Life After You

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/33318766.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Major Character Death
Category: F/M
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor
(Movies)
Relationship: Loki/Natasha Romanov, Loki & Natasha Romanov, Loki & Thor (Marvel)
Character: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Nick Fury
Additional Tags: Hurt Loki (Marvel), Character Death, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Pain,
Suicide Attempt Reference, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Loki Does What
Loki Wants (Marvel), Major Character Injury, Non-Canonical Character
Death, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension,
Unresolved Romantic Tension
Stats: Published: 2021-08-17 Updated: 2021-11-17 Chapters: 4/? Words:
5798

Life After You

by xyzmary2001

Summary

‘This day, the next, a hundred years, it’s nothing. It’s a heartbeat. You’ll never be ready.
The only woman who’s love you’ve prized will be snatched from you.’
Fate had a sick sense of humor.
 A Heartbeat
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The world around him was utterly silent. After that last attack, the roar of the battle had died down
and Loki found himself walking quietly among corpses, his clothes spattered with blood, none of it
his.

Where was she?

Was she wounded?

Could she be… dead?

Loki clenched his fists to the sides, trying to keep his anxiety in check. It wasn’t really working.
Abruptly, he stopped that train of thought.

No. Mortal she might be, but by no means helpless. She is a warrior. She can’t be dead.

Almost forcefully, he shoved his fears to the back of his mind. He didn't have time for them.

But he hadn’t seen her during the battle. He hadn’t seen her at all.

Where was she?

Loki was terribly, terribly afraid he was about to find out.

His body vibrating with tension, he forced himself to look at the corpses – really look at them – as
he passed them by. There were so many dead – too many – and most of them humans. A pile of
corpses was topped by the body of a little girl, her tiny hands still clutching a doll to her chest.

As he bent to check her vitals, Loki felt something fracturing inside his soul. He wasn’t certain
what would happen when it finally broke and didn’t want to find out.

A chill ran down his spine as he surged to his feet.

He needed to find her.

Oh, norns, let her be alive!

He shouted her name, again and again, as he continued his search, fear and anguish mingled in his
voice. The ensuing silence was deafening.

And then his eyes fell on her, pinned to a wall by dozens of daggers, each of them identical to his
own.

Inhaling sharply, Loki stumbled forward, his heart in his throat.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head, as though he could make it all go away – the daggers, her
eyes glazed over with death, her face splattered with blood. Tears started welling up in his eyes and
a silent scream caught in his throat, choking out the very air he breathed.

Oh, no. Please, no.

His hands moved on their own accord, a burst of magic exploding from his fingers, pulling all
daggers out at once. Her body fell in what looked like slow motion and hit the ground before Loki
could reach it.

He dropped to his knees on the blood-drenched ground. Her blood.

They didn’t kill her because she was one of the Earth’s defenders. They killed her because of her
connection with him.

This is your fault , a harsh, unforgiving voice said at the back of his mind. You got her killed.
That’s what the daggers are. A message. For you.

Loki wanted to scream but again, no air found its way into his lungs. He just stared at her wounds,
his mind doing the math for him. At least twenty knife wounds, none of them fatal. Whoever was
responsible, they had pinned her to the wall and left her there to bleed.

What was I doing when you drew your last breath? Was I thinking of you?

An anguished sound tore from his throat as Loki pulled her body into his arms and pressed her
fiercely against his chest, the coppery scent of her blood filling his nostrils. Nausea washed
through him as his mind served him up a fast-action replay of her death.

The only woman who’s love you’ve prized will be snatched from you.

The words of a younger, crueler version of himself, aimed to hurt Thor. Get back at him for his
audacity – his foolishness – to give his heart to a frail, ephemeral human.

Fate had a sick, twisted sense of humor.

Loki had never doubted her love. She had loved him when no one else did, not even himself. She
had convinced Fury he was deserving a second chance. Helped him sort through his snarled web of
emotions. Soothed him through his nightmares.

Most of all, she had accepted the hot mess that he was and never, never gave up on him.

The unbreakable love and faith she had in him had saved him. Not only he prized her love. He
sought to redeem himself and be worthy of it.

He could almost hear her laughing, feel her hand on his cheek, and he missed her, suddenly, with a
keenness that stole his breath away.

