godawful, uncomfortable position on the floor, with her back against the sofa and her head on the surface. It feels oddly familiar. He remembers watching her older self sleep in places and positions that would make anyone else miserable. But well, he supposes comfort is just not something that comes with the life she led. That’s the thing about being a Red Room agent.

After casting a subtle spell to keep her asleep, he scoops her up and gently lays her down on the sofa, adjusting a pillow beneath her head and covering her with the green comforter he brought.

He watches her. Far longer than he knows is acceptable. Far longer than he knows he should. No, he is not being a creep, he’s just… making sure she’s really resting, really safe. Even sleeping on a couch, this must be far better than the sad little room she’s been staying in.

And at least, now, her roommate doesn’t snore. That’s a given.

Chapter Text

Even if it might come as a surprise, Loki enjoys cooking. As a precocious child, he used to sneak into the kitchens of the palace and spy on the cooks. When he was slightly older, he politely asked them to show him how to prepare his favorite meals so that he could do them whenever the mood struck. Being a hedonist, he finds as much pleasure in the art of cooking as in the enjoyment of eating.

Now, he knows he’s a bit constrained by Earth’s ingredients, making do with what his garden offers while missing the exotic tastes of his distant homeland. But it’s okay. He privileges the safety that comes with being a hermit over the unpredictable risks of social interaction, knowing that any disturbance in the timeline could have far-reaching effects. If he challenges the monotony of his days by going into the market in town, he might summon a certain time agency. And he is not yet prepared to face them again.

“Morning,” a voice says under the threshold of the kitchen door.

He tears his eyes away from the perfectly cooked pancakes to regard Inna.

“Hi,” he murmurs precipitously, the word leaving his mouth like a puff of air.

He is not particularly fond of the way it tumbles out. It’s as if… as if he has no control over its delivery. He also dislikes the frantic beat of his heart and the fluttering in his stomach. Odd. He can’t remember ever feeling so shaken just by the sight of someone standing close to him, but he hopes he’s doing a good job hiding it.

“How is your head?” he asks, setting the thoughts aside.

“Throbbing.”

“Are you hungry?” he asks, before huffing a quiet laugh through his nose. Silly. “Of course you’re hungry. You are a mortal after all.”

“What, does that mean you don’t eat?”

“Ah, I do eat, but not out of necessity. It’s more of an appreciation for the experience,” he answers, tapping the pancakes with a spatula. “Though I admit these are quite enjoyable. Would you like some?”

She nods and moves closer to him. “It’s cozy,” Her eyes study the walls around them and the ceiling that rises like a protective canopy.

“Breathed life into it myself,” he speaks softly. “When I arrived, it was little more than a skeleton of timber and stone. I had to use every ounce of magic I could spare to keep it standing. Far from Asgardian palaces, but it has its charm now, doesn’t it?”

She runs her fingers along a carved wooden chair, noticing the circuitous designs and the green chair pad. “It does. It’s full of you.”

“I suppose I just let my personality guide the décor,” he agrees, letting slide a smirk that she doesn’t get the chance to see.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely.” She picks up a golden and green ornament on a shelf, admiring its delicate shine.

He turns off the stove and piles up the last two pancakes onto a separate plate. A warm steam curls up as he does. He drizzles syrup over both stacks in a slow ribbon before adding a handful of fresh berries. Inna watches as he prepares two cups of tea, adding his usual herbs to one and something distinctly medicinal to hers. It’s amusing how she doesn’t question him, neither when he prepares her breakfast nor when she takes that first bite and sip, as if trust was a given.

“What?” she asks a little uncouthly, barely pausing between bites.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, with a small shake of his head. “The you I knew would have made me switch plates by now.”

“You haven’t given me reasons to doubt,” she answers.

“Haven’t I?” he muses, glancing at her cup. “You watched me put something different in your tea and still drank it without question.”

“We’re way past that,” she takes another long sip. “If you wanted to poison me, I imagine you’d be more subtle about it. Besides, you let me crash in your living room, and I’m pretty sure that’s not the kind of thing enemies do.”

Right.

“Give them pillows and comforters,” she says under her breath. He lifts his head just in time to catch her mouth curling into a small smile. “That was sweet.”

He leans back slightly, watching her with a knowing look, but disregarding her comment. “The herbs in your tea are just a remedy. Takes the edge off a hangover.”

The smile doesn’t dwindle, and then, she is eating again. “By the way, these are delicious. Your recipe?”

He nods. “Though incomplete. On Asgard, I used a nectar that really elevated such a simple dish into something far more exquisite. You would have loved it.” His mouth curves down. Given her sweet tooth, he is sure she would have marveled at the delicacies of Asgard.

He wonders, just for a moment, if left alone in the banquet hall of his palace, she would have devoured an entire feast — much like she had that day at the bakery. He finds the image intriguing and slightly amusing, imagining her surrounded by lavish dishes, indulging in each with unabashed delight.

“Do you ever miss your home?”

He pauses to regard her. “Sometimes.”

The truth is, he does miss home. And, strangely, he even misses his family, despite the nagging thought that they might not miss him in return. He tries to recall a time when his father or his brother visited him in the dungeons, but there is nothing to remember. They never came. Not once. Odin even had forbidden his mother from visiting him. But she did, defying him in the only way she could. She sent illusions into his cell, delicate projections of herself, so she could speak to him, even if she could never truly be there.

Perhaps there is someone who might miss him.

“I think what I miss the most is everything I once took for granted, the things I never thought I would lose,” he adds softly, placing the fork on his empty plate. “When you are a prince, the world feels like it belongs to you. Like it’s at your feet. Until you leave it and realize how little of it was truly yours.” He exhales and spares another look at her. She is watching him with keen eyes. “It’s strange, isn’t it? You think everything is set in stone, but one step away, and the whole foundation crumbles.”

Inna nods. There’s the silent understanding in her gaze that he remembers, that very same sense of feeling seen. Understood.

He thinks again about his mother, about the words that shaped the outcome and made the whole foundation crumble, the ones that brought him to the TVA’s doorstep. Gods, it’s so easy sometimes to sway him. An idea springs to mind.

“Do you feel any better?” He gestures between her and the empty teacup.

“Fantastic,” she answers. “Thanks.”

She offers a small smile, and it reflects back on his face. The idea, firmly anchored in his mind, now takes root. It’s pointless to hang around, to wait for something that will come either way.

He realizes, with a clarity he can’t ignore, that remaining hidden in this quiet, secluded life has become nothing but dull. There’s a part of him, deep inside, that aches to return to his home, to revisit the places he’s long avoided. But more than that, he craves the thrill of discovering new worlds, experiencing them alongside Inna. He knows it’s only a matter of time before the TVA comes for them, but he isn’t worried anymore.

Why wait for the inevitable? Why stay stuck in this stillness when there’s a universe out there to explore?

He gets it now, he understands why Inna said, once, that she wanted to see the world through her own eyes. She’d spent her whole life cooped up in that academy, boxed in by rules and expectations. It’s only natural that she wants more. He can feel it too. The urge to break free, to embrace everything that comes with the freedom to explore and to discover. If they’re to face whatever comes, why not do it after experiencing the best of what the universe has to offer?

“Inna,” he starts, “Would you like to see my home?”

