Chapter Text
Loki did not pace, nor did he fidget. But when he was young, if you pointed out to him that he was doing exactly that, then you were likely to run into a string of bad luck for the next few days. But that was in his youth when such actions as pacing were annoying, but hardly scandalous.
Now… now he dare not show a solitary sign of any point of weakness.
Not if he wished to come out on top of this precarious situation he had found himself in.
“Loki,” the voice of his brother, sorry, his kidnapper’s son, boomed through the room with little effort from the man.
“Thor,” Loki replied casually as he flipped the page of the magazine he was reading.
It had been a joke. ‘Let me know if real power needs a magazine’, the one named Fury had said. This was when Loki was imprisoned on the flying fortress. His imprisonment on the helicarrier was a ruse of course, so Loki didn’t mind taunting his jailer. He knew the Hawked one would follow the plan and Loki would walk off the fortress within in the day.
There was really no point in it. To any of it. The destruction. The Invasion. Germany.
He could have walked into the research facility himself and stolen the element that the scientist needed. A simple illusion and no one would have known he was there. Hel, if he had truly wanted Midgard, he need not to bother invading it. No, it would have been so much easier to come down as the God he was. Offer the Midgardians everything they ever desired, and then some.
Loki would have them all kneeling before him and thanking him for the honor to do so.
But that is not what he wanted. He was a subtle as Thor’s hammer. Blunt and useful for little more than breaking rocks.
“We need to talk,” Thor said as he approached the energy field that lined the edge of Loki’s new, more permanent prison in the bowls of the Avengers Tower. There was something poetic about them choosing to hold him there, the scene of his triumph and fall.
“I haven’t finished.” Loki lightly gestured with the magazine, not bothering to do so much as shift in his seat. “It’s quite fascinating.”
The goal had been to fail.
Of course he had to make it look good and that meant some Midgardian causalities. He tried to keep it as minimal as possible. He only opened one breech point. And he told the Chitarui to attempt to capture the Midgardians, citing the fact that there was no point in enslaving the population if there was no one left to enslave.
And the less that died the less he’d have to hear about it from Thor.
“Loki,” Thor said a bit more forcefully. “You’ve been many things in all your years, but never so uncaring and callous.”
“Not according to the Midgardians,” Loki replied with a snort, turning the page. “I was the villain to them long before I ever became one.”
He thought that after Thor and his new friends had stopped him, that he would be taken back to Asgard. Surely the All-Father would want to bury Loki in a hole somewhere deep and dark to cover up his sins. Instead, Loki was allowed to remain as prisoner of Midgard to answer to his crimes committed against the American and German Midgardians.
It was an interesting tactical move by the King, one which Loki had spent every night of the past several months mulling over. Did Odin believe that leaving Loki in another realm a safer bet? Surely not, for Loki could find his way out of any prison. Eventually. So would it not do to have Loki closer at hand?
Oh well, Loki was away from him.
Hopefully the spectacular failure that Loki engineered would mean that he would find Loki not worth his further trouble.
That was the true goal.
“I’ve read that article, yes,” Thor admitted in a much more level tone, gesturing to the magazine.
Loki glanced up with his eyes only. “Why, dear brother. I didn’t know you could read… Midgardian.”
“It’s called English,” Thor corrected him. “Just one of the many languages created by the people of this world.”
“Yes,” he replied drolly and looked back down at the magazine, “very creative people indeed.”
With the aid of some magic dampening shackles provided by Thor, the Midgardians were able to secure Loki until his final prison could be built. The walls were made of some of the strongest metals to be found on Midgard. There was of course stronger in the universe, but with the thickness they used and the reinforcement beams, it would take Loki far too long to punch through.
The weak point was the energy field. Thor must have had some input in that as well due to the nature of the field. It was tuned properly enough to allow all but Loki to pass through. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Loki was rather impressed. On second thought, Thor must have gotten some help from Asgard. Thor wasn’t stupid, but Loki couldn’t see his brother knowing this particular science well enough to pull off such a feat.
But the fact that Thor would ask for help? That perhaps impressed Loki even more. His brother had changed, for the better it seemed. Loki would almost be proud of his older brother, if it wasn’t for the baggage such thoughts would come with.
The shield was a hurdle, so Loki’s best option were the emitters at the edges. His magic was dampened inside the room. He could still use some of the more basic illusionary tricks, but he would not be able to summon anything from the pocket voids to aid himself.
Loki chuckled. “Their stories paint you as something of a dolt, so I suppose they aren’t all that bad after all.”
The magazine in his hand was called ‘Time’ and it was a ‘special edition’, whatever that meant in this realm. It was a discourse over the history of Norse Mythology as they knew it. Well, before Thor and Loki appeared and changed their way of thinking about history.
The Furious one had tossed it at him, making some glib comment in echo of their time on the flying fortress. Loki took the magazine and read it, every last word and image memorized and dissected. Not only did it give him a good idea of the state of Midgard after his attempted invasion, but he was sure his actions annoyed Fury to no end.
“The horse though,” Loki frowned, then tsked, “completely taken out of context.”
“Enough,” Thor almost commanded, his voice tired. “I’ve come to ask you again, Loki. Who was it who sent you here? Who wishes such destruction against Midgard?”