All her glowing warmth was gone now. She was gone now, and he was going to burn from the
inside for letting it happen. There would be nothing left, only his soul's ashes and he deserved
every bit of it for giving it whole to a mortal.

Loki had seen the signs for a while. But it had taken this - holding her corpse in his arms - for him
to see it for what it was.

Love.

Perhaps, he thought, staring at her small, lifeless hands , if I hadn’t been such a coward, I would
have seen it sooner. Perhaps, if I had told her how I felt, if I told her I…

I loved her.

It was real.
I always loved her.

I loved her and I let her die without knowing it.

He couldn’t feel his own heart beat.

This day, the next, a hundred years, it’s nothing. It’s a heartbeat.

It isn’t fair. It is not fair.

She came and went from his life in the space of a breath, and yet her loss cut him deeper than he
thought pain could plunge. Broke something so deeply within him he wanted to tear into his own
chest so he could rid himself of it. He wanted this pain gone. He wanted every memory of her
gone.

He swallowed back a sob that threatened to choke him. The thought of his memories of her fading
until he wouldn’t recall her voice, her smile , hurt a thousand times worse than living with them. It
seared his soul like salt on an open wound.

No, he couldn’t forget. Wouldn’t forget. It hurt too much to even contemplate it.

You’ll never be ready.

No, he thought, frantically. I won’t be. I’m not.

The shapes softened around him through the blur of his tears, the edges less solid, less real as
though the world wanted to shelter him from the pain of his loss. As if it didn’t already rip his soul
to shreds even when he wanted to scream.

He willed himself to get up, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t take his eyes from her
beautiful face, forever frozen in death.

Every book on magic he had ever read said it was impossible to bring back the dead, and yet his
mind insisted that he should try, that maybe his magic, his skill, his pain were strong enough to
beat death.

It is only a spell , he told himself.

But it wasn’t only a spell. There wasn’t anything like it.

Loki wasn’t any sorcerer, either.

He closed his eyes and drew in the magic. More than any sorcerer had ever drawn, way more than
was right. Far beyond safety, far beyond reason.

Loki was scarcely aware of Thor calling his name, shouting some nonsense, but he barely heard
him over the roar in his head.

“Don’t do it, brother! Listen to me, Loki!”

He wanted Thor to leave him alone. But to tell him that, he would have to stop casting, and Loki
couldn’t do that. Nothing could make him do that.

Breathless, voiceless, mindless, he kept absorbing more and more magic, breathing it in until it
filled every cell of his body and every single part of his being. It sang through his veins, tearing his
mind open until there was no boundary between himself and the vastness of the universe.
It was terrifying and painful and… exhilarating.

The sheer power of it was incredible. He could feel everything around him – every droplet, every
breath, every heartbeat – and it was all his. If he wished, he could snuff out of existence every
living thing on that cursed field. In the whole town. He might even kill Thor.

His eyes focused on her ghostly white face and his thoughts struggled to regain focus.

I never wanted to kill Thor.

I only want to save her.

Closing his eyes, Loki pressed his hand on her chest and willed the magic to flow through her
veins, into her heart, across her muscles and bones. He didn’t only control the magic. He was the
magic, and it was him. Carefully, he started to heal her wounds, one after the other, taking his time
to make sure he was doing it properly. Broken bone ends found their pairs and knitted themselves
together. Open slashes along her chest and midsection pulled closed. Broken veins and torn arteries
mended back together.

Come back , Loki pleaded. Come back to me.

She should have been healed by now, and yet magic continued to flow out of him, sucked away
like a vacuum, and it went on and on, until he was sure he was going to die before he could finish
the spell.

He could hear Thor screaming “Loki, stop! Brother, please!”

I can’t, I won’t-

The last thread of magic left him. The roar finally stopped. Everything went quiet. Around him,
dozens of people moved in silence, surrounding him, and he knew his magic had healed the
wounded, saving them all.

It took him a moment to realize she was still dead.

He hadn’t beat death. He had only healed the living.

Deep, all-consuming grief tore through him.

He couldn’t breathe.

All the words he had never said, all the words she would never hear choked him.

His world faded away into nothing, his eyes fixated on the dead human that laid in his arms.

It was over.

No power in the Universe could grant him another minute, another second with her. The brave,
foolish, loving mortal he cherished above all else. The mortal he loved. The mortal he failed. The
mortal who would never know he had been willing to trade his life for hers.

Would never know just how much he loved her.