Her eyes glitter like gold, and a smile breaks her impassive expression, and all he knows is, he’ll never tire of seeing that smile.

He shares some of his ideas with her and then they start talking about places they would like to go, experiences they would like to have.

Obviously, Asgard is their first stop.

When they step out of the Time Door, he turns off the device that transported them there. They journey back to a time from decades earlier, when he was off in a battle with his brother. He doesn’t quite remember the name of the battle that took place in Alfheim, but he does remember that they were away for several weeks.

Apart from the personnel, his parents were at the palace, so Loki warned Inna to try to stay out of their way. Especially his mother, who was a seasoned seiðr practitioner, and the slightest magic trick could catch her attention. This is why he decides not to use magic to shapeshift. They will have to remain undetected without the aid of magic.

They sneak into the palace, moving stealthily across the passages he knows people don’t usually frequent. She marvels at the golden motifs, the towering columns, the frescoes on the ceilings and the polished floors. He’d shown her in the bakery the palace where he grew up in, but this is no illusion, this is real.

A voice in the distance and scattered footsteps startle Loki. He briskly grabs Inna by her arm and hides with her inside of an alcove that seems to be deserted.

“We’re gonna get in trouble,” she murmurs, not scared but particularly thrilled by the idea. She peeks through the small open space, trying to catch a glimpse of the people outside. He stations himself behind her body, careful not to intrude on her personal space, and looks over her shoulder. His heart skips a beat. “She is so beautiful.”

“That’s my mother.”

It feels as if all the quiet resentment hoarded from her betrayals slowly left his body. When he sees her gentle face and her regal veneer, a pang of nostalgia assaults his mind, his heart. His soul.

He remembers what the judge said when he was brought in front of him at the TVA. He was indirectly responsible for her death, and the knowledge is a heavy bag he doesn’t wish to keep lagging around. This is not something he would ever do on purpose. The fact that the Loki from the Sacred Timeline leads the Elves straight to his mother must be a consequence of his ignorance, not a deliberate act. Perhaps in his decision-making, he fails to foresee the tragic outcome.

He argued with her before the TVA apprehended him, he remembers with a pained heart, but he doesn’t believe it is a sound reason to want her gone like that. Not someone as loving and caring as his mother. How could he ever think about hurting Frigga?

So, no, it’s not malice that drives him, just a lack of awareness of the devastating consequences of his actions. He can’t find another logical explanation.

“There is something I need to do,” he says resolutely.

Inna doesn’t even have the chance to scold him for opening the door of their secret alcove and making his way towards his mother.

“Loki?” her mother asks, completely thrown off balance. “You’ve returned sooner than expected, my son. I had thought you would be delayed by the battle longer. But where is your brother? I had hoped to see you both together.”

His eyes fill with tears, and he immediately embraces her. This surely must create the worst possible impression after she asked about Thor. So as not to pointlessly worry her, he says firmly, “Thor remains behind, ensuring the final forces are driven back. He will return shortly, I believe.”

“I see,” she whispers. She sounds baffled. “And you alone decided to return so swiftly? Was there no more to be done on the battlefield? You—” she stops abruptly and squirms gently away from his arms. “Are you crying, my love?” Her eyes soften immeasurably, and her hands cradle his cheeks in an instant, wiping the rebellious tears away. “What happened?”

“I’m so sorry, mother,” he mutters, closing his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you.”

A moment passes before she connects the dots. Perceptive as she ever was, she determinedly declares, “You are not the Loki I know, are you? You are from the future.” He swallows down, his eyes prying open. He wants to deny it, but she smiles knowingly. “I was raised by witches, child. I am one myself. There are certain things you cannot hide from me.”

He so knows.

Loki nods and murmurs quietly, “I am from the future. Mother, listen to me—”

She shakes her head. “I don’t want to hear of what lies ahead, not from you. Do not speak of it, do not warn me, Loki.”

“But mother, you must listen—”

“No,” she says gently, “You mustn’t speak of what is to come. Some things, my son, must remain unspoken. Whatever happens, I must face it. That is the way of things, isn’t it? We are bound by what comes, and no matter how much we might wish otherwise, we have to move forward.”

“If you’d let me—”

“It will be okay, Loki,” he shushes him again. “I promise you.”

And then he understands with a clearer head that no matter what warnings he gives, there is no changing the course of things. The future, as it stands, is already set in motion. He can try to warn her, to protect her, but it will just be a futile endeavor that will signal the TVA sooner than expected.

Her eyes stray to a point beside his head, and he suddenly remembers that Inna is also there. He turns around and finds her staring at their interaction with kind eyes. Nostalgic, almost longing. Her mother beckons her over with a small flick of her fingers, and Inna approaches them without hesitation.

His mother studies her for a moment, as though she can already sense the significance that she holds for him. Maybe she actually can.

She finally speaks, her tone is soft. “Take care of him,” she advises, glancing at Loki briefly. “He is not always as strong as he appears.”

Inna nods, a smile gracing her features. “I will, Your Majesty. I promise.”

The interaction is brief, but Loki can already sense that his mother likes Inna. She is a witch, maybe she just intuits that Inna bodes well.

He never introduced any lovers to his family in the past. Not that Inna is his lover, pfft. The thing is, he’s never cared so much about someone so as to make any formal introductions. To be fair, neither has Thor, besides Doctor Jane Foster.

But to Asgardians, relationships are deeply purposeful. When they find someone they truly wish to spend their lives with, engagement and marriage follow promptly because it is considered the natural course. Unlike mortals, who often delay or complicate such decisions, Asgardians see no reason to marry unless it’s a lifelong commitment. Any other relationship is merely seen as a fleeting companionship or a pastime.

An orange warbling Time Door materializes at the end of the hallway, the faint sound catching not only his and Inna’s attention but also his mother’s. She realizes the predicament they seem to be entangled in even though she probably has the faintest idea about the existence of a time unit such as the TVA. There is no need to ask questions when their panicked expressions must give the right impression.

Loki ventures to dab away the stray tears that can’t seem to stop cascading down, but his mother does it for him and his hearts breaks further.

“It will be fine, my son,” she repeats with a soothing voice. “Go. Leave this place and do not tell me where you’re going.”

He nods and accepts the brief hug she offers before Inna uses the TemPad to open a door to another time, one of the many they uploaded into the gadget.

When they cross the portal, the rays of sunlight momentarily blind them. Inna sneezes before adjusting her vision to the vibrant hues of the new realm. The summer breeze carries the smell of salt, and Loki racks his brains, trying to remember the last time he visited a beach. The sand and sea don’t entirely delight him, but he is well aware of Inna’s curiosity and longing to see one for the first time.

From what they discussed earlier, he surmises they must be in Greece. Inna said that she once saw a poster of dazzling white houses perched on cliffs and couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Despite his aversion to sandy shores and sunbaked coastlines, he finds the island mesmerizing — the whitewashed houses, the endless blue of the sea blending with the sky, and the way the light seems to dance across the water like a living thing.

He turns his head to regard Inna and finds her already staring. He notices a sliver of concern crossing her features. In that instant, he becomes acutely aware that he’s never allowed himself to cry in front of her. He’s never had a reason, anyway.

