Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Here you go.”

Mom smiles, accepting the cup of tea I'd just made.

"So, what excitement and adventure and really wild things have been happening in your life?"

Mum laughs and sips her tea, “Not much of any of that since you're father left, I'm afraid. How’s the delivery job?”

I sit on the chair opposite her and Gretel jumps up and makes herself comfortable in my lap, purring softly. Mom eyes her and good-naturedly mutters, “Traitor.”

I smile and pet the soft fur. “Good. I’ve been given a raise.”

“What? That’s great, honey!” Mom smiles brightly, “Tell me more.”

I chuckle and scratch Gretel behind the ears. She purrs louder and pushes into my hand. “Well, I won a bet. Jonah said she could complete the 9 o’clock run in 60 minutes, and I know I’ve done it in less, so she said if I could do the run in 50 minutes, from departure to return, she’d give me a raise. I said no problem. No one else believed I could, but we shook on it. And I did. So she did.”

Mom glares at me, “That’s not very… kosher.”

I chuckle, “Mom, you been reading the thesaurus again? No, it’s not “kosher”. So what?. Al it is is efficiency and timing. I know the back ways. No biggie. Other people just get stuck in traffic.”

I pause for a moment, then add, “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m always careful.”

She frowns, so I change the subject, “So, you wanna go out for dinner sometime this week? There's a lovely little place opened up not far from here, I pass it on Thursdays, it’s always bustling.”

“Sure, hon,” A shadow of a frown taints her smile, but she pushes that away too when Gretel jumps down from my lap and into hers. “Oh, who’s Momma's girl? You are. Yes, you are, my little girl.”

“Ew!” I pull a face and get up, “No wonder she heaves fur balls on the floor – that soppy baby-talk’s enough to make anyone sick.”

“Oh, she loves it!” Mom cuddles the cat to her chest, “Don’t you, my special girl?”

“Gak!" I go to the kitchen and clean up the dishes, then head back to the living room where Mom is still petting the cat. "I gotta go, but I’ll let you know when we can do dinner.”

“Okay, honey.”

At the front door, I’m shrugging on my coat when Mom appears, still cuddling the cat.

“Have you spoken to your father lately, hon?”

I pause in pulling on my shoes, “Yeah, Mom, you know I call him every evening when he’s away. Well, my evening - his morning.”

“So, not today then?” She looks worried.

“No, I’ll call him when I get home. Why?”

“He rang me this morning, said he’d be staying in Australia a while longer.”

I stare at her, trying to understand why this is such bad news, “So… what?”

Mom distracts herself with the cat, “Oh, nothing, really, I just - “

“Mom,” I take the cat out of her arms, “What’s wrong?”

She frowns and presses her lips together, gripping my hands, “I’m worried about him, darling. Something was different in his voice this morning. I just thought maybe you’d heard from him, maybe you could find out what’s happening?”

“Sure. He sounded fine yesterday. I’ll talk with him tonight, and I’ll call as soon as I’m done, okay? He’s probably just having a dry spell, feeling over-worked and underpaid. You know what he says," I put on the best impression of my father's British accent, "'Don't worry when there's nothing to worry about, because then when there's something to worry about, you're already worrying, so what's the difference?'” I sling my bag over my shoulder, "Hey, maybe he's found another poor, abandoned waif? I mean, you found me in Australia, right? So, maybe - "

"No!" Mom puts her hands up in mock protest, "I'm not looking after a baby, not at my age."

"What? The way you treat that poor cat, I think you're going broody..."

"Oh, stop it!"

I pull her into a hug, feeling how thin she is beneath the fluff of the sweater. She laughs and I give her a peck on the cheek and turn away to the door. The cold wind takes my breath away, flecks of snow swirling in.

“Keep your head up,” I call over my shoulder.

“Keep your heart strong.”

I trot down the stairs and turn at the bottom to give her one last wave before starting the long walk back to my apartment, collar up against the biting wind.

Chapter Text

A few months later...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Mom’s birthday today. She would have been 54. We would have had breakfast at her favourite restaurant, and Dad would have spoiled her rotten all day. I would have made her a cake. Dad would have sung her a song while he played the guitar – he’d have been working on that song for weeks, putting down in rhyme how much he loved her, what she meant to him, what they’d done in the past year.

I stare at the matching gravestones. The inscription Keep your head up… on Mom’s flowed into Keep your heart strong… on Dads. Just as they’d wanted. I kneel down stiffly and laid the flower at the base of the headstone.

“Happy birthday,” I whisper, patting the headstone gently. The marble is warm in the afternoon sun. Just like Mom. Tears flow down my cheeks. I look over at Dad’s grave, “You better be singing her a mighty fine song. No excuses about not having enough time to practise now.” I imagine his look of indignation and sobs shake my shoulders.

After a few minutes, my legs start to go numb. Pushing myself up with the headstone, I dust off my jeans and step back, drying my face, swallowing back the immense loneliness and sadness.

“I miss you guys,” I blow each a kiss, there turn and walk slowly along the path out of the cemetery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonah looks at her shoes, uncomfortable with emotional situations, “Hey, you never took a real break. If you wanna take time off, no biggie, I can get someone to take the run.”

I smile through my tears, “No, it’s okay. Just need a minute. Caught me off guard is all.”

Jonah nods and sidles off, hands in pockets. I sit in the door of the delivery van, the photograph still on the concrete bay floor where it had fallen. Mom and Dad smile up at me. A photo I’d taken four months ago, just after Dad had come home. He had just given Mom a present from his time ‘down under', and she was looking at him as if he was the only person in the world.

Tears blur the image. I reach down slowly, hesitant to touch the photo as if disturbing it might disturb their memories. But this won’t do. I’m at work. People are waiting for me. Jonah is kind, but I know if I fall behind, someone will take my place. It’s not personal, just business. This is the big city, after all. Time to pull myself together. Time to move on. Time to let go.

I dry my cheeks and blow my nose, tuck the photo back into my bag and check the stacks of boxes – good to do.

In the sorting centre, the noise is just below unbearable levels.

“Jonah! I’m heading out!”

She catches my eye, gives a two-fingered salute and goes back to sorting. I grab the clipboard for the run and high-tail it back to the van. I’m already 10 minutes late. In a clockwork business like delivery, that’s too long.

Out in the city, I throw myself into the job, letting it consume my mind so I don’t think about those smiling faces…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's no big deal, not even a date, really, just lunch. Say you'll do it. Pleeeeease?" Jackie pouts and clasps her hands in prayer, jogging slightly to keep pace with my long stride.

I give an exasperated sigh, "No, Jackie, you know I don't go on dates." She's starting to get on my nerves with her insistent match-making. We turn out the sidestreet and are suddenly surrounded by the bustle of shoppers and commuters.

"He's so nice, though. And educated." She grabs my arm and stage whispers, "And rich!"

I stop abruptly and shake her off, "Stop it, Jackie! Do I foist guys on you? Stop trying to run my life! You're not my Mom!" The words are out before I realise what I've said. They echo in my head, overlapping and distorting, You're not my Mom, you're not - Mom - you're not my - you're not - Mom - Mom - my Mom - People brush past me where I stand frozen on the sidewalk. Jackie is speaking but I can't hear her. She tries to reach out to me but I recoil from her touch and turn away, pushing through the hustle, not caring where I'm going, just moving. The noise of the city crashes in, deafening, the cacophony of traffic, the rumble or the trains, the hum and buzz of wires and the voice, too many voices, all talking at once. People snatch at my clothes and fingers pull at my hair. I duck and run, trying to dodge and weave through the press of bodies. It's too much! Too much noise, too much light. Suddenly I'm alone, in a cool, dark alley. The rush passes by, a few feet away, like a multi-colored river. I huddle down, forehead on crossed arms, resting on my knees. The world slowly stops spinning. After a few minutes, I get up and push back into the throng in search of Jackie. She's sitting at an outdoor cafe table, scanning the crowd.

Her face lights up when she sees me, "Hey."

"Hey," I flop into the chair opposite, "Sorry 'bout that."

"Don't be," she leans toward me and carefully takes my hand, slowly so I have time to pull away, but I don't. She looks at me with concern in her eyes, "I didn't realize that was a trigger, I'm sorry sweetie. I was just trying to help. You should have said something earlier."

"It's okay," I bite down the snap that I'd told her to drop the whole match-making thing multiple times before. I squeeze her hand, then let go, folding my hands in my lap. "I didn't know that would happen either. Wrong time, wrong place, I think." I give a nervous chuckle and fiddle with the spinner ring on my right middle finger. "It's not that I don't appreciate you trying to set me up with a nice guy, I'm just... not ready for it. How can I try to get to know someone, when I don't even know myself? And how would that be fair on them? And I can't just sleep with someone and then not ever see them again. That's not how I roll. I don't do hook-ups. I have to fall in love first." I put my head on one side and eye Jackie, the queen of hook-ups and one-timers, until she looks away, pink tinging her cheeks.

"Okay, okay, no more talk of dates," she smiles too brightly. "Now, let's get coffee and get back before Jonah even notices we're gone."

"Ha! The day Jonah doesn't notice an employee sneaking out for coffee, will be the day she retires."

"Yeah," Jackie rolls her eyes, "Usual for you?"

"Yep."

She orders the coffees while I wait outside, then we walk back to the depot chatting about cats and Jackie's pet parrot, and Jonah and the workload, and nothing whatsoever to do with men, or family, or the future. Just the way I like it.

Chapter Text

It’s another Wednesday in the city. Bumper-to-bumper traffic, horns blaring, people getting pissed off, me trying to do my job. Much as I detest the rat-race of the city, the delivery job is good. I’m out and about, not stuck behind a desk. Yep, bright-sider, that’s me. I take a side-street to bypass the thicker traffic; it takes a minute longer but it’s also a continually moving minute, not a potentially-stuck-at-the-lights-for-an-hour kind of minute. It also means I can keep singing along to the song playing on the radio: "And I hope that you are having the time of your life… but think twice… that's my only advice." I navigate a tricky intersection, shuffling through the gears with practised ease, still singing, "Ever since I was little it looked like fun, and it's no coincidence I've come… and I can die when I'm done..."

My destination is a rundown warehouse. I look up at the building with apprehension. Most of my work goes to swish business, not dumps like this place. But, that’s the address on the packet. Whatever… I find the package and scan the label. The scanner beeps obnoxiously, declaring the barcode is invalid. I roll my eyes at it. Now I have to go find a person and get this figured out. Great. There’s no one around in the bland lobby. The package label declares itself to be headed for 'level 3, room 9'. Okay…

The lift creaks slightly when I get in, humming the chorus absent-mindedly. On level three, I wander around for a minute before I find a door with a number on it, then guess which way 9 should be from 5 and hope for the best. I get lucky and knock on the door of room 9. There’s a scuffle inside, then a weasel-faced little man opens the door a crack, “Can I help you?”