He stared at his hands, cracked and sticky with blood, wishing he could throw what little energy he
had into another futile, possibly fatal attempt to snatch her back from the dead, but when he
reached for his magic, he found nothing there.
 Shaking, he reached down and closed her eyes with his fingers. The eyes that always held a smile
for him. He had just seen them for the last time.

It broke him in a way he didn’t know he could break.

And then, suddenly, strong arms surrounded him from behind, pulling him close in an unbreakable,
fierce embrace.

“Loki… I’m here, brother. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Of course it had to be Thor.

Thor, who had also given his heart to a mortal.

Thor, in whose steps Loki had foolishly followed.

Thor… who would have never failed to defend Jane.

For a brief moment, Loki dug the knife deeper, picturing the two of them together. Laughing and
kissing and unbearably happy. The knife twisted inside him and it felt like iron claws tearing
mercilessly into his heart.

„I’m sorry, Loki! I’m so sorry!”

Too weak to push the damn fool away, Loki leaned into his embrace and started laughing, gasping
for breath, shaking, shattered until, mercifully, the darkness opened its maws and plunged him into
its depths.

Chapter End Notes

I can say this fragment obsessed me ever since I've seen Loki (and re-watched "Thor:
The Dark World").
The female character is not Sylvie and it's not an Avenger, but you may think of her as
Natasha if you REALLY need to.
However, I didn't have a specific character in mind, only this image of him holding her
corpse in his arms.
Writing it was a struggle, between my sleepless twins and my own insomnia.
To say I'm really afraid to press Post it's an understatement. :)
 To Die in Battle
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“You want me… to kill you?!”

Fury placed his large hands on his desk and leaned forward, his face a perfect picture of stunned
disbelief. He stared at Loki for a long, tense moment, then shook his head. “Is this some sort of
trick?”

Loki gave him a blank look. “A... trick?”

He studied the director before giving him a thin, mirthless smile. “Oh. I see. I am the God of
Mischief, so this must be a part of some secret plan, some... evil scheme. Is that it?”

Loki held on to his illusion, forcing another smile onto the carefully crafted glamour he was
wearing. He needed to keep up appearances, after all.

Even so, the smile felt wrong on his face, like baring teeth.

He shrugged.

“Sorry, but no. I want you to stop my heart for a few minutes, that’s all. I know you have the
technology to bring people back-”

“Is this about Romanov? Your...”

Loki took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, feeling his composure cracking around the
edges.

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘partner’. And yes. I need to find her.”

He hated the tinge of desperation in his voice. He hated it so very much. At least his illusion held.
He hoped.

Fury let off a frustrated huff and straightened himself. “Have you lost your fucking minds in the
last 12 hours?!”

Had he? Probably. Holding her cold, bloodless body in his arms had broken something inside him.

“If you won’t do it, I will.”

“Do what?! Kill yourself?”

Loki punched the table, anger and despair boiling the edge of his sanity.

“Yes!”

His breath was coming out in sobs and, much to his horror, tears welled out of his eyes when he
blinked.

His already frazzled grip on his magic slipped, taking his glamour with it.
Fury’s expression twisted into utter surprise at his blood-stained clothes.

“What the...” he started, then sat in his chair across the desk and let out a deep sigh. “You look like
shit.”

Anger and grief rose inside him like a tidal wave. He had been through hell over the last 24 hours,
defending this stupid planet and its dull, useless inhabitants. He had sacrificed everything, lost
everything, and this was their answer?! Their gratitude?

He inhaled and forced down his anger. It wasn’t easy.

“I may have a way to bring her back from Valhalla.”

Fury stared at him and something about him reminded him of Odin.

“And you have to... what, die to get there?”

“Oh, what makes you say that?” asked Loki, half sarcastic and half exasperated. "It is the realm of
the dead! Of course I have to die to get there!”

Fury took a sharp breath and stared some more. Maybe that was what reminded him of Odin - the
fact that they both had one good eye and an infuriating, patronizing stare.

“I won’t kill you!” Fury said.

“And here I thought you, of all people, would jump at the opportunity.” His voice was all silver
and calm, but he could still feel the sting of tears burning the inside of his eyelids.

Her small, cold hands against his cheek. The arms that held him so many times, limp against his
chest. Her hair, drenched in blood, stuck to ger ghostly pale face.

