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He didn’t realize when exactly he slipped and fell. But it happened so fast.
You were so unguarded yet cautious. You didn’t fear him, no, you hadn’t any reason to, yet you would break eye contact suddenly, or avoid his gaze, or fiddle with your fingers offering him an awkward smile, and his heart would speed up, thudding wildly against his ribs.
When you’d smack him in the chest playfully when he’d startle you, when you pored over books, forgetting your surroundings entirely, when you’d tuck yourself into your chair, bringing your knees to your chin while you stared at your screen trying to figure out a problem, when you’d yawn, stretching out as you made your morning coffee, when you’d show up at the house sometimes with random trinkets for him.
Everything made his entire being thrum with life.
So when he gathered what was happening to him, how he was falling, so very quickly, he did what he knew best. He ran.
Loki was running.
He was running from you.
You, so soft, so gentle, so warm. You, so fragile, so mortal.
It was first evidenced by your sprained ankle from a simple fall, then by the weeks it took to heal. Being in the company of gods all his life, and more recently the practically immortal TVA workers made him hardened to such a concept as mortality.
When you sliced your finger with just a gentle graze of the knife, his heart stopped and when you laughed and spoke of paper cuts, he was horrified. Were humans so fragile that paper could draw blood?
When that one night, he allowed a tendril of vulnerability to reach out, when he allowed the smallest bit of his pain to be revealed and saw understanding in your eyes, he couldn't believe it.
You could cut by paper but still survive hurt like that he experienced?
He knew then, he had to leave, but allowed himself a few moments in your touch. Where it felt safe, where he felt protected. To feel protected under a mortal’s hand wasn’t a feeling he was familiar with. Feeling protected wasn’t a feeling he was familiar with.
And then he left, to absolve you from any responsibility of bearing his sufferings.
He simply walked away and when he was far enough out of sight, he willed himself to Slip into another Universe, at another time, far away from you.
Maybe he could go find another variant of He Who Remains, study under him. Maybe he could go to Asgard or Vanaheim, where magic and science coalesced. Surely, that would give him the knowledge he required more than a simple University on Midgard. It was what he should have done from the start.
So he shut his eyes and clenched his fists, allowing his body to dissolve into space and time, become one with the fabrics of reality and rip, till he arrived where he had decided his next destination was.
However, it appeared the Slipping had a mind of its own this time.
When it pulled him into a hospital, bright white lights, the smell of aggressive cleanliness, high-pitched beeping sounds and a sense of urgency in the air, it utterly confused him. He had much to do, he had to find out how to save the timelines, and he brought himself to a Midgardian hospital. There were no teachings he could possibly glean from a hospital that could help him in his cause.
He strode around to get a sense of where in time he was. A calendar on the wall told him that it was sometime in the late twentieth century. As he walked aimlessly, he felt a pull to one room, the sound of a wailing baby emanating from it. Using his magic, he masked himself in invisibility and stepped into the room.
The scene was a standard, heart-touching moment. A woman lay in the bed, holding a baby swaddled into a bundle in layers of sheets. Sweat glistened on her forehead, her hair tousled and matted, tears in her eyes, looking up at the man – her husband, likely – beaming down at his wife.
He had your eyes.
Loki staggered back, the air leaving his lungs immediately.
Then he saw it.
The woman had your smile.
A nurse walked in, smiling at the couple, a stack of paper in hand.
“So, have you picked out a name yet?” The woman’s smile widened.
Then she said your name.
Loki ran again.
His heart throbbed hard, rattling against his ribs – not from the exhaustion – and he willed himself to Slip again.
This time he landed in a familiar place. New York. Right inside the dreaded Stark Tower.
I could bear to learn something from Stark, he regrettably admitted to himself. But he probably wouldn’t be welcome as himself.
With a flick of the wrist, his casual Midgardian wear was replaced with a sleek black suit, his long dark hair, now blonde, cropped short, falling into soft curls. He hoped that the disguise would suffice as he walked through the vaguely familiar corridors. He wasn’t sure how well he’d be received having snuck into the Tower, but Stark liked himself a mystery, he liked mischief, and he liked balls, so maybe he wouldn’t mind this man sneaking into his Tower.
He turned into a large room – a laboratory – where Stark stood, back against the door, staring down at something he had built on the table. Somewhere in the distance, another small figure worked, crouched on the floor.
“How’s it going there, Sparks?” Stark called to the figure, “Any improvements?”
The figure simply grunted back in annoyance.
They still hadn’t noticed Loki’s presence at the door.