“I lied, Inna,” he whispers. “When you asked if I knew what my nexus event was, I said I didn’t, but I did.”

The statement doesn’t seem to make her angry; he can only see that sliver of concern spreading more, like a cobweb. Her lips purse, and she sits down on the sand, cross-legged. Loki sits beside her, with his knees bent and legs apart, one arm resting on his knee, the other draped over his shin. He plays with his fingers, tangling and untangling them anxiously.

The words take a touch too long to bubble forth. “They told me everything. I thought maybe there was a reason, something that could explain why I would do something so unforgivable. But just now, when we saw her… when I saw my mother… I couldn’t find one. I cannot imagine a world where I would ever hurt her.

“In the Sacred Timeline, through my ignorance, I led the enemy to her chambers. I led them to her death. I—” he stops suddenly, but he doesn’t cry this time. He makes the effort to hold back the tears. Inna places a hand on top of his, and the gesture is reassuring enough to get him going. “That’s why they took me. Because I didn’t say the thing I was supposed to. I led them away from her chambers, away from the path that would have led to her death, and by doing that I saved her. And it was not what was expected from me.”

Her thumb grazes gently on the back of his hand. It’s soft and almost automatic, but it feels nice. Her fingers against his flesh send a quiet warmth through him. There’s something tender in the way she touches him, like a silent reassurance, a quiet gesture that lingers longer than it should. He can’t help but notice how natural it feels. How right.

“Do you know what the last thing I said to her was?” he asks without expecting an answer. “I said, ‘You’re not my mother.’ Those were my last words to her, and I can’t—” He pauses again, his throat feels tight, and the air around him feels heavy, suffocating. He doesn’t look at her, he doesn’t want to meet her eyes, afraid of what he might see there. “And if she dies in that timeline, it means I never get the chance to apologize,” he murmurs. “I can never undo the damage I caused, never take back the words I said. She takes those words to the grave.”

Somehow, she manages to scoot closer to him, to tighten the grip around his hand. Her head shifts, and her eyes search for him.

“I’m sure he didn’t act out of malice. Maybe there is a reason. Logical and strategic. A reason we’re not seeing,” she speaks softly when she finds her voice. “I don’t know what it’s like to have a mother, but I do understand war and conflict. Sometimes, choices made in the heat of the fight seem harmless, but they might spiral into disaster. Maybe he thought he was protecting her, or didn’t realize the danger.”

He shakes his head and feels a roguish teardrop sliding down his cheek.

“It should be me in her stead,” is the quiet acknowledgement that rolls off his tongue. He doesn’t even give it a second thought, but as soon as his mind evokes the image of his mother’s face, he knows this for sure.

“No,” Inna counters quickly. She folds her legs under her, sitting on her calves, and then she lifts her free hand to cup his cheek. Her thumb glides over his skin. The touch is consoling, and it makes him wonder how long it has been since the last time someone held him like that. “Stop punishing yourself for what you can’t control. That’s not fair. Not to her. Not to you. Even if it was a mistake, it doesn’t mean he meant to harm her. Neither of you would ever hurt someone you love.”

He doesn’t know how much of it is true, but he knows she means it. He knows her words are coming from her very heart, that she is saying them not because it might be what he wants to hear, but because she knows they ring true. She believes in them, and she believes in him.

It’s strange. How can she be so certain? How can she look past everything he has done, everything he is known for, and still insist that he is incapable of harming those he loves? And how can she believe he’s capable of love at all?

What can she possibly see in him?

“Do you not think of me as monstrous?”

“Monsters don’t care the way you do,” she says.

Curling her hand slightly, she traces the back of her fingers slowly down his cheek, almost absentmindedly, and when he looks down at her, she stares into his eyes. He discovers something wonderful in her gaze, something shiny and sacred, like a shrine. He also discovers that it’s not the first time he sees it in her. It’s there whenever she looks at him, whenever he catches her already staring back furtively, as though she’d thought he wouldn’t find out.

It was there, even when she got inebriated the night before, even beneath the fog of her drunkenness, tucked within the intensity of her gaze. So immensely beautiful.

Could it be?

Before the first syllable of his next words can roll out of his mouth, a tooting noise cuts through the air. It’s sharp, familiar and unmistakable. They are so immersed in their own little bubble that they react poorly, slower than the situation actually calls for. Inna pulls away from him, and then he gets the chance to see the stranger behind her back, stepping out of a Time Door, giving them no time to think.

“Gotcha.”

Chapter Text

Loki opens his eyes slowly. It takes him a few seconds to adjust them to his new surroundings. The first thing he feels is the uncomfortable tightness around his wrists, the rough texture of rope cutting unkindly into his flesh, so tight he can’t budge them an inch. He tugs instinctively, but the bonds hold fast, pulling the muscles in his arms taut. As his awareness sharpens, he realizes the ropes are wound around a narrow column, binding his arms behind his back.

When his eyes venture down, he sees the ropes binding his legs together as well, the coarse fibers that are wrapped tightly around his ankles. The ropes crisscross and knot, leaving no space for freedom.

Magic doesn’t seem to be working.

He tries to assess the situation, letting his eyes wander around the partly dark room he is being held in. It doesn’t resemble a cell; it looks more like a secluded room on the abandoned floor of a building. He also notices that there are no doors from his vantage point, so he muses the one leading to this room must be behind his back.

Just as he slides to sit straighter, he hears a faint rustling, the soft creak of fabric against rope and then, the subtle shift of breath, close enough to his ear that his heart skips a beat. He tries to turn, but the ropes restrict him too much.

It’s only then, through the haze of confusion, that he hears her. A soft exhale, a sound he knows too well.

“Inna?”

“I’m here,” she says behind him. “A bit tied up at the moment.”

“My magic is not working,” he verbalizes his thoughts. “We’re back at the TVA. Do you remember anything?”

“No,” she says. “Do you think this guy drugged us? Or maybe he just pulled out some high-tech TVA shit?”

“I don’t know,” he confesses, though he is more inclined to believe that it was the latter. “I thought we would be surrounded by more agents, not left to rot in this forsaken place in such an unceremonious manner.”

“Maybe he’ll be back,” she suggests.

It doesn’t make sense. You’d think that the usual process when they catch people like them — people they believe to be dangerous — would be quick, relentless. They would not leave room for mistakes or delays. But this? This is different. No locked cell. No fortified walls. No rush of footsteps. No murmurs of agents securing the perimeter. It’s unsettlingly quiet. So, whoever has taken them is clearly not following the usual protocols. Perhaps he is operating behind someone else’s back, going against strict rules. He doesn’t really know what else to believe.

“I’m sorry, Inna.”

“Sorry? What are you sorry for?”

A dark, brief chuckle escapes his lips, almost giving away the answer.

“This isn’t your fault, Loki.”

“If I’d seen him coming, if I’d had the TemPad at hand…” he trails off.

“None of us could have predicted him coming,” she elevates her tone, now sounding a bit frustrated. It sends a pang to his heart. “It wasn’t the same when we visited Asgard. I knew they’d come as soon as you ran to your mother’s arms. But this? We didn’t do anything to get their attention. We were just…” her words come to a halt. He can almost sense her hesitancy. “We were just talking.”