I give him my generic delivery-person smile, “Hello, this is addressed to this room,” I wave the parcel under his nose, “but my scanner won’t accept the barcode. Is there someone here who can claim it, and I can put it through manually?”

“Yes, yes, of course… I can do that.” It takes a few minutes to get it sorted, but finally, I’m done and get out of there. This place gives me the creeps! Just as the lift doors close, I see a movement in the corridor. Strange, there was no one there just now… The door dings open and as I step out, a wash of primal dread tingles down my spine. There is a sense of sudden movement behind me, I flinch and draw breath to scream but everything goes black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A small article in the paper proclaimed yet another vanished person in the city, this time an employee of a reputable courier company. A personal courier went missing on Wednesday; the van was found, the driver was not. After a few weeks of no leads and no family pushing for answers, the police case files vanish among the piles of paperwork. The world turned...

Chapter Text

In a military bunker, somewhere in the continental US, 2018…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

God damn those nosey new SHIELD agents, thought Major General Asherford. Why couldn’t they just let well enough alone? Years of dedicated service, and this is his reward? Having all his work blown up and confiscated by some upstarts in funny costumes. He pinched the bridge of his nose. What was so wrong with the compartmentalization, the under-the-table dealings that had allowed him to progress the technological might of the military beyond any other competitor. It had worked for years, and now it was all falling down around him. What was the world coming to?

A young, scared-looking lieutenant sprinted into the command room, skidding to a halt and throwing the quickest salute in military history. “Sir, they have breached the compound!”

“Very well,” Asherford squinted at the live footage from the fight in the hanger, “Shut down everything, wipe all the drives.” All the data was backed up to his personal computer system every evening. They could handle losing a day’s worth of data. It hadn’t been much anyway, since they’d been on high alert since that morning.

“Yessir!”

“And… “

The soldier turned from his work at the computer banks. “Sir?”

“I think it’s time we showed them the big guns.”

The lieutenant’s eyes widened in shock. “Asset 47, sir?”

“Yes.”

“But, I thought it was just a prototype…”

Asherford sighed, “Yes, it is. But what’s the point of having a prototype race car in the garage if you never get to take it for a spin on the track?” The lieutenant just stared at him, mouth open. “Look, what’s your name, kid?”

“Lieutenant Pony, sir!”

“Okay, Lieutenant Pony, answer me this: the boat’s going down. Do you really want to go down with it?”

Pony looked confused.

“That’s the Avengers knocking at the front door, kid. No one beats them. I’m going to distract them with the Asset, you need to engage the terminal shut-down protocol for this place, and then get the hell out of here.”

“Yessir!” Pony turned back to the computer, typing madly. “Protocol in motion, sir!”

“Good. Take this to the rendezvous point,” Asherford handed the panicking Pony a silver briefcase, “Whatever you do, don’t get caught and don’t drop it.” Pony whimpered. The General gave the trembling Lieutenant a fatherly clap on the shoulder. “You’re young, still got a life ahead of you – don’t waste it. Now, scram!”

“Yessir!” Pony gave another lightning salute and bolted for the door. Asherford smiled to himself. At least the kid was out, one less life on his conscience. God, he must be getting old, thinking like that.

He opened the laptop that housed the control software for Asset 47. The access page glowed to life, and Asherford input his password, then craned his neck down to get both retinas scanned. He cleared his throat.

“General Asherford, James Dillon.”

Three-step verification accepted.

Welcome, General.

He flexed his fingers and blew out a breath, then typed, Input command: activate Asset 47. Protocol: Combat preparation.

He paused for a second, frowning, then hit the enter key.

Command accepted.

Connecting to network adapter…

Connected.

Booting internal devices...

Flushing holding tank...

There is a gurgling of water flowing through the pipes above Asherford’s head. He watched on the monitor as the revitalization tank's yellow liquid swirled away, revealing Asset 47. Such a long way she’d come. Brought in by some low-life contractor because she was alone in the world, her parents recently dead, not many friends. No one to miss her...

When he first saw her, he had been doing the rounds of the facility - checking in after a month's absence, making sure everything was running smoothly. He walked down the row of cells, footfalls muted by the medical-grade vinyl, glancing left to right. Men and women cowering in corners, all with shaven heads and dressed in the facility's orange smock; some crying, some unconscious, some watching him furtively from behind their hands; a few cells were empty. Then he saw her, in cell 47: sitting cross-legged, watching him. Milky-pale skin, yellow eyes. She sat absolutely still, not a twitch, not even a breath. He stared in amazement. Her eyes were unfocused but her head followed his movement as he slowly passed her. He could feel her eyes on him as he continued down the row. At the end he turned and looked back; she was kneeling, cheek pressed to the cold glass, still watching him. He breathed a sigh of relief as the heavy door swung behind him. Just before it shut, he thought he heard her scream from behind the sound-proof glass. 

Over the next few months, the physical stresses of days without water or sleep, weeks without food or light, and grueling physical labor thinned out the subject pool exponentially. The numbers halved. The surviving subjects avoided eye contact, huddled in the corners of their cells; 47 would sit in the center, head on one side, a smile on her cracked lips, unfocused eyes following every movement. In addition to the drug side-effect 'albination', as the doctors called it, Number 47 developed nervous twitches and became prone to nonsensical outbursts of screams or laughter, spasms that racked her whole body. She would claw at her own skin as if trying to rip it from her bones, and the next minute was cackling with laughter.

Having survived the months of physical trials, Number 47 graduated to the mental program and started a routine of mind-altering medications. By now there were only 23 left in the group. After the first week, 15 more had died due to complications and allergic reactions, but Number 47's mental capabilities flourished. She could plot the best strategic manoeuvrers, do advanced mathematics, and solve puzzles and cryptic questions that left even the top geeks stumped for at least a few hours. She became a sponge for knowledge. Consumed by the learning tasks set by the program director, she acted almost normal. Once Asherford had passed her a cup that was out of her reach, and she had given him a small smile and said 'thank you'. Only when the external stimulus was gone did she revert to fits and seizures; she was kept in solitary most of the time, an underground extension where her screams and manic gibberings could go unheard. Despite her quirks, she was a 'star student', as the Committee called her. Her DNA, neural map, and genetic material were 'the' topics among the doctors. "We need more like that 47," they said in every meeting Asherford attended.

Then a new doctor was assigned to the facility. He brought new technology, a "recent breakthrough". A full-body semi-autonomous control system. The e-Nerv. Number 19, a sturdy young man, was volunteered to trial the e-Nerv; the surgery to implant nanotechnology into the brain and armor plates under the skin. The surgery was successful, but the subject slipped into a coma before revival. The next, Number 93, did wake up, but went berserk and killed a lab tech before dying from loss of blood. Number 13 suffered cardiac arrest during surgery. The Committee was getting desperate. Since the three sturdiest candidates had failed, Number 47 was volunteered. She survived the surgery. Asherford was there when she opened her feral yellow eyes - no longer unfocused but completely emotionless. He didn't realize how expressive her eyes had been until he looked into twin glassy orbs, colder than a frozen lake. That was enough to shake him to his very core. The doctor was overjoyed with the result, going on about the prospects of super-soldiers, but Asherford couldn’t stop feeling that he’d just helped create a monster.

Only 6 other subjects graduated from the program; now tried and tested as 'super-human', they moved on to other things within the military black-list programs. Number 47's designation was upgraded to Asset 47. She trialed various technological upgrades, ran missions in simulation, and then in the real world, and assisted in training and strategy development. As the technology improved, so she was upgraded. The bulky server tower was replaced by a sleek laptop, and she was wired into the military web. Further surgeries replaced organs with batteries and components. The Committee referred to her as 'the new kind of mankind'. Asherford thought this a bit odd, as 47 was in fact a woman, but he never said anything about it; he put it down to 47's strong build, and him being old-fashioned.

Everytime Asherford saw her over the following years, she looked less and less like herself. While the other Committee members sang her praises, he felt slightly sick as he watched her effortlessly tear through human shields and sacrifice her own comrades to gain the advantage. The words of his superior officer echoed in his mind, "There are two types of people in the world, James: those who feel and those who don't. You might think it's easier to be a soldier without feeling, but you're wrong. Even a coward can be taught to shoot a gun, defend a base, kill a man with his bare hands. It's feeling that keeps us in touch with right and wrong. The ones who kill without a second thought, without a wince or a grimace? You gotta watch 'em."

Scanning biological system...

The update startled Asherford from his reverie. He shook his head to clear the clawing memories.

Vitals stable.

All internal devices present and functional.

Battery: performance mode, 99 %, discharging.

Asset deployed.

The door of the tank opened and 47 stepped out. The video feed glitched and Asherford tapped the monitor. The feed stabilized and he watched as she pulled on trousers and a vest. There was a feral grace to her movements, a subdued power, but also a robotic efficiency. She finished preparing and stood frozen, face blank as ever.

Input command: activate Protocol: Defend Home.

There was a second's pause, then the reply, Defend Home active.

Text continued to flow up the screen, but it was just log-file data. Nothing he needed to watch. Asherford closed the laptop lid and stood up. 47 would keep the Avengers busy for a while. He put the framed photo of his wife into a knapsack, along with some journals, scientific papers, and his packed lunch. Right, time to go. He walked to the secret escape door, leaned in just the right place, and crouched down to shuffle through the narrow corridor beyond.

Chapter Text

And here… we... go...

The unpleasant sensation of being pricked all over by thousands of needles rouses me from the peaceful reverie of the drift. I roll over in the air, floating halfway between floor and ceiling, and watch the fluid drain from Asset's holding tank. The golden-yellow goop glops away, revealing the body... My body? No, not anymore. Once, maybe, but not after... what? I don't remember...

She steps out of the tank, pale skin glistening, naked as the day she was born. Her yellow eyes are vacant, her face devoid of expression. The armour plating gives her a rugged look, contrasting weirdly with her feminine features, and there are wires visible as dark lines beneath her skin. Her thick white hair was slicked back by the draining fluid, and now it dries like gel. The fluid coats her skin, too, giving her a plastic, unreal look. She dresses in combat pants and vest, stowing various throwing knives about her person. That was their latest experiment, loading her brain with projectile telemetry and betting on how small a target, at how great a distance, she could hit; like it was all a game to them. I know someone’s watching right now - there are cameras everywhere in this place. Pervs.