Growing up among the Aesirs, Loki never felt like he belonged there. He never felt like he
belonged anywhere, really, until he met her. In a world where everyone worshipped Thor, she had
been his - and his alone. And he had been hers.

Norns, he had been hers so fully, so completely!

He felt lost without her.

Loki tried to focus on Fury instead.

“You work for us now,” the director was saying. He made a gesture with his hand. “I can’t just...
kill you, or help you with-”

Loki jumped to his feet. “I can betray you, if that's your problem, if you don't want to kill an agent
of yours. Or I can kill one of the other Avengers. I can even-”

“Sit down,” Fury said, coldly.

Defeated, Loki slumped down in his chair, tears filling his eyes. Again.

“I considered killing myself, you know,” he said softly. “When I tried to revive her and when I...”
His voice broke. “When I saw her in a coffin. I...”

He swallowed and shook his head, as if he was trying to banish the memory from his mind. As if
he could banish that awful, heart-wrenching sight. “But that won’t help her. Nothing will, unless I
find a way to come back from the dead. With her.”

“You loved her,” Fury said with a sigh. “Son of a bitch. You actually loved her.”

He seemed genuinely surprised, which was kind of baffling. Loki was fairly convinced everyone
had known it for months, except maybe for himself.

“Does it matter now?” His irritation was painfully obvious, but he just couldn’t help it. It was
either that or scream himself hoarse, and he couldn’t do that. Not yet. Not while there was still a
speck of hope.

“Yes. I did. I do. What more do you want from me? Beg you? Because I will!”

Fury shook his head. “Look, man... it’s not that I don’t want to help! It’s just that... You are not
human! I mean, stop your heart? Bring you back? How am I even supposed to do that? With a
defibrillator?!”

Loki shrugged. “If it works...”

Fury pressed his fingers against his good eye, as if he was trying to hold back a blooming headache.
“But that’s the problem! Don’t you see?! We don’t know if it works on you! For all I know, your
head could explode. Or… it may not affect you at all.”

“Better than killing myself…” Loki mused, way too casually.

“I’m sorry, Loki. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Does your brother even know about this?”

Oh, so that was the problem. If Loki were more lucid, more like his usual self, he would have seen
it sooner.

“You are afraid,” he said. “You are afraid of what Thor might do in retaliation-”

Fury’s fist hit the table hard enough to make Loki flinch. “Of course I am! You are his brother!”

“I am not!”

Fury gritted his teeth in frustration. “Seriously?”

Loki couldn’t really argue with Fury on that one. He knew Thor would take it badly – that’s why
he hadn’t told him, after all. Just like when they were kids and Loki threw himself into fights he
couldn’t win.

Yet, he had to somehow convince Fury to help him. He couldn’t do this on his own. Partly because
there was no way into Valhalla if he took his own life.

“He already saw me on the verge of death, yesterday. When I tried to magic her back to life.”

Fury blinked.

“You did what?!”

Loki sighed.

“You heard me. It was stupid. Anyway, I accidentally healed everyone in the process, so… there’s
that…”
 “My Norse Mythology might be a bit rusty,” Fury said, “But don’t you have to die in battle to get
there? And wasn’t she an atheist!?”

“Let me worry about that,” Loki said.

He had his own doubts, of course he had, but he wasn’t about to share them with Fury when they
would likely bring down his already slim chances of winning his help.

“Gladly, if you weren’t asking me to murder you!”

“Not murder,” Loki said calmly. “I’m asking to die in battle.”

Fury groaned and uselessly rubbed at his temples.

“Do you want me to fight you in a fucking duel?”

Loki grinned.

“Oh, no, far from that. I want you to convince Banner to do it.”

Fury stared.

“I could bring Stark back, as a bonus.”

***

Ten excruciating hours and twenty broken bones later, Loki had finally had his wish. He died.

Chapter End Notes

The idea of this chapter came much the same way as the one for the story. Which
means I never thought about it, I never intended to write it until it came out of
nowhere and nagged at me until I I had no choice but to put it down on paper.

However, the ending and the elegant wording wouldn't have been possible without my
muse and my friend @KD writes. Her infinite patience when dealing with my (many)
insecurities and endless editing is probably what gives her away as my guardian angel.
Not kidding. She took more abuse from me than my own mom, and she still stuck with
me. I am forever grateful. <3

Also, thank you for reading this story and for every kudos, every comment and every
encouraging word or advice. I have zero confidence in my writing skills at the best of
times, and now I'm far, far from that.
 We Could Be Friends

“So... who was it?”