A little more than just talking. His mind circles back to the intimate moment they’d shared before the TVA came for them. How he opened up, how she let him cry and how she held him as he mourned the loss of someone he caused to depart. He lets out a sharp exhale, almost scolding himself for the smoke of guilt curling inside him again, worming unforgivingly its way into his heart, as if it had a mind of its own.

He remembers Inna’s well-intentioned words at the beach, and his mind relaxes for a moment. He knows that the more he gives it thought, the more he will spiral deeper into doubt and self-loathing. He knows it’s unhealthy, so he decides to call it quits. Perhaps he will reconcile with the thought someday. It is pointless to keep dwelling on it, knowing that that is just her mother’s destiny. It’s what the bloody space lizards decreed, and changing her fate only brings the TVA into the picture.

Perhaps, he’ll see that with a clearer head someday.

Before either of them can break the silence, the door creaks open. He knows Inna can spot whoever’s entering from her position, but he’s still left in the dark. The sound of heavy footsteps echoes, growing closer with each passing second, until they halt just a few feet away from them. He shifts his gaze, straining to see who’s come. When he finally does, the figure steps into view, revealing himself fully.

“Rise and shine,” the time hunter says with a bit of singsong. He has a cane with a pointy end and a glowing light at the top. Loki can tell it is a dangerous weapon just from the way the man is holding it. “You two, what a pair!”

Neither Loki nor Inna has a retort ready for him. Loki merely fixes the man with a sharp glare, as if willing lasers to shoot from his eyes and burn him where he stands.

“You know,” the agent muses, circling them like a predator sizing up its prey, “in all my years at the TVA, I’ve never seen anything quite like this. Not once. But I’ve certainly heard plenty. In fact, I’d wager there isn’t an agent here who hasn’t,” he says. “Strange how things change, isn’t it? Once enemies, then… working together. But I guess that’s how partnerships are forged in fire. From burning the world down together to whatever this is now.”

He comes to a stop and winds up in front of him, tilting his head as if inspecting a rare specimen.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m just trying to figure out why you two are so special. You don’t really look like much. A couple of tied-up deadbeats, running from time and fate.” He steps closer and crouches to Loki’s level. His voice lowers, “Doesn’t hurt when you’ve got someone to run with, though. I’m sure that’s comforting.”

There is something hidden in his words. The agent’s smirk deepens, as if he’s drawing some perverse satisfaction from the tension his words might provoke. Whether it’s mockery, envy, or manipulation, one thing is clear: he’s testing them, probing for cracks in their defenses.

“But I wonder.” He slowly rises to his feet and speaks aloud. “How long does that last? The togetherness… when things get really complicated. Do you really think you can keep holding on to that?”

“Cut the crap,” Inna says impatiently. “What do you want?”

The time hunter hums, then walks closer to her. “That’s the thing, gorgeous, isn’t it? What do I want? What does the TVA want? What do you want? It’s all a matter of perspective. But for now, let’s start with something simple.” He pauses, and from the way the question rolls out, Loki knows he is smiling. “How did you do it?”

No snarky comment. No derisive snort. No humorless laugh.

Inna stays silent, and so does Loki.

“You’ve been causing quite a stir. What’s your secret? Or is it just a lucky streak you’ve been riding?” His smile doesn’t fade away. However, neither of them says a thing. “No? You’re not gonna talk?” he asks. “For all the chatter you two are known for, I expected a little more… spark. But well, I imagine that’ll change soon enough.”

He circles around them again, moving slowly, deliberately — like a snake coiling before a strike. The cane beside him pulses with a beaming glow. It feels like a silent warning, though Loki doesn’t give away any hints of fear, and he believes that Inna is trying to follow the same line of thought. He refuses to believe anything else. He’ll find a way out of this, he always does. It’s just a matter of time before he figures out how to break the ropes that bind them.

“Consider this a little break,” the time hunter says finally, approaching the door. “I’ll be back to see how you’re doing.”

When the agent leaves, he exhales a sharp breath and tips his head back, resting it on the column behind him. The rope around his skin is starting to numb his fingers.

For all his bravado, the hunter is rattled. Loki can tell. He can see through the theatrics as Inna had called them. It’s all a show of dominance that fails to convince, a feeble attempt to regain some semblance of control in a situation slipping through his fingers. If his suspicions turn out to be true, if the man is clearly operating outside of the rules and going behind someone else’s back, then he’s already walking a fine line. Loki understands that kind of risk, the kind that’s driven by fear and ambition, and neither bodes well for the man’s future.

It makes him wonder… What is he getting out of this?

“What do you think he wants?” Inna asks, as though she’d heard his inner musings.

“I’ve the faintest idea,” he sighs, trying to have a look at her over his shoulder, but he can barely see a sliver of her hair, just a thin shimmer. It’s driving him nuts. He really needs to see her.

“He talks as if he knows us,” she muses out loud. “Why did he say that? That we burned the world down together? It’s not just a saying, is it?”

He doesn’t have an answer ready, nothing on the tip of his tongue. He knows what the agent meant, he knows what he was talking about, but as he remembers the life he left behind, he also remembers the way Inna reacted the last time he decided to reveal something about it.

“Loki?” she presses. “You know, don’t you?” When he doesn’t reply, Inna speaks again. “I won’t get mad.”

Perhaps not, he thinks, but it is a long story. He is not so sure whether they have time to go over every detail.

Choosing his words with care, he decides to begin at the start. “Have I told you about the day that we met?”

“No, you’ve been quite secretive about it,” she says bitterly. Loki swallows a laugh but can’t stop the smirk.

When he composes himself, he says, “There was a time, not so distant, when my brother was blinded by his own glory, convinced of his perfection. He was proud, self-conceited, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Our father saw what it was doing to him and to those around him. So, he cast him down to Earth, stripped of his hammer, to learn humility the hard way. I think it wasn’t punishment. Not truly. It was a lesson. One he took to heart.

“As it turned out, the hammer fell in the middle of a desert and caused quite the hiccup. It quickly caught S.H.I.E.L.D.’s eye. They sought to understand, to see why no one seemed able to lift it, so they set up a research compound around it. They assigned scientists to study it and agents to guard the crash site. Among them, they recruited you. This happened a year or so after you left the Red Room and began working for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

He makes a deliberate pause, perhaps to give her time to process his words. He thinks for a moment that she might react like she did at the bakery, but Inna remains silent. There’s no violent outburst, no mocking laugh.

A puff of air deserts his mouth. “I think mythology is a crass overgeneralization, but like I told you the other day, not all of it is entirely false. My brother and I… yes, we are different. He was always the one who had father’s attention, the one everyone believed was destined for greatness. I, on the other hand, was left to wrestle with my own inadequacies, constantly competing for something I could never reach. You spoke of the rivalry, and that much is real. During his absence, I learned a truth about my heritage that stirred even more resentment towards him and towards our father, so out of spite, I claimed the throne for myself.”

She doesn’t judge him, she only asks, “What did you learn?”

The scar is still there, not completely healed, not completely forgotten. But there is no pain in truth. After all, this is who he is.

“That I’m not Asgardian,” he confesses, though he has the idea that she already knows given that she’s read the myths. “I was born on Jotunheim. My birth father left me on the battlefield, and Odin took me in after the war.”

