Work Text:
No one in the Tower expects Loki to talk about his past. Not really. He’s… integrated, in his own way—still sharp-edged, still unpredictable—but quieter than he used to be. Less interested in grand gestures, more inclined to linger in shadows and watch.
So when he speaks up one night—unprompted—it catches everyone off guard.
“I was married once.”
Silence falls over the common room. He doesn't look up when he reveals it.
Tony Stark lowers his glass slowly. “Well. That’s new.”
Natasha Romanoff tilts her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’re serious.”
Loki doesn’t look at any of them. His gaze is fixed somewhere distant—somewhere far beyond Midgard. “I am always serious,” he replies quietly. That’s how they know it matters. He doesn’t give them everything. Just fragments. “She… was not Asgardian by birth,” he says, voice measured. “But she belonged there more than most.”
There’s something almost fond in the way he says it. Soft. Gone as quickly as it appeared. “She vanished.” A pause. “Magic,” he adds. “Powerful enough that even I could not trace it.”
“Dead?” Steve asks gently.
Loki’s jaw tightens. “…presumed.” The word sits heavy. Like something he never fully accepted. He doesn't met anyone's eyes when he speaks it.
After that, the subject is dropped. But things shift. Subtle. Loki becomes… distracted. More than usual. He disappears for longer stretches, returns with tension coiled tight in his shoulders, magic flickering restlessly at his fingertips.
Like something is pulling at him.
—
And then one afternoon, you prance into the Stark Tower.
It’s not dramatic. No thunder. No cosmic fanfare. Just the quiet hum of the lobby, polished floors, and you—standing there like you don’t quite belong. Because you don’t. Not really. Not here. Not anywhere.
You’ve spent years like this. Moving. Hiding. Living a life that never quite fit, like you were wearing someone else’s skin. You learned quickly not to talk about it—the strange dreams, the flashes of gold and green, the feeling of loss that never made sense.
The man who kept you—who controlled you—made sure of that No magic. No reaching out. No going back. Until he died. And whatever he bound you with… broke.
That’s how you end up here. Because something in you said this place mattered. That someone here mattered.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asks.
You hesitate. “I… I think I’m supposed to be here.”
It sounds ridiculous the second it leaves your mouth. But before they can respond, the air shifts. Upstairs, Loki freezes mid-step. His breath catches. There’s a pull— a sharp, naggingly tugging pull. Familiar. Impossible.
“No,” he whispers. And then he’s gone before anyone could stop him.
You don’t even have time to react before he appears. Not walking. Not arriving. Just—there. Magic curling faintly around him, eyes wide in a way no one in the Tower has ever seen before.
For a moment, Neither of you move.
You don’t recognize him. Not fully. There’s something there—something that aches—but it’s buried under years of confusion, of being told what you are and aren’t, of being disconnected from something you couldn’t name.
But him? He knows. Immediately. Completely.
“…no,” Loki breathes again, softer this time. Like if he says it too loud, you’ll disappear.
Your heart starts racing. Because the way he’s looking at you— Like you’re something fragile. Something lost. Something he’s already grieved.
“Do I… know you?” you ask, uncertain. It nearly breaks him. You see it. The crack in his composure. The way his shoulders tense like he’s been struck.
“…you should,” he says quietly. Not accusing. Just… honest.
You take a small step forward. Something in your chest pulls tight. Painfully familiar. “I feel like I do.” Your voice softens without meaning to. “But I can’t—”
“Your name,” he interrupts gently. Not demanding. Asking.
You tell him.
The reaction is immediate. His eyes close briefly, like the sound of it is both a relief and a wound. “…I have spoken that name,” he says, voice rougher now, “into silence for years.”
The world tilts. Something in you shifts. A memory—not clear, not whole—but there. A voice. His voice. Softer than this. Closer.
“You…” your breath catches. “You’re in my dreams.”
His eyes snap open. “They were not dreams,” he says. A step closer. Careful. Like approaching something sacred. “You were taken,” he continues, each word controlled, deliberate. “Bound. Hidden from me. Taken in the middle of the night from our bed chambers.”
Your chest tightens. Because that— that right there feels so right.
“I couldn’t find you,” he adds, quieter now. “I tried.” Something in his voice makes your throat burn. “I tried everything.”
The fragments start coming faster. Gold halls. Laughter. A hand in yours. Magic that felt like home instead of a cage.
“You’re—” you shake your head, overwhelmed. “You’re important to me.”
A flicker of something almost like a broken laugh escapes him. “I should hope so.” A beat. “I was your husband.”
Silence.
It should feel impossible. Too much. Too fast. But it doesn’t. Not really. Because something deep inside you— Something that was never fully erased— recognizes him.
“…Loki,” you say slowly. Testing it.
He goes still. Like the sound of his name from you is something he hasn’t allowed himself to imagine. “Yes.”
You step closer. Close enough to see the fine details—the exhaustion in his eyes, the hope he’s trying not to show. “I remember…” you whisper. Not everything. But enough. “Not all of it,” you add quickly. “But—pieces.”
That’s all it takes. Relief floods through him—sharp and overwhelming, barely contained. “I will take pieces,” he says quietly. “I will take anything you can give me.” Your hand lifts without thinking. Hesitates. Then rests lightly against his arm. The contact sends a jolt through both of you. Familiar. Electric. Real.
"I’m here now,” you say, voice small but certain.
For a moment, Loki just looks at you. Like he’s afraid this is another illusion. Another cruel trick. But then — carefully, almost reverently— He covers your hand with his. Warm. Solid.
“…you are,” he murmurs. And for the first time in years— The grief he’s carried so tightly begins to loosen.
Somewhere upstairs, the Avengers are definitely watching the security feed. Tony leans forward. “…so we’re not gonna talk about the whole long-lost wife appears in the lobby thing?”
Natasha smirks faintly. “Give them a minute.”
Down below— Loki doesn’t let go. Not this time. Not again.