“Hm?” Loki raised his eyes from his laptop and looked at her blankly. “Who was who?”

From her place near the window, Natasha Romanov’s green eyes bore into him. “The one pulling
your strings in New York. You never told me.”

Loki cocked his head to the side. “What makes you think anyone did?”

She scrutinized him for a moment, her eyes focused and hard to read.

S h e was intriguing, Loki decided. Small, even by human standards, but nothing about her
suggested softness or frailty. She was like a fist of steel in a velvet glove, and this time she didn’t
even bother to hide it.

“It takes one to know one,” she said, crossing her arms.

Loki turned in his chair to face her and casually crossed one ankle over the other knee. “You’re
talking about your own conditioning? Barton told me about it.”

He was satisfied to see a hint of emotion in her eyes, but it was gone too fast for him to identify
what it was.

“Yes… and no,” she said. “After I broke free from my conditioning, I’ve spent a lot of time
studying others. The Winter Soldier. Clint.” She paused and looked at him intently. “You.”

He gave her a deliberately toothy smile.

“Me?”

In one graceful motion she stepped away from the window and walked over to his desk without
breaking eye contact.

“I’ve seen the video footage from the night you came through that portal.”

Loki went still.

“And from the Opera... and every other piece of intel or video I could find.” She stopped in front of
him and her distant expression flowed into one of understanding that was too close to kindness for
comfort. “And I’ve had an interesting chat with Thor.”

Loki felt a chill down his spine, but managed to force a smile. He clapped his hands mockingly.
“Now that is quite an achievement, Agent Romanov. Please, allow me to congratulate you! I know
precisely how hard it is to get anything even remotely interesting out of him.” Loki let himself
enjoy the flicker of amusement that crossed her face.

“We talked about you,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him.

Loki crossed his arms, feigning indifference.

“Oh?”
“He told me a rather... captivating story about a mischievous little brother who enjoyed pulling
pranks, playing tricks, and causing trouble.”

Loki shrugged. “That’s me! God of Mischief, remember?” His voice carried only the faintest trace
of sarcasm.

Her hand landed on his shoulder, the look on her face so warm, so genuine, he almost believed it.
Worse, he wanted to believe it.

“God of Mischief, yes. But not a killer.”

“I did send the Destroyer to kill Thor,” Loki reminded her, but even he knew she had him. It almost
made him smile. Almost.

“Need I remind you the circumstances?” she asked softly. “Can you tell me you didn’t know it
could make Thor worthy again?”

Loki knew exactly where she was going with that and it made him admire her even more.
Grudgingly.

“I could,” he said.

“But that would be a lie,” she concluded, and stepped away from him to sit on the corner of his
desk. The loss of her touch felt like a missed step. He closed his eyes, the sudden urge to open
himself to her, to let her into the darkest place within him, to let her see him with his guard down,
almost too much to bear.

He laughed at her, slapping his knees, mostly to break himself free from her spell than anything
else.

“Oh, you are so pathetic! You think you can get inside my head, make me spill all my secrets, talk
of my past with you?”

In one swift, fluid motion, he summoned a knife and pressed it against her throat. “You think you
know me, little human?” he hissed.

To his surprise, she smiled at him and placed her small hand over his.

“Oh, yes, I do. I know you better than you think. Better than you know yourself.”

Her gaze never wavered as she gently pushed his hand away from her throat. Only now Loki
noticed the knife in her other hand, placed firmly against his chest.

Natasha followed his gaze and shrugged. “And you just proved me right by using that knife to
scare me away.”

She made her knife disappear almost as fast as Loki made his.

“You were mind controlled in New York. You know it, and I know it. One day, you may even trust
me enough to tell me about it.”

He was so close to her, he could feel the faint, clean scent of her hair.

“You’re not my friend, Agent Romanov!” he hissed.

He pulled back abruptly and turned away from her.

“Not yet,” she agreed. “But I could be.”

Dangerous words, from a very dangerous woman.

Fascinating, indeed.

***

„What did he do to convince you to take part in this… this…”

Thor gestured angrily towards Loki’s motionless form, barely containing the rage boiling inside
him. He didn’t bother hiding his grief, though. He wasn’t sure he could if he tried.