“I think we might have to start from scratch,” the figure groaned. Loki staggered back yet again. It was your voice.
Stark finally noticed the presence behind him and turned around, eyes wide. “Hey, Sparks. Check out tall, dark and handsome over here,” he quipped, recovering quickly, “How’d you get in? SHIELD send you?”
The figure in the distance finally rose. All the breath left Loki’s lungs. You walked over to stand by Stark, taking off the glasses that were perched over your nose. You cocked your head to the side.
“Doesn’t look like SHIELD. Does look familiar, though,” you responded.
“He’s cute, no?” Stark said, stepping back, skimming his eyes over Loki’s frame. You rolled your eyes.
“Are you going to try to set me up with the stranger that just broke into your Tower?” you spoke to Stark, but your eyes never left Loki.
Loki finally managed to find his voice, “I- I apologize. It appears I have lost my way.”
You chuckled, “Likely story, stranger.”
Then, you reached over to touch him, as if to check if he were real.
Before you could make contact, Loki Slipped away.
He cursed under his breath as his feet landed this time on what appeared to be a spaceship. He quickly camouflaged himself against the wall and assessed his surroundings. He had no idea what the Slipping was doing and where it had brought him, but he could only assume that it was important. He had to.
In the corner, right by the cockpit, what appeared to be a Midgardian brunette and a woman with green skin and red highlights in her hair, stood. Kissing. A few feet away stood what seemed to be a burly Kylosian, standing incredibly still, his hands in a little bag of Zarg nuts.
Loki rolled his eyes. What in the Nines had he gotten himself into. His thoughts however, immediately flew to you. What would your lips feel like against his? Would you thread your hands through his hair? Would you taste sweet like the tea you’d make for him? How would your body feel plush against his? Would you stand on your tiptoes or would he duck down to meet your lips? Maybe a little bit of both.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his own voice.
“You owe me 30 units,” he said from the other end of the ship. A gasp sounded from the darkness before whoever he was addressing stepped out into the light.
Loki had to physically stop himself from Slipping away instantly.
It was you again.
“We had agreed on 20, god of Mischief,” you scolded, swatting him in the chest. It reminded Loki of how you did the same back in the other Universe. You glared at the couple then. “Two more days, and I would’ve won. Couldn’t you guys have waited it out?” you groaned.
The couple rolled their eyes.
“I’m surrounded by idiots,” the green woman muttered.
“Hey, Drax,” you said absently to the Kylosian as you moved to transfer the units. Loki stiffened as you approached him. He knew his camouflage would hold well enough under normal circumstances, but he wasn’t sure that his magic wouldn’t waver before you.
You bent right in front of him to grab a bag that was a few inches from his feet. Suddenly you were yanked back by the waist. You yelped as the Loki of this Universe held you back, head cocked as he glared at the spot where Loki stood camouflaged. The blush that coloured your cheeks at the contact did not go unnoticed but there was no time to think about that because the other Loki peered closed, brandishing a dagger.
Loki took that as his cue to leave and Slipped yet again.
This time he landed face first into the ground. He scrambled to his feet, coughing and pawing at the mud in his mouth. He was losing his touch. Was he losing his mind? He thought he had gained enough control over the Slipping to avoid such mishaps, but apparently not since it insisted on taking him everywhere you were, the very person he was trying to avoid.
When he had recovered substantially he finally took a deep breath in. The air was familiar. Clean and slightly sweetened by the scent of fruit. Vanaheim.
Finally, something he could work with.
He stood in a clearing, right by a small garden, decked with trees. He ducked behind one when he heard voices approaching.
“I do believe he is in love,” the voice said. Loki had to push his hand against his mouth to stifle the gasp.
Into the garden, walked Frigga. By her walked her sister Freyja.
Loki knew instantly that he couldn’t stay. If she was here, it meant that there certainly was a Loki nearby, unless in this Universe, he was left in Jotunheim. Maybe he could go ahead or behind in time, stay on Vanaheim and complete the studies that were required of him. But for now, all he wanted was his mother. He longed to walk out of the wood and reach for her. To have her hold him against her chest, to be engulfed in her love while he sobbed. But the only thing he could do was watch. So he did.
“I never thought I would see a time such as this. One of the princes in love? It only feels like yesterday that they were little babes,” Freyja said, giggling.
They were talking about either himself or Thor. Likely that it was Thor. He had plenty of times claimed to have fallen in love with several of his dalliances.
“It does,” Frigga responded wistfully, “They grow so fast.”