“Your folks never told you the truth?” she asks. He can hear the sharp edge of disbelief and a simmering anger in her voice, as though she can sense his own pain, his own resentment.

Loki shakes his head absently. “I honestly could see something like that coming from my father,” he admits, tearing whatever wall he’d built around himself down. “But my mother? She was the one I held in the highest regard, the one person in my life who I thought would always be honest with me. To learn that… it was a betrayal I could not fully comprehend. It stung more than the revelation itself.”

He realizes that this is the first time he’s shared this with anyone. It feels like lifting a weight off his shoulders.

“I can see why you were so angry, Loki, why you did the things you did,” she says. “I think anyone would have felt hurt, learning something so important about themselves so suddenly.”

He opens his mouth and closes it. For a while, he doesn’t know what to say, or how to continue, until the words present themselves. “You know what I did after seizing the throne? I went down to Earth, to the crash site where the hammer was. I paid my brother a visit and told him our father was dead. I lied to him because I wanted to sit on that throne so desperately that it blinded me to reason. And there you were. A perfect little agent, always one step ahead, noticing me before anyone else could.” A smile plays on his lips before he can hold it back. “Then, we fought, like two sides on the opposite end of a battlefield. You were just a soldier doing your job, guarding something that didn’t belong to you, defending a cause that was never yours. And I… well, I was just the person you were meant to fight, the threat you were meant to eradicate.

“I showed you who I was… all that I am. A god. A sorcerer. And you didn’t blink, not when it could have ended everything. Instead of fearing me, you fought harder.” He pauses for a moment, as though contemplating that moment once again. “It’s strange… I thought that would break you, but you kept pressing forward. I could have ended it, but I didn’t, and that’s when I knew you weren’t just some agent carrying out orders. You were different. You held your own like you had faced worse before. Like you had already stared into the abyss and walked away untouched. I’ve wondered that, perhaps, that very act, that glimpse of mercy from a god who could have easily destroyed you, is what planted the seed in your mind. It’s what led you to me, to seek me out a year later, when I went back to Earth again, when the world was unraveling, and you needed an ally to get your revenge.”

“It was all about getting revenge?” is the first thing her mind can conjure up.

He licks his lips before continuing. “Do you remember when I told you that after graduating from the Red Room you were sent on a mission? Before following Romanoff and working for S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

He can’t see her expression, but he takes her silence as the confirmation he needs to continue.

“You met someone there, someone that you cared about. Deeply.” He hesitates, even though he knows she will coax this out of him if he doesn’t tell her now. “S.H.I.E.L.D. had him killed, though if you ask me, I believe it wasn’t S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“It’s not their style,” she agrees softly.

“No. But the Red Room… they have a different way of handling things, don’t they?” he says carefully, aware of her past and her relationship with the organization she grew up in. “It would not surprise me if they orchestrated it, knowing how they operate, and knowing you betrayed them by siding with their enemy, with S.H.I.E.L.D. But it’s only a suspicion.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them either,” she admits, not as grudgingly as he’d expected.

Now, the Inna from his timeline shared this with him purely out of necessity, not expectation. She didn’t seek his sympathy, nor did she anticipate his understanding. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe he would empathize with her pain. What she wanted, what she truly sought, was a way to use the chaos, to join his cause. Her purpose was clear: vengeance, but more than that, a chance to level the playing field. She had no illusions of friendship. She knew well that a god like him might never offer his trust freely. But perhaps, through their shared interest in the downfall of those who had wronged them, she was going to find a way to work alongside him.

He gets it now. He understands all of it. Her rage. Her pain. Her poignancy. Her motives.

And in that understanding he can now offer his sympathy because, even though he will never see the Inna from his timeline again, he realizes the weight of what she endured. She was driven by loss, by grief, by betrayal, and by the painful necessity of seeking revenge in a world that had turned its back on her.

“Let me get this straight… So, I work for the Red Room, get sent on a mission, get back, leave the Red Room, work for S.H.I.E.L.D. And then, when someone close to me dies, I go after revenge, and somehow, I end up on the same side as the enemy, which is you, all just to make… S.H.I.E.L.D. pay?” she doesn’t sound angry, but she sounds a bit resigned, like she’s just accepted an inexorable truth.

“Just about,” he agrees. “You wanted vengeance, to make restitution for the one you’ve lost. You wanted to burn the world down, and I suppose that you saw in me a powerful ally, someone who could help you accomplish that. After all, you already knew me, knew what I was capable of because you’d fought me. So, it gave you an advantage. You understood my strength, my reach, even if the people of your world did not. To them, I was a creature who had descended from some foreign realm, something to fear. But to you… well, you had no illusions. I was something far more tangible. Something you could use.”

A snort. “I can’t decide whether it’s brave, clever or just downright stupid,” she says after digesting his words. “And you just decided to, what, take me under your wing like a lost bird? Was it pity?”

“No, you weren’t lost, Inna,” Loki counters. “You always seemed to know where you were headed. Perhaps, it was a bit reckless, a bit impulsive, to seek the help from the god you once challenged. But in the end, that is what I admired in you, and why I decided to accept your offer. You were an interesting addition, an opportunity I couldn’t ignore, especially when the price was information. And that was something I could put to use.”

She goes silent again. It takes her a few minutes to gather her bearings.

“I betrayed S.H.I.E.L.D.” she concludes on her own volition. Again, she doesn’t sound angry, nor surprised. It is as though she has come to terms with it; that this is how it is and how it is supposed to be. “Ah, now I see why you and I get along so naturally. We’re clearly not team players.”

She huffs out a small breath, something close to a smile but not quite. “Perhaps. But we have also learned how to play on the same side. I think that’s enough for me.”

A touch too late he notices the softness of his voice and the vulnerability edging his words, but they don’t embarrass him or make him wish to take them back. Perhaps, he has already accepted that the walls are fully down. He trusts Inna, and he doesn’t care how transparent he can be when she is around.

After another beat of silence, she asks, “So, what happens, then? Do we manage to burn the world down? Or are we just a couple of losers?”

He smiles. “I’m going to let you decide what you believe.”

“At least we’re consistent, right?” She huffs a short laughter. It feels hopeless rather than amused. “You ever think about how some people go their whole lives without knowing what it’s like to be trapped?” Her voice is quiet, almost distant. “Like, really trapped. Not just stuck in a bad job or a shitty town, but this kind of trapped. Trapped with no choices, with no way out.”

Loki’s throat tightens, and he swallows down whatever’s rising.

“When I was a kid, they used to cuff us to the beds at night. Said it was for our own good. Safety, discipline, whatever. I used to dream about running as much as I dreamed about eating cake for a whole day,” she lets out a small, sad chuckle. “Didn’t even matter where. Just running. Guess it’s funny, right? How you spend your whole life fighting for freedom, and somehow, you keep ending up back in chains. Maybe freedom is not meant for people like us.”

“Maybe not,” he agrees. “But for a little while, it is almost enough to believe in.”

Loki hears her swallow. It feels as though she is caught on the edge of something, torn between letting the words spill out or swallowing them back down, burying them like so many others before. But even though she hesitates, she finally says:

“Thank you.”

His brows lift just a little. “For what?”