“What did my brother promise to make you willing to face my wrath? Make you willing to…”

Help him die. Help him get killed. Murder him.

The words were there, right on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t voice them. As if by
saying them out loud it would make it real, and he’d realize this was actually happening.

As if saying the words meant he accepted that Loki was dead. Again. He had seen him fall once,
and it nearly destroyed him. How many times did he have to watch his brother die without having a
chance to save him? How many times did he have to mourn him?

What in the nine realms was he thinking? Was he even thinking at all?

After all his efforts to redeem himself, to gain their trust and approval, the damn fool had gotten
himself killed by the Hulk. The monster had literally ripped him to pieces. His body was so
mangled, Thor could barely recognize him under the cuts and bruises. Even glancing at him made
Thor want to scream and kick and burn the whole place down. No. Not the whole place. The whole
world.

Ten hours, they said.

It took him ten hours to die.

Thor couldn’t bear thinking about it, couldn’t bear imagining the green beast smashing and kicking
and killing his brother, after being their ally, their partner… their friend. It tasted too much like a
betrayal, like a knife in the back.

It tasted like failure.

His failure.

He should have seen it coming.

He knew how Loki was and how his mind worked. He should have known he would do something
stupid, but trying to bring her back with his magic had seemed stupid enough.

Until this.

Fury’s one visible eye didn’t even flinch at his outburst.

“Loki said he knew a way out of Valhalla. He said he could bring her back. And Stark,” Fury said,
darkly.
Thor dared a glance at his brother, motionless on white hospital sheets, countless tubes and needles
and wires all over his body. Nausea rose in his throat as his mind was trying to make sense of what
he was seeing, or, more like it, trying to run from it.

“And you believed him?” he growled, his voice rough and strained.

“I did.” He paused, for a moment, seeming to be considering something. “Over the last year, your
brother had been nothing if not trustworthy. Time and time again, he had proven himself a far
better ally than I dared to imagine. I would have never agreed to this if-”

“You should have called me first! He was my brother! You had no right to do this!” Thor shouted,
flickering bolts of electricity racing just behind his eyes.

Fury stood his ground. “It was not your decision to make. I didn’t like it any more than you do, but
it was all his.” He paused. “You haven’t seen him. At least, this way we can keep his body alive
long enough to give him a chance.”

Thor groaned and clenched his fist to his side as his anger deflated into something far worse. Pure,
mind-numbing despair.

Because he knew Fury was right.

And also knew Fury was wrong.

“He never had a chance,” he said quietly. “There is no way back from Valhalla. We don’t know
anything more about it than you do. He tricked you. That’s what he does. That’s what he’s best at.”

“We’ll see,” Fury said, but he didn’t sound half as convinced as before.

“Can you leave me alone with him now?” Thor asked bluntly, gesturing unceremoniously towards
the door.

Without another word, the director turned and walked out of the room.

Thor waited until the sound of his footsteps faded away before kneeling besides the bed and
pressing his forehead against Loki’s limp hand.

“Forgive me, brother. For I have failed you again.”

 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

From where he was perched on the edge of Stark Tower's roof, Thor turned his head when he
heard him approaching. He looked weary and, although Loki knew it was impossible, slightly
older than the reckless, oafish brother – no, not brother, prince! – he had grown up with. As if he
had aged a few hundred years over the short while they had been apart.

Silently, Loki walked towards Thor and sat cross-legged on the edge next to him. Below them, the
city laid spread out like a map, the signs of destruction barely visible from a distance. But Loki
knew they were there, ruined buildings and open fissures like gaping wounds in the flesh of a
giant.

“Thank you,” he finally said, glancing at Thor.

Thor raised his eyebrows in confusion. “What for?”

After New York, Loki had expected Thor would drag him back to Asgard and force him to face
whatever semblance of justice Odin chose to bestow upon him. Instead of that, Loki had spent a
few admittedly unpleasant weeks in a S.H.I.E.L.D.S. facility before being informed he had been
given a second chance. He could either stay on Midgard and help the Avengers deal with the
aftermath of his actions or return to Asgard and throw himself at the mercy of the Allfather.

I could have done it, Father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us!

No, Loki!

Loki felt a surge of mingled nausea and anger. Anything was better than facing Odin’s cold stare
again. Anything.