Asset stands frozen, awaiting the next command from the one-way mirror-windowed room that I’ve never been in. Can’t get into it, actually. I’ve tried. I have a lot of free time, floating around while she’s asleep. There’s a spark in her eyes now. They must have sent her a data-packet. Her head turns, her body following the movement in that robotic way. We move to the hangar door, her walking silently on bare feet, me floating behind her. There are voices on the other side. Asset opens the door, slips through and vanishes behind a stack of cartons. She makes her way around the perimeter of the hangar, keeping out of sight and silent. I float up and away, not wanting to follow her too closely. She climbs silently up a gantry and creeps along the catwalk above the planes. From up here, we can see everyone. She crouches in the shadows, head moving slowly, scanning the room, pick and prioritising targets. Below us are a couple of guards, and b the main door are three guys in strange outfits. Well, who I am to talk, really – I’m a ghost. There’s a guy in blue and red, with a white star on his chest. He seems to be in charge, giving orders to scurrying lackies. Another man steps out of a suit of red and gold armour. He goes to one of the planes and pokes around in the cockpit. There’s another guy, dressed in green leather, leaning casually against a storage crate. He looks bored. Their auras are full of life and colour; not completely healthy, but then who is in this world. But still, they shine with good intent and interest and life. And they’re about to be snuffed out. I drift up to the bored chap in green. He is different from the others, slower-moving, more richly coloured. Sadness pulls at me as I stare at him, seeing his handsome face accentuated by his auric glow. There is an ancient power in him, a deep-rooted strength, an age to his soul that I’ve never seen before. It’s beautiful. His eyes flick up and for a breathless moment, like he’s looking right at me. I draw back in surprise. That’s never happened before. He sweeps a hand in front of him, palm forward like he’s feeling the air, then calls out to the guy in the plane. I can’t make out the words, scooting up and away from him in a twinge of fear. I settle near the ceiling, resigning myself to watch what happens next. 

Asset stares down at the scene before her, head on one side, calculating. The three targets are crowded around the desk in the corner of the hangar, one going through the filing cabinets and computers, the other two absorbed in a heated conversation. Two soldiers stand to attention, backs to the mismatched trio. Asset takes two knives in one hand, sights her targets and loses the blades at the two guards. Twin thuds of metal in flesh, a shocked shout and a gurgle, the clatter of guns falling to the concrete floor, the two men collapse. Instantly the others are on the alert. The Red-Robot engulfs its master and he fires an energy beam at Asset, who drops off the catwalk in a shower of sparks. From the top of a plane, she throws another knife at the Shield, but he deflects it. Asset runs up the wing, gaining speed over the cockpit and dives at Red-Robot, who raises his hands automatically. She grabs his wrists, flips her body over him in an amazing feat of flexibility and strength, and throws the robot over her head and slams him into the floor, cracking the concrete. She pours electricity through him, trying to short-circuit the suit. Sparks fly, gears whine. Shield comes at her from behind, but she uses her grip on Red-Robot to through herself over him. He comes at her again, punching and kicking; she matches him evenly for a few seconds, then lays him out with a kick almost too fast to see. He sprawls across the concrete. Asset slips a knife into her hand and steps forward for the kill, but the third man steps out from behind a crate, hands lose by his sides, defenceless. But he’s different. His aura is gone, just a simmering outline frames him. I don’t understand it. Asset charges at him, fingers sparking, but just as she swipes at him, the man vanishes in a green shimmer. There is a blur behind Asset and he reappears, again defenceless. Asset wheels around and strikes at him again, but he dissolves, only to be replaced with at least 10 separate images, all impossibly life-like, all moving independently. I can tell they’re not real, but Asset can’t; her head turns slowly as she scans them, trying to tell the target from the decoys. Only the aura show’s which is the real thing, and right now the real thing drops from the catwalk, directly onto Asset’s shoulders. She looks up at the last possible second and tries to dive out of the way; he collides with her back, and they both crash to the floor.

Before she can react he grabs her from behind, trapping her arms behind her back and wrapping his legs around hers, keeping her on the floor. I watch in amazement as they struggle. Asset wriggles and squirms, smashes her head back into the guy’s face, breaking his nose; he curls around her like a python, trapping her in a lethal embrace. She tries to break his grip with leverage and pure, wild strength, but she can barely move now. No one has ever beaten Asset in a fight. Ever. Who is this guy? He shouts to Red-robot, who stagger upright, still smoking, and grabs Asset’s head. There is an electrical hum, a flash of white light and my head explodes with the most unbearable, searing pain I have ever know. I twist and writhe in the air above her as we scream in unison.

As quickly as it started, it’s over. My senses return, bleary and vague. I pull my essence back together as best I can, hanging in the air like a limp cloth, shaking. Below me, Asset’s eyes are wide, body limp. Her opponent's blood stains her hair in macabrely beautiful crimson streaks. I float down and settle on the floor across from her. The man lets go of her cautiously, turning away to spit out blood, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Red-robot says something and the man glowers at him and snaps something in reply. He crouches beside Asset, binding her wrists and ankles with heavy-duty looking cuffs which he pulled from thin air – what is with the magic tricks?

He’s talking to Red-robot now, who is again free of the robot suit. I try to focus on the voices, but it’s difficult, my senses are blurry from the shock. “– does not make sense, but –“ The sound fades and garbles. “– what if I am right?”

The other guy looks unconvinced, “Whatever does it for ya, Reindeer Games; it’s your–“ “–put this one on the jet. Whether or not –”

Ah, I’ve lost it. Too shifty and jittery. I drift up, watching as Asset is loaded onto a stretcher and carted away. I watch Red-robot helping some lackeys carry one of the dead soldiers on a stretcher, then everyone is gone. The man in green walks slowly to the centre of the hangar and lowers himself somewhat stiffly to the concrete. A fresh trickle of blood runs down his chin and he wipes it away absently; heaves a sigh, resettles into a cross-legged position and straightens his spine. He takes a deep breath and drops his head forward slightly, a lock of black hair falling over his face, eyes closed. His aura billows and swirls; a waft of essence reaches outward, drifting, searching, like a person in a dark room might feel their way. I move closer, fascinated. A burning curiosity moves my finger toward to questing tendril. It winds itself gently around my finger, pooling in my palm, warm and soft. The pale green misty colour burnishes into a darker green tinged with ochre. There is such peace here, in this moment. All the voices fade away, the screams, the cries, the silence that's so much worse than all the noise...

“I cannot see you, but I know you’re there.” His voice is clear, pleasantly deep and with a hint of a class accent. I stare at him, still holding the gently pulsing tendril of light – his light. He knows…? How is this happening? And how do I communicate with him?

“I can hear you. I felt your presence earlier, too, but I wasn’t sure what you were…” He tilts his head and the tendril of light twists in my fingers. “What are you?”

I… I’m a ghost.

His eyebrows rise, “A ghost?”

Yes…

“Forgive my directness, but why are you still here?”

I frown, what does he mean, Still here? Where else? Then I get it, Oh, right. Can't, still tied to her.

“Tied to whom?”

Her...

He looks confused. “That is most peculiar. How are you alive? What keeps you here?”

Don't know... I’m losing concentration, exhausted. The pain of her has lessened now she’s unconscious, but the horrible fried feeling of electrocution still fizzles through me.

“What’s your name?”

Don’t... remember…

“Will you stay with her?”

Yes…

My fingers are coming apart, the solidarity of my form relaxing as my concentration wanes. He speaks again, but I can’t hear him. The tendril slips from my insubstantial grasp and melts back into the body of his aura. The world blurs and swirls as I succumb to the drift.

Chapter Text

Lucidity returns slowly. A white ceiling, cleaner air, bustling people around a large area. Rolling over in the air, I look down at Asset, laid out on a table below me. Someone has draped a sheet over her body, preserving her dignity. I appreciate the gesture, but they needn’t have worried – she has no dignity left. A stocky man with glasses and a lab coat is running some kind of scanner up and down her body, populating a hologram in the centre of the room. The door opens and two more men enter. I recognize one, from the robot suit. The other is tall, purple and has a glowing yellow thing in his forehead. I stare in awe at his aura – it’s wild and billowy, brightly coloured, almost electric-looking, like a storm cloud. Weird, and the second most beautiful aura I've ever seen. They walk over to the hologram of Asset’s body. The lab-coat joins them. I drift closer, tuning my perception to hear their conversation. The guy from the robot-suit speaks first.

“I’ve never seen anything like this. What do you make of it, Bruce?”

Bruce takes off his glasses and polishes them, “It’s amazing. Cutting edge. I’ve never even heard of anything like this, anywhere. I might even go so far as to say some of this tech is alien. The detail that has gone into the structure of the micro-neurons in her muscles, the bytes-per-second transmission is – “

“Bruce…”

“Right, sorry. She's mostly human. I say mostly because there are unrecognised elements in the DNA scan, I’m going to work on that later. So far no trace of any ID in any system, she has no fingerprints, retinal scan comes up negative. FRIDAY’s still running facial, but don't hold your breath on that - no offence, Tony - coz this one's practically been rebuilt. Any ID from before will mostly be useless. She's also undergone some extreme and invasive surgeries. Or should I say extremely invasive? Either one.”

Tony tucks one hand under the opposite elbow and strokes his beard, “Such as…?”

Bruce grimaces and consults a list, “Her left kidney and some of the digestive tract – mostly small intestine – are gone. And of course, there’s the subdermal armour. It’s made from 3-D graphene, which speaks to how much money was available. Also, there are also various gadgets placed wherever they seemed to fit: a module under her right lung, in her neck, an array of Li-Ion batteries tucked into her pelvic girdle. There’s some kind of electrical system strung throughout her entire body, culminating in a chip in her brain. It’s like a nervous system, but like nothing I’ve ever seen…”

Their words bring darkness up from places I have kept locked away, a roiling black monster that lurks under the bed of my sanity. The cold white room, floating above my helpless body, watching men talk about how interesting it is - it's bringing back the pain, the fear, the helplessness. I move away, through the wall and find myself outside, hovering about 2 floors above the ground. I look around, focussing all my intent on the surroundings so I don't think about the darkness. It’s a pretty neck of the woods, green and flourishing between the buildings, hangars, sheds, shipping containers; there are a few people around. There is a familiar energy signature coming from under a tree in the park-like area off to the south of this main building. I fly over the treetops, focussed on the slow-turning aura. The man from the hangar fight is sitting with his back to a tree, a book open on his knees. He’s not in green leather today, just casual jeans and a button-down shirt, dark hair loose around his face. His feet are bare, shoes lying haphazardly on the grass. As I settle onto the ground, he turns a page. His aura is relaxed, entwined with the tree and soaking the ground around him. I’ve never seen anyone so at peace with their surroundings.