“For letting me run. Even if it wasn’t forever. Even if it was just borrowed time.”

Chapter Text

Loki knows that getting caught up in the illusion of freedom is only going to make the fall back into reality much harder. Hope is hard. It lingers. It deceives. And in the end, it always betrays. He reflects back on the centuries and tries to identify a moment where he felt truly free, unburdened by the duties and the responsibilities of the court, unburdened by the sharp glares of nitpicking people, unburdened by the expectations of his family.

There were moments of respite, moments where the burdens felt lighter, almost invisible, where he smiled fully and laughed heartily. It takes him a while, but then he realizes that the only reason he can think of those moments of genuine happiness is because he never stopped to question them at the time. He just felt them, without analyzing, without doubting, without wondering when the weight would return. Back then, he never would have called it happiness, because happiness was something he had always expected to be bigger, louder, more permanent. But now, looking back, he understands that happiness had never been something grand. It had been something fleeting, something unnoticed until it was already gone.

It’s strange. He had always felt like he was free, that his choices, however misguided at times, were his own. But now after however long he’s been here, locked away in this secluded room at the TVA, he feels the weight of it all, a pressure that he can’t shake. The walls close in around him, and for the first time, he begins to wonder if he ever truly had control.

For all his talk of autonomy, he had always been tethered to something, whether it was the expectations of others, the responsibilities he had to bear, or even the quiet, relentless pull of his own pride. He had mistaken rebellion for freedom and independence for liberation.

The door flings open as the time hunter walks in with the glowing stick in hand. “I hope you’re both ready to cooperate.”

Loki exhales like a horse who has been jostled in the stable. The man will give him a migraine.

“You see, we can work this out. There’s always room for negotiation,” he continues. “After all, what’s the alternative? Things don’t tend to go well for those who think they can just skip out on the inevitable.”

“And what’s the inevitable?” Inna asks sourly. “What do you do with those you arrest?”

The time hunter chuckles darkly before stalking up to her. From the way the words spill out, so close to Loki’s ear, he believes that the man is crouching to her level. “I like to think of it as making sure the system runs smoothly. Sometimes, that means a little recalibration. But don’t worry, I’m not one to spoil all the fun just yet. I prefer to keep my options open.”

There is a wave of silence before Inna speaks again. “Why bother with all this? What’s really in it for you?”

“A little insurance,” he says at last. “And that’s all you’re getting from me. Now’s your turn. How did you get out of the TVA?”

“Is that your idea of an interrogation, asking a spy how she made her escape?”

“I’m not asking you,” the agent says. “I’m asking him. The mischievous scamp, the one who thinks he can fool everyone, especially when there’s someone close to him he’s so eager to protect.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to—” Inna’s words are cut short as a grunt escapes her lips. “Seriously?”

“Inna?”

“How did you get out of the TVA?” the agent insists over Inna’s labored breathing. “Answer me. Or your friend here will continue to bleed. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”

“Pain doesn’t work on me,” she replies coolly, before a huff of laughter leaves her, before Loki can say anything about it. “And it sure as hell won’t make him talk.”

“Wanna bet?” the agent asks in a whisper.

When Loki hears the sharp hiss of a blade, Inna grunts again, but this time it’s louder and more strained, the sound slipping through clenched teeth. It prickles his skin, unsettles his stomach. His breath catches, sharp and involuntary, as the ropes around his wrists pull taut, biting cruelly into his flesh. He tugs at them, though he knows it’s futile, and the bloody strands only dig deeper.

“I’ve read your file, spy,” the hunter veers off on a tangent. “You don’t know what brought you here, do you? What could you possibly have done that was so terrible?”

“Does it matter?” she manages, fighting to catch her breath enough to form the words.

“I guess not. I just think it’s curious how a single person, facing the same situation time and time again, can take so many different paths. The choices they make, how they twist and turn, each version of them so nuanced, so distinct,” he rambles. “It’s like watching an experiment unfold, you know? Every choice shapes a different outcome, and yet it all starts from the same place. How they think, how they reason, but ultimately, how they choose to act.”

He makes a pause that feels deliberate.

“It’s like no two people are ever truly the same, even when their circumstances are. There’s a version of you that followed the script, didn’t question the process, didn’t disrupt things. That version stayed within the bounds, kept to the plan. But you?” He tuts, tongue clicking. “Nah, you made a different choice. A choice that threw things out of alignment. You broke the flow, gorgeous.”

“Get off me,” Inna demands none too gently. Loki’s blood boils with a sense of helplessness he can’t banish.

“They told you it was necessary, part of the process, something that had to be done to eliminate distractions, to make you more loyal, more ruthless. A better killer. But you weren’t on the same wavelength. And so, you made a different decision, didn’t you?”

“Shut up,” the words catch on her throat, as though there is a knot forming there, and then when she sniffs, Loki realizes that she is crying. His heart breaks.

“A little act of defiance, and suddenly, the system starts to bend around you,” the time hunter continues in a low voice. “That’s when the timeline starts to shift. When you refused, when you escaped the inevitable, when you decided to ignore the process. You broke something, and now, here you are.”

“She told you to shut it!” Loki snaps.

The agent chuckles, evidently amused by the reaction he managed to coax out of Loki. He is so furious that he can’t scold himself for allowing himself to break so easily. This is exactly what he wants.

“Now, there’s the spark I was hoping for!” the agent vociferates. Loki hears the soft scuff of rubber soles against the surface of the floor as he stops crouching and slowly rises to his feet. In a moment’s notice, the agent comes into view. He is holding his cane and a small knife, its blade covered by a thin layer of blood. His gut plummets into a free fall. “Had to poke a bit to get you to react, didn’t I? Oh, lover boy, you’re so predictable.”

“You enjoy this, don’t you? Pulling people from their timelines, moving them as if they’re just pawns.”

He squats down to his level, his unflinching gaze trailing over him.

“Haven’t you learned a damn thing?” he asks with a taunting grin. “You are pawns. All of you. You don’t even see it, do you? The big picture. I don’t make the rules; I just follow orders. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy watching you squirm as you realize what little control you have left.”

In a tone that is calm but full of quiet certainty, Loki speaks, “You’re not following orders.”

Amused, he tilts his head. “Is that so?”

“Well,” the word rumbles from his throat, like a sigh of amusement, “the lack of any support here is rather telling. What do you think happens, then, when your superiors discover we’ve been held in this unceremonious fashion? You know, without any witnesses or clear chain of command. I imagine there will be some rather pointed questions, which you might find difficult to answer.” He lets the implication hang in the air.

“Don’t worry about my end,” he grits out. “You should be more concerned about yours.”

“A rather uninspired threat, if I’m honest,” Loki grins, confident and easy, despite his station. “Perhaps you could elaborate on the specific torments you have planned? Or is this the extent of your repertoire?”

A smile dances on the time hunter’s lips, a slight curl of his lips, before he puts his knife away and curls his free hand into a fist. It drives into Loki’s jaw, snapping his head to the side. It’s a move to assert dominance; he knows that even if he challenges him, it will not escalate any further. If he wanted Loki dead, he would have killed him sooner.

“Ah, bless.” The grin in Loki’s face widens. “I am impressed. Truly.” His voice is calm, and he makes sure not to break eye contact. “I never imagined someone in your position, part of an organization as meticulous as yours, would ever entertain the idea of stepping outside the established protocols.”