Loki felt his mouth twitch and swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat.

“For talking them into letting me stay,” Loki said, keeping his face blank.

Thor looked at him for a moment, then shook his head.

“I didn’t do it,” he said bluntly.

Loki felt a brief stab of betrayal.

“I was angry, brother. I still am. What you’ve done… You deserved punishment.”

Loki’s stomach twisted and he felt a flash of anger. Of course you’d say that. You think so little of
me you never doubted my guilt, but he swallowed it back and inclined his head.

“I expected no less.”

He had opened a portal to another dimension, helped an alien army to invade Midgard, and caused
massive destruction and death. And everyone thought he did that because he wanted a throne.

He doesn’t know what happened, Loki thought. I never told anyone.

Just like the other day, Loki felt an overwhelming urge to open his mouth and let the truth out, but
he knew there was no comfort to be gained from it. He simply wanted to see the horror in Thor’s
face as he heard his side of the story. No, not horror. He wanted to see pain, and guilt, and regret.

You idiot, the voice inside his head whispered. You already told him you never wanted a throne,
and he still thinks you did. He doesn’t trust you. You are, after all, one of the monsters he promised
to slay.

Loki took a deep, sharp breath and straightened his back.

What if there would be no pain in Thor’s face? What if he laid himself bare and Thor rejected him
all over again?

That thought cut the deepest.

Loki didn’t mind being called a liar as long as he wasn’t even trying to prove otherwise.

At least, if he lied and no one trusted him, he could tell himself things would be different if he told
them the truth. Or that it was part of his plan, that he wanted them to see him that way. If he told
them the truth, if he held nothing back and they still didn’t trust him…

No, he thought darkly. Not ‘they’. Thor. You always craved his approval. And Odin’s.

Thor looked at him like he wanted to say something, his eyes clouded with unspoken words, and
Loki almost felt guilty. Mostly, however, he felt strangely disconnected, as if he has watching what
was happening from miles away.

“Who did it, then?” he asked, keeping his voice level.

Thor shrugged and looked away.

“Miss Romanov.”

Loki blinked in surprise.

“Did she?”

Thor flashed him a smile that reminded him of the past he was trying so hard to forget.

“I think she likes you.”

Loki tipped his head to the side to look at him and smiled his thin, sharp smile.

“Oh?”

Thor shrugged, but it was obvious he felt more comfortable with the direction their discussion was
heading.

“You’d be back in Asgard if it wasn’t for her. She said that… we all have our sins. She has been an
assassin, Stark an arms dealer, my pride has almost started a war. That we all got a chance to
redeem ourselves, and so should you.”
 Well, Loki thought dryly, at least someone believes that.

“I am pleased that she was able to convince all of you,” he said, and perhaps there was a touch of
sarcasm in his voice. Not that Thor would notice it. Loki was perfectly aware that such subtleties
were completely lost on him.

Thor shook his head.

“Not all of us, I assure you. Barton doesn’t like you at all.”

Loki scoffed.

“But she convinced Fury,” Thor continued. “Though he mentioned she will be held responsible for
your actions, brother.”

“And what did she say?” he asked, against his better judgement.

Thor nodded.

“I thought Miss Romanov told you. She offered to be your partner.”

Loki stilled and forced himself to look forward.

It’s just another of her games. It doesn’t mean anything.

And yet, there was a warm feeling tight in his chest that he refused to acknowledge.

o0o0o

Loki didn’t cry and didn’t close his eyes as he plunged into the liquid darkness beyond. The pain
was gone, which was a pleasant change from the agony of the last ten hours, and was replaced by
the sinking sensation of falling he knew all too well.

And what if Valhalla’s not real? The thought chilled him to the bone, and Loki wondered briefly
why it hadn’t occurred to him before he got himself killed.

The answer gave him a peculiar kind of peace he hadn’t felt since he had seen her pinned to the
wall. Then I will never stop searching, he thought. Never.

And then, there was only the falling.

Chapter End Notes

This is the unedited version of the chapter. I'm sorry for any mistakes I made, English
is not my native language; feel free to point them to me, I'm always willing to edit and
improve (some people would actually say "eager", considering the hundreds edits :D).

I still don't know where I'm going with the story. I hope it will come to me.
Eventually...

Any feedback is much appreciated and it helps me gain confidence and focus. Thank
you! >:D<
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