I press my hands into the ground, feeling the deep harmony of the planet humming gently through me. It’s really beautiful out here. With Asset unconscious, I’m not plagued by the constant stinging, electric, energy-sapping ache that accompanies the computer’s activation and persists until it’s shut down. I can relax, drift with the wind. I’m about to turn my focus inward to do just that when I notice the man’s attention has shifted from his book. He’s still reading, but his aura has become more alert. Wait a minute… he sensed me before, in the hangar. Can he feel my presence here? I scoot closer, reach out and brush my finger against his aura. His frown deepens and he sits back against the tree and closes his eyes. Like in the hangar, a tendril of essence reaches out, questing, feeling around in the empty air. I take it in my hand and he smiles slightly.

“Hello there, little ghost.”

Hi, I reply, then concentrate to form words and coherent sentences. Sorry, it's been... very long time since... I talked with someone...

“Don’t worry about it. What brings you here?”

They’re examining... her. I can't bring myself to say her name, to associate anything of myself with her. I push down the surge of revulsion and change the subject. Recognised your energy from before. You’re different from the others...?

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate.

What do they want with her? I can’t help but wonder.

He shrugs, “I do not know.” He pauses, as if considering his next question, “May I ask, how long have you been cast out?”

Don’t know. Years? Time works differently here.

“So I’ve discovered.” He taps the cover of the book he was reading, “Why could you not return to…?”

Her? Don’t know, exactly. I just... can’t. I’ve tried many times. When - I gather my thoughts for a moment and then reel through the prepared paragraph of information: When she’s awake, it’s like running full tilt into a brick wall, and when she’s in stasis, it’s just… horrible, disgusting, revolting, like I-really-cannot-be-here-this-is-gross type feeling. And this world I’m in is run by intention, so if I can’t stand to be somewhere, I’m just not there. Make sense?

“Yes.” The man nods slowly. “I must confess I’ve not met anything like you before. Are there others like you?”

Don't think so...

“What did they do to you?”

I baulk, pulling back from the connection, not wanting to go there, anything but the darkness -

“I understand.” A flush of empathy washes through his aura in a soft wave, rippling across our connection and surprising me with it’s sincerity. This stranger really does understand; who is he? And why have I spoken so freely? Why do I feel like I can trust him? Why can he hear me, when no one else ever could? So many questions…

What’s your name?

“I am Loki.” Sadness chases pride across his face, “You may have heard of me?”

I try to remember, but nothing comes, Nope.

He brightens, “Really?”

Yeah … but time works differently for me.

Loki chews on his lip thoughtfully. I watch him for a moment. Why was he worried that I might know of him?

What place is this?

“We are at the Avengers Compound, the home of ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’.” He sounds rather condescending.

Y ou one of them?

“Not exactly...”

I stifle a giggle at his obvious embarrassment at being associated with the title. He continues, “I have a, er… recent history with humans for which I am not the most popular. But I have nowhere else to be, so here I am.”

I smile, You talk like you're not human.

He shrugs, “I am not.”

Aha: the slow-turning aura, the sense of immense age and grandeur, the ability to communicate with me. Perhaps even why I trust him. I can see when people lie, their aura’s shake and twitch, and everything he’s said is true. Of course, there are different types of truth, but in the sense that he is saying what he believes to be the case, he’s been telling the truth. Of course, being other-worldly, I can’t be sure until I have a comparison, but… That’s for later. Right now, it’s enough that we can communicate. Hey, wait a minute, did I just giggle? I did... Smiled, too. When was the last time I giggled? ...can't remember... Anyway...

If you can’t see me, how do you know I’m here?

“Same way people feel it when being watched. And I do have skills in telepathy and magic, among other things, so…

In the hanger? Magic?

“Yes.”

Cool… So... You hear in your mind, but you’re talking out loud…?

“Hmm. Habit, I suppose.” He laughs, and it warms my ethereal heart as nothing has in a long time. I smile a second time and warmth blossoms in my chest.

An electronic beeping noise makes us both jumps. He picks up a device on the grass next to him and frowns. “Stark is requesting my presence in lab 7.”

Loki gets up, dusting himself off and pulling on his shoes. He pauses, then turns to where I am still floating. “Will you accompany me to see what Stark is up to with your body?”

My body... I flinch, fighting back the threat of darkness. Loki is looking at the space I currently occupy. As I stare, the litany bouncing around and around, voices overlapping, sounds congealing into white noise, he stretches out a hand and holds it a few inches from my shoulder. I am frozen, overwhelmed with keeping the darkness from rising and the evidence that Loki can actually tell where I am. His hand draws closer to my ethereal shoulder. I brace as his aura touches against mine, expecting pain, but it's soft and warm. Just like before, when we talked. The shock of it, the soft touch on my shoulder, consumes my mind.

“I feel you...” he breathes, green eyes opening and looking straight through me.

I put my hand over his, the pleasant warmth seeping into me and driving away the some vestiges of darkness. 

“Can you hear me?”

Of course. Can you hear me?

Loki chuckles, “Ah, a little sass, I like it. So, will you accompany me to see what Stark is up to with your body?”

No! Not mine! Don’t care anymore! Hate her! That's not me. Not anymore. I don’t care what he does to her, she has nothing to do with me anymore. Not since… Darkness. No. Need to keep afloat. Don't look down. Look up - hate - no, keep up - she's not me - keep you're head up - she's a monster - keep your heart strong - stop her heart - keep strong - keep - no - The voices crowd me, the darkness closes around me, lacing my form with black streaks. Anger, shame, and humiliation flow through me, the grain of my form agitates like rice on a drum. My emotion has spills through our connection, staining his beautiful aura with my hatred, my madness. The voices change as I realize what I've done, My pain - no - this is wrong - not for you - pure - head up - this is not for you! - shouldn’t feel that - keep up - heart strong! I pull away sharply, trying to pull my influence away from him as I go. Our connection disentangles like half-dried glue coming apart. With a snap, I’m alone again in the raging storm. Keep your head up - tainted - monster! - keep heart strong - never trust - keep up - stupid! -  What was I thinking, letting him talk to me? Trusting him?! How am I so stupid?! It was all locked away, blocked, forgotten, now it’s all coming back… Drowning... A warmth seeps into me, somehow the darkness is receding, the voices fading. Green tendrils flow from Loki's fingers, surrounding me in trails of light and warmth. My essence is being corralled back into shape, I pull myself together. 

Thank you.

"Don't mention it. Does that happen to you often?"

Not if I can help it... I test the idea, waiting for the heaviness to settle in my chest, but it doesn't. I feel light and lucid, present. Free. There have always been things that trigger the darkness: words, actions. I can't think about... my body... without getting lost. But now I can. What did you do to me?

"As I said, I have magic."

Right. I’m sorry... You shouldn’t have felt that...

He looks confused, “What?”

The darkness. It has nothing to do with you. I had all that locked away but seeing her on the table brought it back, and then you asked…

“Oh, believe me, I know the power of memories.” There is a depth to his words, pain hidden by his mischievous grin. Tears behind the smiling mask.

I know you guys are not the doctors who did this to me; I do know that cognitively, but that doesn’t change what's been done, or how I feel.

We sit in silence for a moment, and I revel in the newfound peace his magic has brought. I wonder how long it will last... Eventually, Loki asks softly, “Do you want to re-inhabit her?”

I give a humourless laugh, Is that even possible?

He purses his lips in thought, “There might be a way. You said you have tried, but – and I don’t mean to brag – but that was before you were here. Let me explain the situation to Stark, see if he can help, or if he knows of anyone who can.”

I stay silent, pondering the offer. Do I really want to get back in, after everything that’s happened, everything she’s done? After so many years as a ghost, could I even live in a body again? I don’t know...

“Will you allow me to plead your case?”

What have I got to lose that I haven’t lost already? Okay.

“Very well, then.” He gets up and walks briskly toward the main building. I float up, following at a distance, watching his lanky form disappear into the foyer; rise level with the second floor, waiting for him to make the journey to lab 7. I switch my perception and easily pick out his energy signature amongst the humans. It’s like watching a shark move through a school of fish; as Loki passes other people, his energy reaches out to them and touches theirs very lightly, before moving on. Like feeling the way in a dark room, trailing fingers across furniture and walls. It’s strangely reassuring. He enters lab 7 just as I float through the window. Asset is still laying on the table, the hologram of her body and internal systems turns slowly in the air in the centre of the room. The guy known as Bruce, still in the lab-coat and glasses, is busy at a desk, and Tony, presumably Stark, is looking over his shoulder. They’re talking amongst themselves animatedly. Asset’s control laptop is open on the desk in front of them. The all-too-familiar revitalisation tank is standing against one wall, full of fluid. Bottles of replacement fluid are stacked neatly against the wall, along with crates and boxes. I watch as Loki walks up behind them silently and leans close over the Stark's shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You summoned me?”

Bruce yelps and the Stark jerks away, cursing, “Damn it, twinkle-toes! Next time you do that, I swear I will punch you in your perfect teeth.”

Loki gives the man a cocky grin. Stark walks across to the table and gestures to the hologram.

“Here she is.” He shakes his head sadly, “You really can pick ‘em. This one’s been through the wringer. Even Bruce doesn't know what we’re dealing with here.”

Bruce looks up from the computer, “I didn’t say that Tony, I said I’d never seen anything like it – ”

Tony waves a hand airily, “Same diff.” He turns back to Loki, “Look, you say there is more to this, whatever this is – “ he waves his hand to encompass Asset and the hologram – “than meets the eye. Care to fill us mere mortals in on the fine print?”

Loki moves closer to Asset, examining her sleeping face. He traces along the wires under Asset’s skin, from the central branch that appears at the base of her throat, along her shoulder and down her arm. His touch lingers on her hand, and he carefully turns it over, staring at it like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. A five-strand ribbon runs over her wrist, splits across her palm, culminating in a loop that lays around the end of each digit. Tony is watching him in disbelief. He exchanges a look with Bruce, who is also watching Loki with his mouth slightly open. I drift closer to them, curious at their reaction. The weight of their combined scrutiny makes Loki look up guiltily.

“What?”

Tony shrugs, still eyeing him shrewdly, “Oh, nothing. I’ve just never seen you so interested in… well, anything.”

Loki flinches, his aura retracting in shame, but he hides his discomfort with snark, “There’s very little around here that interests me.”

Tony rolls his eyes and changes the subject, “So, what’s with the android?”