“There are other ways to keep things under control.”

“Ooh, is it the crown you are after?” Loki asks probingly. “Is that what this is about? Have I hit the nail on the head?” The agent doesn’t offer a reply, but the way he clenches his jaw suggests that Loki’s idea might not be too far-fetched. “I simply cannot understand how trapping us here serves that ambition.”

He smiles wolfishly, and with a small shake, the light at the top of his stick glows and sings with power. “There’s so much you don’t understand yet, lover boy.”

He aims the weapon at him, Loki shuts his eyes out of pure instinct rather than fear, but nothing happens.

Instead, he hears the subtle strain of rope pulling free, the whisper of fibers unraveling. Then, a shift in the air, very quick, deliberate. Before he can process it, there’s a sharp whoosh of movement, followed by the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground.

Loki’s eyes snap open just in time to see Inna, free from her bindings, pivoting with seamless precision. Still seated on the floor, her legs sweep in a clockwise motion, taking the agent’s balance out from under him. He crashes onto his back, and his weapon clatters from his grip as the air is forced from his lungs. He grumbles, trying to reach for his cane, but she moves faster.

Her hands make a grab for the weapon, and without second-guessing, she presses the glowing tip of the cane against his back. A wave of colorful energy envelops his frame, shimmering and crackling as it distorts the air around them. The hues shift and pulse, as they bend light in unnatural patterns. It takes no longer than five seconds to drag the hunter away from their plane.

With a sharp exhale, Inna drops the weapon as if she had touched a hot iron. Her eyes swiftly bolt to him. “Is he dead?”

He is not sure whether he’s dead or just transported to a different location. All he knows is that he is gone. He’s vanished like a cloud after a storm. So, he offers a shrug.

It is at that moment that his eyes track down the line of her jaw, the slope of her neck and the expanse of her chest, tracing the scattered cuts marring her skin. Blood drips and taints her tank top. They don’t appear life-threatening, but the stark crimson against her skin is striking enough to unsettle. His blood boils all over again. He gets the imperious urge to tie the ropes around the hunter’s neck, and he has the feeling he would have done so if the man were still there. Or if he was not tied up to the bloody column.

“Are you okay?”

She gazes down for a second, assessing the wounds that blemish her skin and the blood that trickles down. “Couple of scratches. I’ve had worse.”

She leans forward and begins to untangle the cord around her ankles. He realizes, with a wounded ego, that she was obviously more prepared to handle the situation than he was.

The agent knew she could take it. Every punch, every gash. He wanted to break something deeper. Her heart. And through that, him. He didn’t just want to break her body; he wanted to twist the blade of his words into Loki’s soul, knowing that it would sting, that they would linger, and that it would eventually get him to break and talk. Perhaps he knew far more than he let on — so much more, in fact, that it was almost unsettling. It made him wonder: how far into the future could the TVA really see?

Freedom, once more, feels like an illusion, like sand slipping through his fingers.

“Would you be so kind?” he asks after a moment, motioning to his bound wrists.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” she says awkwardly, and moves quickly to untie his hands. As she works on it, she states softly, “You know, you’re very lucky you’ve got paired up with a spy.”

“Very lucky,” he smiles at that, though from her vantage point she may not see him.

After she finishes removing the bindings and freeing his hands, she scoots closer to him. He moves his hands, flexing his fingers to test the stiffness in his joints. His wrists are red where the rope had bitten deep. Blood rushes back into his hands, tingling unpleasantly as he clenches and unclenches his fists, then he looks at Inna. She is sitting like she had been before the time hunter caught them, with her legs tucked beneath her, on her calves. Tears swim in her eyes, a noticeable contradiction to the smile dancing on her lips.

“He’s not wrong about the Red Room,” she begins, staring down at her anxious fingers, playing with each other. “You learn to survive in a place like that, to thrive even. You follow the rules, play the part, and be what they want you to be. You’re taught to be a good spy and a better killer. It’s a cycle. You bend yourself until you fit their mold, until you’re exactly what they need, and then you forget how much you’ve struggled to get there.

“Whenever there was a younger girl in front of me, I never stopped to think whether it was okay, whether it was natural. And then you hear that first scream, that first cry, when your knife goes beyond. When it cuts deeper. It feels wrong, it feels as if you’re being controlled by someone else’s hand, doing someone else’s bidding. And then you look at your masters, and you see the satisfaction in their smiles, the pride in their eyes, and you realize that maybe it’s not wrong. Maybe it’s what it’s supposed to be. With time you shut it all off, the faces, the voices, the screams. You stop caring. You stop fighting against it. You know it’s the way of things.

“But then you grow up, and you start seeing things differently. Clarity comes slowly, and you begin to question it all. Everything you once thought you knew. Sometimes I fooled myself into thinking I was serving a higher purpose. That everything I had to endure at the Red Room was eventually gonna pay off. In whatever shape or form. But it’s better that way, isn’t it? To believe you’re good even if you’re not. It’s easier to accept a comforting lie than to confront the edge of the truth.

“I’ve never told Natasha any of this, how the Red Room sometimes drove me to the brink of madness. When you grow up in a place like that, you can trust up to the edge of the cliff, but beyond that, you’re left to leap into the unknown. And even though I cared about her, I think it was better to navigate the cliff alone, where the fall was my own and the risks were mine to take. Maybe she was battling a fight of her own, too, how am I supposed to know?

“She was always a little older than me, a little ahead in everything she did. After she graduated, I spent two years counting the days for my own graduation, waiting for this moment. I didn’t care how many other things I had to endure there… the endless drills, the fights, the punishments, the harsh words. They all had nothing on the one thing that kept me going… the belief that if I just held on, if I could survive the nightmare a little longer, that if I… if I went through it, then I’d see Natty again.”

A couple of tears fall and roll down her cheeks. She swallows hard, like she’s trying to push down something heavier than words. Because of what the time hunter said while he was trying to ruffle their feathers, Loki understands what she means. And he also understands how heavily it weighs on her. He hadn’t questioned it then.

When he perused her files and found out about the mandatory hysterectomy that every Red Room agent goes through, it wasn’t a topic he dwelled on that much. Inna was never his friend, so obviously even though the thought was dehumanizing and cruel, it did not do much to inspire pity. But after meeting this Inna, he just can’t fathom how she could ever go through such a monstrous procedure without her consent, how they can take something so personal under the pretext of duty, as if stripping away what makes them human is justified by a higher cause. Whatever that may be.

They have that choice taken away from them, the decision that everyone thinks about at some point in their life, and it doesn’t feel fair. It’s not fair.

He knows a little bit about control, about subjugation, the way one is made to stare into the darkness and find something staring back. Obedience is not a choice; it never is. It’s something that is stitched with every word, every command, every moment someone is forced to kneel. He remembers the suffocation of will, when he was shaped by someone else’s hand and forced to do his bidding. Thanos’ bidding. There were no choices, perhaps only the illusion of them, but that was all it was. Pretty much like freedom. It’s all an illusion.