“Not this again?” Loki sighed as if his brother was tiresome, which wasn’t far from the truth. He tossed the magazine to the side, it landing on the small bed, one of the few amenities in the room. There was a small side section that the Midgardians called a ‘bathroom’, despite having a bath, which was positively medieval in its design. Though he’d been on the planet long enough to know it was actually the height of function.
He’d already tried to find a weak spot in the plumbing but that was unfruitful.
“Who sent you to Midgard?” Thor replied a bit more forcefully. “The Chitauri were under your command but they were not sent here by you.”
“Why not?” Loki shot back a bit snidely, standing from the chair. “You’ve led armies into battle, Thor. It’s what princes do.”
“But it’s not what you do,” Thor countered firmly.
And there it was, the only part of the plan he could do nothing about. There was simply no way to hide the fact that it just wasn’t his style. No, Loki was far too clever to go barging in like a drunken bildgesnipe.
Thor knew that.
“I thought that’s what father wanted,” Loki replied flippantly, “sorry, your father. He was always so proud of his golden son who knew nothing better than to just hit everything within striking distance.”
“I’ve learned the err of my ways,” Thor replied without shame, “and I know now I should have heeded your council moreso than I did.”
“Well, better late than never, as the Midgardians say,” Loki said dismissively and took a few steps as if he had become completely disinterested in the conversation.
“Whoever sent you,” Thor continued, tracking Loki’s movement, “they aren’t finished. There is talk of forces gathering, new foes that Midgard may be ill equipped to fight against.”
“And they were well equipped to fight me?” Loki raised a single brow. “I feel I should be insulted.”
“We both know you did not fight as you could have.” Thor stared at him intently. “I can only guess at your motives. Which makes it hard to convince the Midgardians of your innocence.”
“Innocence?” Loki let out a bark of laughter that echoed about the room. “Have you fallen on your head one too many times?”
“Your actions were not wholly your own,” his brother, not-brother, would hear nothing of Loki’s declarations of guilt. “Helping us stop the true master behind the invasion will go a long way tow—”
“I have no master but my own!” Loki shouted, getting close to the barrier so Thor could see his rage.
Even as he tortured him, broke him, Loki was still able to belong to himself. He may have been a puppet sent to prove himself, but that was Loki’s tactical choice. Loki manipulated him to give himself the chance at escape.
Loki belonged to no one, not him, not Odin, no one, ever…
Except…
But that was long ago and it was the only last thread of sanity he had left. He buried those memories down deep so that even he couldn’t find them.
“Help me, Loki.” There was a near plead in Thor’s eyes. “Get yourself out of this cell. Show the Midgardians who you truly are.”
“Who I truly am?” Loki replied coldly and he could feel the visage slipping.
He had grown up with the veil surrounding him, covering his true nature. Not until that fateful day on Jotunheim had he ever thought that something was there. But once it was pointed out to him, like the ticking of a clock, it was all he could hear, see, and feel. He pulled at the corners, ripped at the edges, until he could see the truth underneath.
Loki let the truth peak through. “That I’m the monster they wrote of in their stories?”
Thor said nothing, simply stared at Loki in his Jotun form with tired and sad eyes. How Thor could continue to think that there was anything good left in Loki was a testament to his idiocy. The Midgardians had been right, Loki had always been the villain, he just didn’t know it until now.
“See you in a few days, brother,” Loki said wryly as he pulled away from the energy field, his Asgardian skin taking hold of him again. “I look forward to circling the same void again with you. Perhaps next time we’ll both fall in.”
“Many are going to die, Loki, if you don’t help us.” Thor kept his emotions even. “Give us a name, a location, something, anything.”
Loki pretended to think about it for a moment then shook his head. “No, don’t think so.”
There was no way Loki was going to lead him back to himself. He had suffered too much and gone to great lengths to get away. Thor could just find another way to save his pathetic mortals. They were short lived anyway, and bred like rabbits. They could take care of themselves.
“Just know, I didn’t want to do this,” Thor was still quite calm and collected, which admittedly piqued Loki’s interest, “but I need you to realize what you’re truly doing. Who you’re sacrificing.”
Loki pinched his eyebrows together at that statement. There was nothing left for Loki to lose. Well, perhaps his mother but he had no reason to go against Asgard. It would be foolish of him to do so. She was safe for as long as it took Loki to escape from his prison.
Thor turned his head towards one of the several cameras in the outer chamber of his prison. With a slight nod he gave whoever was at the other end a signal.
“Subtly and espionage do not suit you, Thor,” Loki said to cover up the fact that he was keenly interested in what his brother, not-brother, was up to.
“No,” Thor replied with maybe just a hint of a nostalgic smile, “that was always better left to you.”
Loki gave a slight grunt that was an equivalent of ‘of course it was’.
The outer door slid open and a tall, lithe figure tentatively walked into the room. Her clothes were wrong. Her legs were wrapped in that weird fabric called denim. Her top was layers of what the Midgardians called cotton. Ash colored blouse, dark blue drape, and rusty golden scarf.
But there was no mistaking the body, the way it moved. Eyes the perfect reflection of the sky. Hair the color of spun hay glistening in the sun. High and soft cheekbones over lips that could easily curl between sweetness and desire.
But she was slightly more rounded at the hips. Her hair not quite light enough. She was just a tad short and her gait not quite as assured.
For one solitary breath, Loki had let himself believe that his beloved wife, Sigyn, was still alive.
And for that, he promised to forever hate Thor for tricking him into that one moment of false hope.