It’s my turn to flinch. Android? Well, I suppose that’s what Asset is, to him. Loki steps over to the hologram and spins it around, stripping away layers until only the electronic implants remain; the e-Nerv, batteries, gyroscope, processors, etc. I’ve never seen it portrayed like that. It looks very organic, beautiful in a strangely futuristic way.

“I’ve seen this technology used before, but never in a human.” Loki isolates the image of the control chip and enlarges it. It resembles a pea pod, about 2 inches long and ½ an inch thick at it widest point, ridged with nodules. “When I was… before New York…” He glances at Tony, and I sense an abyss of regret below the his calm facade. “It is designed to control genetically engineered breeds of soldiers by giving the commander full control of an army, networking the soldiers into one multi-bodied unit, similar to how bees swarm and respond to a single queen. In the tongue of those who designed it, it is known as the spirit-killer. I have no idea how such a device ended up on Earth, let alone how this young woman is able to survive with it in her system.”

“Survive?” Tony sounds incredulous. “She nearly handed us our asses.”

Loki shakes his head thoughtfully, “That was the spirit-killer’s work, not hers.”

“Come again?”

Loki gestures to Asset, “This is what happens to the body of one implanted with the device. They become a slave, a soldier, whatever is programmed. But there is another, a ‘ghost’, as she calls herself. I sensed her in the hangar before this one attacked us, and I spoke to her afterwards. She is… something else.”

Bruce polishes his glasses industriously, “I don’t get it, what do you mean a ‘ghost’?”

Loki sighs, “Are you familiar with the idea of a soul?”

Bruce shrugs, “Yeah, sure, I guess…”

“Well, humans have souls. The creatures this technology was designed for do not. Possibly, when it was implanted into a human, it’s activation caused some kind of conflict. This woman’s soul was evicted from her body. Somehow she survived, living as a shadow, trapped between existence and death.”

“Oh my god…” Bruce looks at Tony, then back at Loki, “Is she still, I don’t know, alive? Dear God, what kind of life must that be…”

Loki grins, “Yes, she’s alive; she’s standing next to you.”

Bruce looks around wildly. Tony snorts and rolls his eyes, “You see, this is why I don’t trust you, Antlers. You get all sincere, and I think you might actually be genuine, and then you pull this nonsense.”

“I am being sincere, Stark.” Loki’s voice is cold, “It’s not my fault you lack the sensitivity to notice the changes in your own environment. But then, you never were very perceptive.” He turns away with a sneer.

Tony narrows his eyes at Loki’s back, a muscle twitching in his jaw, “FRIDAY, give me a readout of environmental changes within this room over the last 30 minutes.”

“Right away, boss.”

One of the computer screen lights up, showing various graphs. “There has been a decline in ambient temperature since Mr Odinson’s arrival, but he is not the cause. It is centred around this area…” The screen shows a view from a security camera in the corner, a green outline highlighting the exact place I’m floating. I stare at the screen in amazement. What the hell kind of censors does this lab have that it can pick up temperature changes so precisely? I drift to the left, stopping a few feet away. After a second, the outline shifts, following my movement. Oh, wow… I rise straight up to the ceiling. A few seconds later, the outline rises out of the camera view. Oh, this is so cool! I waft down, slow enough that the outline can track me, and approach Tony. I stop an arms-length away, wait for the outline to settle around where I stand, and then reach out my hand toward him. The outline extends toward him on the monitor. Tony sucks in a breath and looks across to where I am. I touch his shoulder. He shivers and steps back, looking from the empty space next to him, to the monitor and back. I retract my hand, and the outline follows. Not wanting to push him too much, I back away to the window, giving him space.

Loki's tone is dark, “Do you believe me now, Stark?”

“I… got some work to do, be up in R&D.” Tony claps Bruce on the shoulder and turns to Loki. “I’m not saying I believe you, not entirely, but I can’t explain what just happened...” He glances over to where I float.

“And you just cannot stand an enigma.” Loki smiles knowingly. Tony gives him an exasperated look. Bruce watches the other man leave and then glances at Loki, but the latter has turned back to examining Asset’s hologram. I drift over to him, finding comfort and warmth in the slow swirl of his energy. I drift above him and watch as he peruses the hologram. For some reason I can’t explain, it doesn’t disgust me the way it usually does when I’m watching someone work on Asset. There is no hatred, no revulsion, no fear. For the first time in a long time, I’m at peace. The drift holds no darkness for me this time, only stillness.

Chapter Text

A week later

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you nervous?"

Loki's murmured question takes me by surprise. I consider his question: am I nervous about meeting people? Properly? Interacting with them?

Hell yes.

Loki chuckles softly, "I thought as much."

How could you tell?

He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug, "You get colder when your upset. It's like standing next to a winter breeze."

Oh. I had no idea I was that influential in the real world. What else might I be able to do, with time and a little practice... The lab door opens and the rest of the Avengers enters. I immediately feel small, claustrophobic, and scared. So many people, such powerful people. I've never been in a room with all of them at once; their energy fills the space, pushing in on me, driving me into the corner. I'm terrified, and I don't even know why; I try to calm myself with the warmth of Loki's presence but even that is gone as he closes down, shutting out the pressure of the group in a way I only wish I could.

Loki? I call, but he can't hear me anymore. He's shut me out. LOKI?! I scream at him, trying to break through the wall, but he remains impassive. The shield against the group is too strong. I take in his poise, the careful arrangement of his personality, everything normal people can't see. The guarded nature of his mind, it's like mirrored glass. Trying not to panic, I turn away, rising upward in an effort to escape the pressure of all their minds. Some are louder than others, but I shut them out as best I can, like trying not to listen the all the conversations in a crowded room. Wanda and Clint are talking amongst themselves, Vision is examining the tech, Natasha has wandered over to Bruce. Their voices overlap and mingle with their internal monologues, filling the space with sound and intention.

Tony claps his hands and the noise recedes to bearable levels. "Okay people, this is a little different, but what's life without oddity. Today we're going to talk with a ghost."

Dead silence for a second, then Steve Rogers voices the unspoken surprise of the group, "Are you actually serious?"

Vision steps forward, "Don't be too hasty in condemning the words of Mr. Stark. 'Ghost' is perhaps too loose a term - 'spirit' may be more accurate."

"Oh yeah, that's so much better," chips in Natasha dismissively.

"Now wait a minute - "

"The last thing I need is more ghosts - "

"This is ridiculous - "

Tony raises his hands in a disarming gesture and the cacophony dies down again, "Whether or not you believe in the afterlife, or a soul, doesn't matter. I didn't believe it at first, either. Hell, who wants to think about that? But you're all here today to witness, to... experience for yourselves, something not many people have the privilege of experiencing: life beyond life."

Low mutterings and disbelieving thoughts pervade the room's atmosphere as Tony walks to the table in the center of the room and activates a slim tablet on a stand. A blank glowing screen. Every eye trains on it, some curious, some dismissive. Some are curious, some think it's nonsense. This is my first chance to communicate directly with the rest of the world - no pressure.

I slip towards the tablet, pulled by the gravity of the group. It's made especially for me, tuned to pick up my energetic signature. We tried it before, I know it works, but right now it feels more like a black hole, sucking me in. The pressure of their intention and expectation pushes me faster, and now I can't stop! At the last second, I dive into the screen. The ruthless raking of electricity makes my form burn, but I grit my metaphorical teeth and push through it. Lights explode around me, fizzing tingles of electricity buzz. If it's a show they want, let's give them one - shame I won't be there to see the end. Gathering all my strength, I pull the electricity into me, ignoring the unpleasant fuzzy tingle and stinging, stapping pain. I lunge upward, pulling the power up, shaping it, holding it in, molding it to my shape above the now-smoking tablet. Shock and amazement fight for dominance upon the upturned faces, but I'm in too much pain to care. As the blackness of unconsciousness creeps up behind me, I turn to Loki. He's staring, mouth open in shock, amazement shining in wide eyes. I reach out one flickering hand toward him...

The tablet melts. The electricity is gone, and I implode. Black teeth close over my vision -

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clint broke the silence first, "What... the...?"

Tony tsk-tsked, and gingerly poked the melted remains of the tablet, "Young people these days..."

"Okay, I think I know what I saw, but... what did I just see?" Natasha asked no one in particular.

"That was the ghost, Nat," Bruce removed his glasses and polished them, "It came from the facility, and we've been communicating with it via Lo-, ahem, FRIDAY," he corrected, "for the past week."

"And you never thought to mention that?" Steve gestured to the space where the ghost had hung in the air. The glimmering outline was still imprinted on his retinas. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes.

Bruce shrugged and tried to look apologetic, "Who would have believed us?"

"Fair point," Steve nodded and turned away, staring up at the empty center of the room, lost in thought.

Bruce sidled over to where Tony was still examining the burnt remains of the tablet. "I thought it was going to write something, not... manifest, or whatever the hell that was! What the hell happened?"

"Well, looks like it's just super overdrawn the power supply. Every fuse is blown, the whole thing's melted." Tony glanced up at Bruce, who shook his head slightly and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, right, um, yeah, guess we'll have to have a little chat with it about blowing up stuff and scaring people. Okay, folks!" he addressed the room at large, "Show's over, beat it!"

When everyone but him, Bruce, and Loki had gone, Tony turned to Loki who was still staring blankly at the space where the ghost had been. "Care to explain?"

Loki startled, shocked from his reverie, a look of fear flashed across his face before the calm facade returned, "What?"

"What happened?"

"I do not know, I swear." Shock still colored his tone, his eyes glazed over as he relived the previous moments - the power, the magic, the pure strength of the ghost to manifest so clearly, using such a crude medium as household electricity. The power... the beauty...

"Is it still here?"

Loki's eyes snapped up at Bruce's worried tone, "I don't know. She was beside me until everyone entered, then I didn't feel her presence until..." He closed his eyes, reaching out through the magic, searching. An echo of a scream filtered through time, burning, light. "Damn it!" He slammed his fist into the tabletop, making Bruce jump. Loki began to pace, "When everyone arrived - " He swung around to face the two men, "I need to find her, and for that I need solitude." When Tony opened his mouth to protest, Loki raised a hand, "Non-negotiable, as you say, Stark. Watch on your cameras if you must, I don't care. She's still here, and she's in pain." He pointed to the door, head down, frown darkening his face, "Leave. Please."