Loki pressed his hand against the bark of the tree, heart aching for his mother.
“I think she will be good for him. She’s a sweet little thing,” Freyja held her sister’s hand, squeezing reassuringly.
Frigga nodded, smiling back. “Intelligent, too. Just like him.”
Loki furrowed his eyebrows. Thor was certainly not known to be intelligent. But of course being his mother, Frigga thought that he was. Loki thought back, trying to recall an intelligent woman in his brother’s arms. He couldn’t recall any, none of them stuck around long enough for him to gauge anything about their personalities. Perhaps in this Universe, he had found an intelligent woman.
Frigga sighed, leaning back against a pillar. Then she raised an eyebrow. She breathed her next breath more deliberately and then turned to her Freyja.
“Sister, why don’t you go ahead for the feast. I have some flowers I would like to collect to take back with me to Asgard.”
“Would you not like me to accompany you?” Freyja asked.
“It won’t be necessary. I need to… concentrate,” she said. Freyja nodded and bowed before taking her leave.
It didn’t escape Loki’s notice that his mother was lying. She was normally an excellent liar but this one was not very well masked for whatever reason. He wondered what she could possibly be up to. Frigga looked over the garden and then disappeared behind the pillar. Loki peered over the tree, craning his head.
“What are you doing?” her voice sounded behind him. Loki yelped, spinning around to look at her.
“Don’t forget whom you learned your sneaking around from,” she instructed. “Why are you here? Weren’t you just with…” Frigga’s voice trailed off as she looked over him, brows furrowed. Loki leaned back against the trunk of the tree, holding his hand over his chest.
“What are you wearing?” Frigga scowled slightly, peering at his shirt.
“Oh, this? This is one of my favorites. I wear it all the time,” Loki shifted, chuckling slightly, still in his silly Midgardian wear. He wanted so badly then, just to tell her everything. To beg her for help. She would know what to do. She would know how to help him with everything. With you, with the temporal loom, with the multiplier. Why had He Who Remains chosen him to go through this? Why not this intelligent, wonderful, incredibly capable woman who stood before him.
As if to prove her intelligence once more, she said, “You’re not the Loki I know at all, are you?”
Her voice was so gentle, so inviting, beckoning him to spill everything. She brought her hand up to stroke his cheek gently.
Loki knew better than to lie to her. She could always see right through him. So he simply shut his eyes and leaned into her touch.
“My boy…” she whispered, stroking his hair out of his face, “You haven’t found love yet, have you?”
A dry sob escaped his lips.
“Let me show you what it looks like,” she said. Loki looked at her, pleading with his eyes. Frigga nodded, smiling. “Come, Loki.”
She took his hand and pulled him behind her, camouflaging them with her Seidr.
She took him through the winding Vanir palace, finally stopping in a large hall overlooking the capital city. Then she beckoned him to look over the pillar that they stood behind.
He saw himself first, looking over the city. Slightly younger than what he was in New York. He looked to be just under a thousand years old. His helmet was tucked under one arm and he donned his Asgardian armor. Loki found himself missing the armor too, as ostentatious and heavy as it was, it had felt like ages since he had worn it.
A hand appeared on the Young Loki’s bicep. Loki stepped forward to get a better look and he felt a rush when he saw it.
It was you again.
The Young Loki said something to you, a wide smile on his face, and the pair laughed. Then he pressed closer and whispered something in your ear. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and blushed. He took both your hands, staring into your eyes.
The Young Loki swallowed visibly, the smile fading from his face as he brushed his thumbs over your knuckles.
You had the same soft eyes and wide smile. The same hair falling gently over your shoulders. The same wrinkles and blemishes. The same blush, the same laugh, the same nervous tic.
So when the Young Loki bent over and kissed you, Loki’s heart clenched, and when you pulled him close, returning the kiss, it soared.
He craved you. He craved your scent, your bright eyes, the way you stiffened and eventually relaxed under his touch, your soft smiles, your early morning yawns, tousled, messy hair and all.
Wherever he went, there you were. The Norns had condemned him to this fate. You were written in the stars for him.
Loki turned to his mother, pressing his forehead to hers.
“I know what I need to do, Mother,” he whispered.
“I know, my boy, I know,” she caressed his cheek gently.
Loki looked down at her, tearfully, “I love you,” he said. She reached up and pressed a longing kiss on his cheek.
“I love you as well, my darling,” she murmured against his skin, “Go, son. Do what it is you must do.”
Then, she released him. He watched her retreat.
This time he knew exactly where he was going. And something told him the Slipping would not fight him.