“But I couldn’t follow through,” she continues. “I escaped the inevitable, ignored the process. I fled the medical wing that day, and then I just… I ran as fast as I could. I’d thought about it for a long time, about the running, remember? It wasn’t an act of defiance. It was just the moment when you realize survival isn’t enough anymore. It was the refusal to be molded into something I wasn’t, something I could never truly be.”

He understands that Inna was made to stare into the darkness too, and there she found something that defied the story they had built around her. A fissure that was the precursor to slowly make the whole foundation crumble. If she hadn’t questioned it, she wouldn’t be here with him.

A bit impulsively, he reaches out and takes her hands in his. She glances at their joined hands for a brief moment, just as he does, and they let the silence pool between them. It’s not a stifling, heavy thing, it’s gentle, like the pause between breaths.

“You made your own way out,” he says. “Even when the path was built to keep you locked in. You kept your heart even against the grain, and you broke free, at least for a little while.”

Inna snorts. “Look where that got me.”

“It got you here, didn’t it?” he says, meeting her gaze. “Still standing. Still breathing. That is so much more than most people can say after fighting against what’s been laid out for them. You saw what the TVA does, and I’m not sure what follows now, but at least you are not going this alone.”

Her tongue darts out and licks her lips. He can’t help but stare at them. “You know? You were right,” she continues. “That night at the bakery? You knew what I wanted, and you were right, no matter how much I try to deny it or how much it pains me to admit it. I wanted Natasha to come back for me. I wanted to see her one more time. Just the knowledge that it was going to happen one day kept me going for a long time, reminded me that even the cruelest surgery was worth the wait. But as you know, time’s a funny thing… It has a way of softening memories, making the sharp edges blur. Slowly, she became more of a shadow in my mind, fading bit by bit, until her face wasn’t as clear as it once was. And obviously, it’s not like I stopped caring about her, but the longer she was away, the harder it became to hold onto the person I remembered.

“Or maybe…” She lets out a quiet breath. “Maybe I just never truly knew her. Not in the way that mattered. The Red Room wasn’t a place where you learned how to trust someone, how to be with them beyond shared survival. We weren’t encouraged to get attached. Fraternization was just another word for weakness.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You asked whether I was still in love with her, and you know what? I don’t even know if what I felt was love, or just… longing. Longing for something outside of all that, for someone to be my tether to a world I wasn’t sure I’d ever reach.”

“Maybe love isn’t something you recognize right away,” he says finally. His voice is quiet, but he doesn’t sound hesitant. “Maybe it’s something you realize when you’re already in it.”

The words echo in his mind, and he can’t quite shake the sound they make. Is that what this is? He doesn’t know if it’s the isolation, the intensity of the moment, or the way she makes him feel like he’s standing on the edge of something, but he realizes, almost with a jolt, that he feels it too. That, perhaps, if he could see his face in the mirror, he would see the very same thing that resides in her eyes, that shiny and sacred thing.

“Inna?” he calls softly.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you come back?” he asks. “Why did you follow me last night?”

“Because you were right about something else,” she says, looking at him. One of her hands breaks the connection, her fingers delve into one of her back pockets and she extracts something. A folded piece of paper. “You asked me to be bolder, and I think you were right. I need to be bold.”

He glances down at the slip of paper and the words that are plastered on it, his handwriting and her swooping cursive letters on the back. It’s the note, of course, the last one they passed before she stopped replying. It seems his words resonated, hit too close to home or maybe just struck a chord she wasn’t sure existed. He’d thought it was impulsive to demand something of her when he knew she just needed some space, but perhaps it was the little push she needed to really acknowledge what she was feeling. What she feels now.

To Loki, this is all new, as well. The feelings, the emotions. He knows, in some distant way, he’s felt them, but because self-preservation had always come first, he’s suppressed them, pushed them down, swallowed them like a morsel of food, like something heavy instead of something that needed to be acknowledged. The centuries have been unkind to him. They have stripped him of so much, leaving him hollow in ways he never noticed until now.

“It’s funny,” she laughs, a little nervously. “I was so convinced of it. Maybe because I had nothing else to hold onto, no room to question, no space to doubt. Loving Natasha felt like something predictable, like something that was just sitting there, waiting for it to happen. It never felt like a grand realization or an eye-opening epiphany, not the kind you see in movies. It just was.”

She exhales, almost as if saying it aloud unravels something inside her. Then, quieter, more uncertain, she adds, “But now… now I wonder if I was just grasping at the only thing I was allowed to feel. Because this… this feels different.” Her eyes move back and forth between the paper in her hands and Loki’s eyes. “It may be stupid for you. You’re a god. You’ve been alive longer than me, been through so much more. What do I know about love, right?”

“More than me, it seems.”

Her mouth opens a little, as though she is about to deliver a quip, a rebuttal or maybe a different kind of answer. She has always something to say. But Loki doesn’t give her time to think, doesn’t give her time to maneuver. In an instant, as if out of pure instinct, a hand cradles her cheek, and then he is kissing her.

Yes. He, Loki of Asgard, is kissing a mortal woman.

In another time, he would have found the idea preposterous, but he doesn’t care what other versions of him might think of it. He doesn’t care if he is being sentimental or weak or emotional because he knows that he loves Inna. And he knows that loving Inna should not be torture, but something to be celebrated.

He doesn’t quite remember when he kissed someone because he actually liked them and not because he got carried away while he was trying to get in their pants. To be candid, for Loki, kissing has always felt too personal to be shared casually. It’s an act of intimacy, not something for a transient lover. But with Inna he feels different. There’s no awkwardness, no hesitation — just a natural connection that takes him by surprise. Her lips are warm, soft, and inviting, and for the first time, he feels like kissing isn’t something to endure but something to savor.

It feels just right.

“You stole my moment,” she murmurs against his lips just after they pause to catch their breath. “I was getting a message across.”

“Oh, the message got across. Loud and clear,” he smiles, resting his forehead on hers. His hand moves away from her cheek to tuck a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear. “Though, if you’d prefer a clearer expression, I’m happy to give you the floor.”

A jolt of laughter leaves her mouth before she leans in to catch his lips and give him another kiss, this one more consuming than the last. One of her hands bury in the waves of his hair, winding his curls around her fingers and rubbing his scalp softly, while the other cups his cheek, and she holds him like no one has ever held him before. He slots one arm behind her back to pull her closer, feel her closer, securing her in place.

“So bold,” he says quietly against her lips.

When Inna eases away, they both open their eyes at the same time. It feels sappily choreographed. Her eyes glitter like twin orbs of molten gold, and his silly heart beats hard and fast in his chest when he realizes that they shine just for him. It’s really hard to remember when someone last looked at him like that, with so much adoration in their eyes, and the thought just makes him giddy. It feels surreal, like something taken out of a fairytale, this perfectly framed moment, suspended in time. It feels too good to be true, something he should question, something that doesn’t quite belong to the reality he’s known. But then, as his past musings hover over his head, he stops himself.

Maybe that’s the point, isn’t it? That freedom isn’t just the absence of chains, and happiness isn’t something to be unraveled. It’s something to be lived. To exist in this moment, without hesitation, without fear, is the very thing he had been searching for all along. Because true freedom isn’t just about breaking away; it’s about allowing himself to simply be, to feel, to love, to choose joy without condition.

And for the first time, he does.