Tony glanced at Bruce, who shrugged; neither had seen Loki so preoccupied, or so involved. They left in silence, closing the door with a soft click. Loki heaved a sigh, paced a few moments longer to gather his thoughts and calm down, then sat in Tony's chair and carefully extended his awareness, reaching out into the void, searching...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Black... with stars... but I'm not outside... Pain... and sadness... Why did he shut me out?  I roll over in the air, barely aware of myself or my surroundings. The fizz of residual power snaps and tickles through me whenever I move; it hurts, but I can't keep still. Like the worse case of restless legs, because it's everywhere, and nowhere all at once. I want to scream but I have no voice. I want to cry but I have no tears. black and red currents streak across my vision, teeth and claws and staring eyes, monsters of my own imagination, demons of my own making.

"Ghost..."

The voice pulls at me, but I push it away. It's not real... none of this is real... keep your head up... which way is up?

"Ghost?"

Stop it... stop the pain... stop the voices... 

"I can help you, but you have to let me."

Everything hurts... please make it stop...keep your heart strong... but I have no heart... it's in her... Her... the monster...

"Ghost! Let me in!"

The vehemence in his voice shocks me into something resembling lucidity. Loki?

"Yes, it is I. Please, let me in; I can help you."

I perceive him blurrily, through the mists of unconsciousness, sitting below me. I pull away, even though it stings and burns to move. You... shut me out...

"Yes, I did," the regret in his voice breaks my non-existent heart, "I am sorry. I didn't know... Please, let me help you?"

How... can you help me...

"I don't know exactly, but I know I have to try."

I relax the pitiful resistance I had for his magic, and warmth flows around me like water. Green tendrils wind their way through the black mist of my despair and slowly the pain recedes to a bearable ache. My vision clears slightly and I look down on the seated mage. He looks up at me, though I am once again invisible to the naked eye. Magic swirls around me still, and though the darkness still roils and seethes below, now I am floating above the turmoil. Above the storm.

Some memories raise their flags of guilt. I'm sorry.

Loki shakes his head, "You have nothing to apologize for."

I broke the tablet. I didn't mean to, but I couldn't stop, too many people, too much power...

"I'm certain Stark will be able to make another. That is his specialty, after all."

Did it work? Do they know I'm real?

Loki considers for a moment, "Mostly, yes. There is confusion and curiosity, but no fear."

Good...

"Can I just say, what you did with the electricity... That was truly amazing. How did you do that?"

Much as I am flattered by the enthusiasm in his voice, I need to drift, Loki... Please... I need space... and time...

"I understand." 

I relax my concentration, slipping towards the peace of the drift, when his last words and the last flick of magic reach me through the mists, "Be at peace..."

Chapter Text

Tony agrees to her request to be reintegrated with her body, and they seek the help of Dr Strange, who tells them it’s possible but tricky and unprecedented.

The good Doctor shows her how to prepare herself for physical inhabitation again, after so many years of living in the drift, as she calls it. Ghost prepares herself to reintegrate with her physical body, which is being kept in its revitalisation tank. During this time, she learns to trust the team, even helping them occasionally.

Bruce and Loki study Asset’s unique biochemistry and metabolism as best they can, trying to understand the spirit-killer and the other implants, how they affect Asset and how their removal could be arranged.

6 months pass... 

In a run-down apartment block, at night...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I swoop down through the floors, screaming, No, no, no! Loki, Loki, Loki! Concrete and metal flash past me in a blur. I crash through the ceiling in the basement, where Loki is helping Natasha free the hostages.

LOKI!

He spins around, and I throw my memory at him, not caring about subtly or finesse. He staggers back against the wall, eyes wide, then gasps to Nat, “There’s a kid on the roof.”

He throws his arms out, fists clenched tight, then abruptly crosses them over his chest. Darkness, flecked with green highlights, swallows him up. I kick off, streaking upward through the building to the roof, arriving a split second after Loki. The dark cloud closes behind him. The kid backs away toward the edge of the roof.

“Stay back, mister!”

“As you wish.” Loki pauses, hands open. “We mean you no harm.”

“Yeah right.” The kid glances over his shoulder, judging the distance from the edge, and shuffles back a few steps.

“Please,” Loki reaches out to him, green flickers dance on his fingertips, “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not worth it. Please…”

“You don’t know anything!” The young man shouts, “You don’t know what’ll happen to me when my dad finds out I’ve been caught.”

“We can protect you – “

“Bullshit! You can’t protect anyone! You’re just a bunch of weirdos!”

He steps onto the ledge. I flit around in front of him, throwing myself against him, focusing all my energy on keeping him back from the edge. He falters for a second, and I think that maybe he’ll step back, but just he pushes forward and steps off the roof. His body rushes through me with a horrible grating sensation that tears me apart. As I draw myself back together, I see that Loki is sprawled across the roof, one arm over the edge, hand closed on the collar of the kid’s jacket.

“Let me go!” the kid struggles in the makeshift harness of his jacket.

“Don’t do this!” Loki shouts desperately, “It’s not worth it, please!”

The kid stops his struggling and looks up at Loki. “Fuck you,” he whispers and slips out of the jacket. I watch in horror as he falls. His soul separates from his body before it even hits the ground, hangs frozen in the air for a second, face locked in a silent scream, then vanishes.

I turn back to Loki, who is still holding the jacket. He climbs slowly to his feet and folds the jacket neatly, tucks it under one arm and walks slowly back to the stairwell door. I drift behind him, still in shock at the kid's determination to end his life, and what is happening to Loki’s aura. His energy is spinning out of control, twisting and thrashing. Black streaks spiral out from a core of darkness around his heart and I recognise with horror the signs of multifaceted self-hatred. I’ve seen it too often in myself.

I reach out to him tentatively, Loki? Talk to me?

His aura pulls away, a sharp black spike lashing out at me. I recoil in shock as Loki hisses, “Piss off, Ghost.” He breaks the lock, slamming the door behind him. His footsteps echo as he trots down the stairs. I hang frozen in the air for a moment, then drop like a stone through the building to where Nat is waiting. The transcript pad is lying on a crate. I write hastily, Look out, he’s pissed. Natasha reads my note, nods, then swipes the page clean.

The door bursts open and Loki strides through the room and through to where the gang is waiting, hand-cuffed and seated against the wall.

“Which one of you had a son here tonight?” Loki addresses the room at large.

A rugged man in his 50s looks up, “Where is he?”

Loki walks slowly up to the man and drops the folded jacket on the floor at his feet. The guy looks from the jacket to Loki and back in confusion, then his face crumples, “I don’t understand. Where is my son?”

Loki stares down at him, “He’s in the street on the north side of the building.” I flinch at the literal description, the memory of the kid's broken body framed in blood flashing unbidden in my mind.

“What…?”

“Would you like to see?”

The man just stares up at Loki, who places his hand on the man’s forehead. There is a concentrated exchange of energy between them, and I watch in fascination as Loki projects his visual memory into the man’s mind.

The exchange is over as abruptly as it began. Loki stands, turning away from the man who is sobbing quietly, “My son, no, not my son…”

Loki pauses, still linked with the man’s mind, and when he speaks his voice is cold, “Maybe you should have thought of that earlier…”

He leaves the man to mourn, brushing past Nat and walking quickly to the door. Nat pauses a second, a frown on her face, then turns runs after him.

“Loki!”

He stops at the foot of the stairs up to the street, “What?”

“What happened?”

“The adolescent chose to face death over the consequences of his capture.”

Natasha shakes her head in confusion, “You’re supposed to be magic, right? You vanished in a flash! Why didn’t you save him?”

Loki’s whirls around and snarls at Natasha, “You know nothing of magic, what it takes to wield it, how it works!”

“Oh yeah?” Natasha crosses her arms, “Enlighten me then. Why didn’t you stop him falling?”

“Because he wanted to die!” Loki shouts at her. Anger distorts his face, but his aura twists in a different kind of torment.

Natasha flips her hair back defiantly. I’m impressed with her coolness in the face of Loki’s hostility. “What’s that got to do with it? Since when do you care about free will?”

Loki’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper. If he was angry before, now he’s positivity livid. It radiates from him with such force I am pushed back against the wall. He stalks toward Natasha, fists clenched, “Free will? You question my belief in free will? You think I do not respect it? Why, because I controlled your precious Barton for a few days? May I remind you that I was tortured and controlled for years! But you don’t care about that, do you? You think I deserved it!”

Natasha quails under his glare and opens her mouth to protest, but Loki snaps, “Don’t lie to me! Do you forget who I am? I see the truth in your eyes. You cannot forgive nor forget, so be it. I’m done trying to make you understand.”

He storms up the stairs and into the night. Natasha stands frozen for a moment, brows knitted, then turns and walks slowly back to the other room. I scoot ahead and write on the tablet, “You okay?”

She smiles when she reads it, “Yeah, I’ve seen worse. How about you? What happened up there?”

“ I’m okay. The kid freaked out, jumped. Loki caught his jacket, tried to talk sense to him but he wouldn’t listen. Wiggled free and fell.”

“Holy shit. Dedicated follower, hey.”

“ He implied the consequences of his capture would be dire. Apparently from his father. Don’t quite get it. He was petrified, desperate, single-minded in his…” I wait for Natasha to read the page, then swipe it clean and continue, “determination to not get caught. I tried to push him a way from the edge too, but not much I can do from here. You can tell his father if you want, that his son…” I clear the page again, “has moved on. His soul separated before he hit the ground. He’s gone. I can’t say if it’s to someplace better, but you might not want to share that with him.”

Nat nods, “Thanks hon, it might give him some peace of mind.”

“ I would like to go after Loki if you don’t need me here…”

“I’ve got this under control. You go on.”

“Thanks.” On a whim, I add x o

Nat smiles warmly and waves her hand in the air, shooing me away, “Go on, get outta here!”

I gather myself and shoot away, up through the walls and out into the night air. The city is laid out below me like an illuminated map, but I see so much more than lights. Wifi and cellphone networks, radar from the airports, radio waves, electricity underground and strung through buildings, TV broadcasts. The world is awash with layers upon layers of frequencies, all jostled together, filling the space from the ground to the clouds, and beyond.

I focus, shutting out all the noise and vibrations, searching for the one energy signature I can recognise anywhere. I pivot slowly in the air, sifting through the flotsam and jetsam of human communication until I find it. On the outskirts of the city, in a desolate part of a rundown suburb, a vacant park. Under a tree. Of course.

I settle softly onto the ground. I move closer and his illusion magic extends around, wrapping me in its spell. Now we are both hidden from the eyes of the world, not that it makes much difference to me; I’m permanently hidden.

Loki?

He jumps, then and lets out a breath, “Ghost. How did you find me?”

I followed you. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude. Do you want me to leave you alone?

He snorts, “It’s not like I could make you.”

I sigh, No, but I would respect your request.

“And for that I thank you.” He rests his head in his hands, taking deep, steadying breaths. I drift up, reticent to leave him in this state, but knowing that it’s more important to respect his decision, despite my own feelings on the subject. His aura is still in turmoil, spiky and wild, spinning fast for a few seconds, then reversing and washing back on itself, like rapids in a stream. The last thing he needs is to be left alone. He’s been alone too long, internalising his grief and guilt, letting it eat he alive. But I can’t force him to change.

Just as I reach the treetops, he calls out, “Ghost?”

Yes?

“Stay?” His voice is strained like he’s holding back tears. I settle next to him again and put my arm around his shoulder.

I’m here for you. I will always be here.

His face crumples and he puts a hand over his eyes, a suppressed sob shakes his shoulders. I let my form melt a little, spreading across his back like warm mist. We sit in silence for a while. Sadness pulls at my heart as I watch Loki struggle with his feelings, but I push it away, not wanting him to feel it from me. He needs acceptance and understanding, not pity. I know how devastating it is to be a bystander in your own life. From the sounds of it, Loki had it worse, because he was mind-controlled while being still present and correct in his body. He didn’t have the luxury of disassociation like I had with Asset.

When he’s calmed down somewhat, I murmur, You don’t have to, but it helps to talk about it.

He heaves a ragged sigh, “That child…”

Did he remind you of you?

Loki looks at me incredulously, “How do you know that?”

I shrug, Just an educated guess. Please tell me your truth.

Loki snorts, “My truth. Well, I was young and stupid, that’s my truth.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

“Odin picked Thor as his successor, but it seemed that only I could see he was not ready, was not capable of handling the responsibility of being king. So I tried to exploit his weakness for war, tried to demonstrate to our father that he was not ready. But the plan didn’t quite work out. It was during this time that I learned of my true parentage. My brother was exiled, learned a few hard lessons and came back a better man. I didn’t see that at the time. I was consumed with anger and doubt, for myself and for the philosophy of life I had been raised to follow.

Loki’s aura calms as he talks, settling into muted hues of sadness and nostalgia. “When my brother returned, we fought; the Bifrost was destroyed, I slipped off the end of the bridge. As I hung above the void, I felt like there was no reason to keep trying. My plan had failed, I now knew I was descended from monsters, for my actions I would doubtlessly be exiled myself. I believed I had nothing left to lose, so I let go.”

He barks a laugh and looks up at the night sky, “Oh, how wrong I was. I fell through the Void and was caught by a creature known as The Other. But that’s another story.”

He shakes his head as if to clear away the memory. “That kid jumped to his death because he thought he had nothing left to lose. I saw his fear of reprimand and the loss of his father’s respect for him. The sad part is that he had made these beliefs up on his own, his father had never threatened him with anything if he failed a mission. But he believed it with such conviction, he even managed to thwart my attempts to catch him with magic. It’s possible if he had had the chance, that he might have made a passable sorcerer. But I suppose we’ll never know.”

He sniffs and looks over to where I sit. “So tell me, now you know the truth, how did you guess it?”

By the way you reacted to the kid; how you tried to save him even when he made his choice; the self-hatred and shame, and regret when he fell.

“Wow, you really do not mince your words, do you?”

Hey, you asked!

“Sometimes I wish I could read people as you can,” he murmurs, voice tinged with sadness.

I frown, But you can, like, read their thoughts, and tell if they’re lying…

He nods slowly, “But you see them for who they really are. All the good, all the bad; their true nature, in all it’s terrible beauty.”

I guess…

After a few moments of silence, I ask, H ow does your magic work ?

Loki smiles wanly, “Magic is based on belief and intention. Every realm has it’s own form, or power structure to its magic. Midgard’s magic is rather subdued because so few people believe it’s possible. The sorcerers here, like Strange and his kind, must spend many years dedicated to changing their beliefs. On Asgard, that was not the case, so it was merely a person’s natural ability and then years of study to perfect various techniques and disciplines within the art-form.

“Ever since my brother established New Asgard here on Earth, my magic has been behaving differently. It’s based in this realm now because Asgard is no more. I still have all my ability and training, but the substance of the magic itself is different here. It’s slower acting, more subtle, almost… thicker. Summoning the portal to the roof was exhausting, like trying to swim through mud. And the humans have a far greater influence on it. So when that boy chose to die, with all his being…” Loki’s voice cracks and he turns his face away abruptly. “I could not stop him. He would not let me. I failed.”

Loki, look at me, I whisper. When he doesn’t move, I drift closer and place my hand against his cheek, focusing my determination in the touch. The magnetic pressure buzzes against my skin and I press harder into it. Loki turns his head toward me, incredulity etching his features.

“How – ”

You just said how great it is that I can see people’s true nature? Well, s top trying to hid e your true self from me. Tears are nothing of which to be ashamed.

“You do not think them weakness?” He asks in a small voice, a haunted look crossing his face. For an instant I glimpse a frightened boy, stifling his emotions in the face if his father’s disapproval and his brother’s derision.

No, I don’t.

“Father did.”

He was wrong.

Loki huffs a laugh, “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

Let him hear me! My indignation f lares , I wish he were still alive, so I could give him a good talking to about the virtues of patience and understanding when it comes to raising a child, especially one a s perceptive and artistic as yourself. Thor is a brut e and I’ m sure he handle d all the t ough love for which your family was famous, but you, Loki, are nothing like the rest of them!

Loki’s staring at me, gobsmacked. I try to calm myself. Sorry, got carried away there. Guess I have strong feelings when it comes to you! I laugh, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but Loki continues to stare at me thoughtfully. I fidget, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, even if he can’t actually see me. What?

“No one’s ever spoken like that about me, not even Mother.”

Well…

“Thank you.”

Anytime.

Chapter Text

The following night …

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I love thunderstorms!

The air crackles and dances with electricity, but not the kind that hurts me; the kind that makes me feel alive. I pull away from the book I am reading, leaving the library and flying through the hallways of the compound, searching. I want Loki to be there. Now we’ve established the kinaesthetic link, I want to share it with him.

He’s hunched over a table in lab 3, working through test results for something he and Bruce are concocting. He looks frustrated, chin propped on his fist, staring at the page, brows drawn down.

Loki?

He doesn’t look up, “What?”

My excitement gets the better of me, There’s a storm coming!

“I am aware.”

I'm going up to the roof, you wanna come?

"I have work to do."

I shrink away, hurt by his clipped tone. Of course you have.

I leave the room via the nearest wall. So what if he doesn’t come, I can still enjoy the storm alone. Like always. I look back for a second, but no, I won’t go back. Just as the lab door opens I flit through the stairwell door and put on a burst of speed, spiral up the stairwell and pop out onto the roof. Technically I can just fly straight up, through the stairs, but spiralling is fun, and I like the idea of precision flying.

The air is cool, tastes of the promise of rain and is charged with static. It buzzes pleasantly against my skin, through my form, humming in my head and vibrating in my body. I float upward, letting the charge flow into me, feeling it pulse and build.

The door to the stairwell bursts open and Loki stumbles out, looking around wildly.

“Ghost?”

I turn to him but freeze when I see that he is looking at me. Not the vague I-kinda-know-you-should-be-about-here-ish way he usually has. Right at me. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he whispers, “I see you…”

It's the storm. The lightning, the electricity in the air. It charges me.

Loki is lost for words. I float closer, hand extending, glowing softly in the twilight. He meets me halfway, our fingers touching. I stifle a laugh at the E.T.ness of the moment as he stares at my hand in amazement.

What do I look like?

“...What?”

I roll my eyes at him, Me, what do I look like?

He quirks an eyebrow, “Can’t you see yourself?”

I see myself all the time, genius, but I don’t know how I look to you or anyone else. To me, right now I just look a little more solid than usual, but for you, I’ve gone from being invisible to not. So, what do you see?

He swallows, “I see… an angel. A shining human form. There are no details, really, but your eyes…” He shakes his head slightly, “are like exploding stars.”

I lift my other hand, trailing it through the air. Loki continues, “It is… you are breathtakingly beautiful.”

I look away, suddenly shy.

He steps closer, looking up into my face. It’s so strange to have such direct eye contact. “I am sorry I snapped at you earlier. Any excuse would be irrelevant because I know that I hurt you, and I regret that most sincerely.”

It’s okay.

He touches my cheek. The pleasant buzz of contact zips through my face, sending a shiver through my body.

“It never fails to astound me how, after all you’ve been through, you can forgive so easily.”

Everyone has bad days, even gods.

He grins and turns away, looking up at the storm.

I… I wanted to share this with you because I’ve known nothing like it, and as far as I know, only I can do it. Sorry, I know you must have a history with storms and your brother, I just –

“Ghost – ”

I snap my mouth shut.

He takes my ethereal hands in his, “I would be honoured to share a thunderstorm with you.”

Just then the heavens open. Loki gasps and hunches in shock as the torrential downpour soaks through his shirt in seconds. I burst out laughing.

The gods approve!

Loki gives a snort, pushing wet hair off his face, “Just the one, I think. And I do not need his approval.”

I laugh harder, throwing out my arms and rolling over in the air, all the stress and uncertainty washed away with the rain. It feels so good! I lie in the air, letting the water fall through me. It tickles. I look at Loki upside-down; he’s hunched over against the rain, but his eyes twinkle with mirth as he watches me. He’s actually seeing me; could I ever get used to that? Lightning strike over the city and I shiver at the wash of power.

The storm’s getting closer. I want to show you how it feels.

Our kinaesthetic link establishes and I feel his perception wash through me, the feel of cold rain, wet clothes, the wind on his face. I reverse the feed, sending my experience to him. I let go of all my fears and worries, none of that matters now. This is pure. This is me and him and the rain.

I concentrate; time slows and I see every drop, lazily drifting downward. The rain passes through my body, cutting a path through my essence, a part of it and yet not part of it at all. Each droplet touches me, changing me with it’s little bit of otherness. My form tingles and tickles with life and energy.

Lightning strikes the ground some miles away and a surge of residual power flows outward from the strike, like ripples in a pond, transferred from one raindrop to the next in an ever-expanding wave. Like a wave on the beach, it passes through me, and by association through Loki. I hear him gasp as the tingling high washes past us and outward, dissipating through the air. Another strike, closer this time, sends an even more powerful wave through us. It catches me up and tumbles me like flotsam on a breaker, twisting and expanding as the ecstatic feeling washes through me. As it recedes, I notice Loki has staggered back a few steps with the wave as well, arms out, head thrown back, laughing mouth open wide, eyes closed.

Are you okay? I call softly.

“Yeah…” He blinks away the rain and grins up at me, “This is phenomenal.”

I laugh at his tone, You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!

He starts to reply when another strike sends a wave of elation clashing through me and he cries out and falls to his knees.

Loki?!

“I’m fine… Just need a minute…”

I pull away from our link, weakening the connection.

“No, no, no, no! Please don’t!” He flops onto the roof, gasping for breath. “I’ll just stay down here. Not so far to fall.”

How does it feel?

“Like nothing I have ever known.” He shades his eyes from the rain and looks up to where I drift in the wind, wafting and circling gently. “Like I should be floating around like that too, only I cannot. Too heavy.” His head drops back onto the roof and he closes his eyes. “The only thing that could remotely compare to this is – “

Lightning strikes a tree near the river, energy crashes through me, stronger than I’ve ever felt before. We howl in unison as the tsunami of energy punches through me with unstoppable force, blowing me apart, scattering my essence through the air, mingling with the water drops and cascading through the ether. It takes a moment to pull myself back together from that one, and when I do, Loki is spread-eagle on the roof, panting, fingers twitching.

Are you alright?

He nods, seemingly beyond words, eyes shut tight. The main body of the storm has passed now. When the rain eases Loki sits up, wiping the water from his face. His eyes are bright, despite his bedraggled appearance. His clothes cling wetly to his lean form; I catch myself staring and shake my head sharply and look away. What am I doing? I can’t think like that.

Was that cool? I ask, feigning nonchalance.

“That was easily one of the best things I have ever experienced, if not the best.”

Oh come on, you’re thousands of years old. That’s can’t be true.

He gives me a look, “Are you questioning my judgement?”

No, I’m questioning your authenticity, Trickster.

“Ah yes, that.” He sinks into the edge of the roof, dangling his feet over the empty air and sighs heavily.

I cringe at the sad resignation in his voice and float down to sit beside him. Sorry, that was mean. I just have trouble believing that something as simple as a lighting storm could be so impactful. Especially for you! I mean, you have the god of lightning for a brother.

“I understand your misgivings. It is the downfall of my title and my reputation that people often don’t take me seriously, even when I’m being serious.”

I place a transparent hand over his where it grips the roof edge. I’m sorry. I take you seriously, I promise. Want to run that line by me again?

He turns to me, but a frown crosses his face, “You’re fading.”

Yeah, the storm’s gone. I’m going back to normal. Don’t change the subject.

“I didn’t.”

I roll my eyes, but he doesn’t see it. A disappointed ache pulls at my heart. You were saying…?

“I swear, that was one of the most beautiful things I have ever had the privilege of experiencing. It was pure and glorious and so... alive. And I would never have been able to experience that without you.” His lips twitch into a warm smile, “I am eternally thankful that you chose to share this with me. It was…” He looks out over the grounds.

What …?

“Magnificent, overwhelming, oddly – “ He clears his throat, “Would you ever forgive me if I were to say blissful?”

I chuckle and bump my should against his, sending a tingling wash through my body. He shivers, too. No forgiveness is necessary. That’s why I wanted to share it with you.

A small smile twitches his lips. “Thank you, Ghost.”

You are most welcome.

We sit in silence on the edge of the roof as the rain peters out. It’s the happiest I’ve felt in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

After much consideration, Doctor Strange and Ghost find a way to get her back into her body. It's tricky and exacting. If they stuff up, she'll die. Presuming they get it right, she then has to take over control from the inside. After the procedure, she is left in the Hulk's old holding cell as a precaution, in case she's not in control when she wakes up...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So this is what it’s like to be in my own head? It’s been so long, I can’t remember. I concentrate on the feeling of it, the heaviness, the solidity. I can feel the wires, humming under my skin, but it’s less of a pain than simply knowing they’re there. I turn my attention outwards, but I hear nothing. I’m lying on a hard surface. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t. Can’t move either…?! Okay, calm down. Strange said this might happen, that it might take a while to gain control again. That’s why they put me in the containment unit, after all. Deep breaths. Feel the body. Inhale… Exhale… Inhale… Ex–

My concentration is broken by the appearance of a small luminous green bar, blinking slowly in the top left corner of my vision. Uh-oh… It moves, and text appears before my closed eyes, scrolling like code on a monitor:

Anomaly detected.

Asset 47 emergency boot-up initiated...

After a pause, the text continues:

System reset detected, time/date unreliable.

Three-step verification voided.

Scanning biological system...

Vitals stable.

All internal devices present and functional.

Battery: eco mode, 24%, discharging.

Searching for Home Server...

Home Server out of range.

Scanning for networks...

Networks out of range.

Activating GPS...

Assets eyes open; I look at the world through physical eyes for the first time in years. Was it always this blurry? Such a limited field of view… A heads-up display super-imposes on my visual field; horizon line, gyroscope, battery icon, lots of other hi-tech stuff I don’t understand... A circular crosshair skips around, settling for an instant on the glass walls, the ceiling, the vents… Asset’s head turns. An hourglass icon is flipping over at regular interval in the bottom corner of the display. Now it stops and declares,

GPS blocked.

Active protocol: Flying blind.

Asset rises to her feet in fluid movement. Whoever did the motion design on her systems, they did a really good job. She feels graceful, poised, but also on edge. I push myself through her body, realigning the ethereal with the physical, linking with her as best I can. It still feels distant, like she’s a puppet and I’m just along for the ride. But that’s okay for now, maybe when I get more used to the feeling, I’ll be able to find a loophole. Asset prowls around the perimeter of the containment chamber, bare feet silent on the cool steel floor. She places one hand flat on the curved glass of the chamber, pulls back the other arm and punches the glass. I recoil in anticipation of the pain, but I feel nothing from the action. Wait, does she even feel pain? Or am I not linked with her enough? The display shows a strength and integrity reading for the glass. It’s pretty impressive, but then that’s why we’re in here.

There’s a click and crackle of static, then Stark’s voice echoes through the chamber, “Hey there Motoko, how’s it goin’?”

Asset spins around, crosshairs alighting on the speaker in the wall. She stares at it. I throw myself forward, trying to break through the invisible barrier between us, trying to show that I’m in here, I’M HERE! But nothing I do makes an impression.

“Okay, good to hear.”

I flinch and the sarcasm, but Asset turns away from the speaker, continuing her prowl of the perimeter, scanning, searching for any weakness or exploitable feature in the bare, circular cell.

“Yeah, I think we’ll just leave you two be for a while, let you get reacquainted. Let me know if you need anything, ‘kay?”

Ha bloody ha. Asset stops at the door, running her hand up the seal, but then moves on. I concentrate on feeling her, linking my perceptions with her body, feeling the weight on her feet and the brush of hair on her neck, the breath moving in her chest and the regular blink of her eyes. I push gently, trying to slide between the computer and the body, trying to assert my will over the muscles, but to no avail.

Hours pass uneventfully. The display clock, which was reset to zero, now reads 00:00:00:00:08:42:13. The last two digits are seconds. What the hell kind of clock is this, does it count years? Thank gods it reset. I don’t want to know how long it’s been since Asset was booted up. I’ve been stuck in here for over 8 hours, and I’m no closer to getting through. DAMN IT!

Asset has given up looking for an escape and is sitting bolt upright facing the door, the targeting dot skipping around randomly, like some kind of screensaver. Gods damn it, I can’t even look away from her eyes. I’m stuck inside her, looking out at the same patch of featureless wall and door for the last few hours. I can’t even extend myself like I used to, can’t feel anything beyond this body.

Frustration and rage explode through me, and Asset’s head jerks back like she'd been slapped. Immediately red text flashes across the display:

Alert! System instability detected. Scanning...

More text scrolls madly, listing files as they are scanned. Great, it thinks I’m a virus. But on the upside, I did make an impression. Let’s get really angry and try it again… It thinks I’m a virus… Does it think I’m a virus?! Does it think I’m a Virus?! ME?! A FUCKING VIRUS?!

Asset flinches as my rage increases, twisting her head side to side, jittery and uncontrolled. Her eyelids twitch and flutter, mouth twisting into a grimace. It’s working! I’m getting through!

ERROR! System instability critical.

Collecting data for crash dump...

Caching log file...

Memory dump complete.

Encrypting disk...

Disk encryption complete.

Restarting...

Asset slumps back against the wall with a sigh as all systems shut down. After a few seconds, the display flashes.

Asset 47 safe-mode boot-up initiated...

System reset detected, time/date unreliable.

Three-step verification voided.

Scanning biological system...

Vitals stable.

All internal devices present and functional.

Battery: eco mode, 18%, discharging.

Activate protocol: Ghost purge.

What the –

Hot burning pain of overcharged wiring rushes through me. It feels like I’m slowly disintegrating, my essence combusting in the confines of Asset’s body. I scream in agony as I am consumed by her fire. This is worse than ever before, worse than the enhancements, worse than the experiments, because I’m trapped inside her, and she’s charging up. There is a distracting hum in, and buzzing in her body as the power accumulates in the wires. It feels like an eternity before it dissipates, the display showing a completion message and successful purge readout. I’m too exhausted to care.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time passes. Every time Asset reboots, the clock is reset, so I have no idea how long I’ve been here, trying all the ways I can think of to gain back control. Has it been days? Weeks? I stare at the floor, not seeing it, trying to drift as best I can while stuck inside a living straight jacket. I haven’t rested properly in so long...

Asset’s head snaps up as the door hisses open. Loki steps smoothly through, the door closing on his heels with a snap. Asset rises slowly, gracefully. I watch Loki as he takes slow, purposeful steps around the wall, and Asset sidles around in the opposite direction, always keeping as far from him as possible, always keeping him in the centre of her field of view.

“I know you can hear me,” He’s watching Asset closely, but I do not dare make her presence known, “I’ve been watching your progress over the last few days. Seems this one’s giving you trouble,” He gestures to Asset, who snarls at him. He grins, “So I thought I’d come and distract her for a while.”

He stops the circling and takes a deliberate step toward Asset, who drops into a fighting pose. Loki takes another step, then charges at her, a knife appearing in his hand as he swipes and slashes at her. Asset dodges and weaves, her speed and athleticism keeping her out of the path of Loki’s blade. She strikes at him when the opportunity arises, but mostly she just avoids his blows, the algorithm tracking his moves, laying down a fight style and pattern, preparing a counter-attack. It is the most glorious feeling, being carried along inside her body as she doges and weaves. Her strength, precision and training are incredible. I feel Loki’s hot breath on her skin occasionally, feel his body against hers as they fight in a close hand-to-hand style, with barely any space between them, a beautiful deadly dance. If it weren’t for the context, I would be proud of what she can do.

After a few minutes, Loki backs away, breathing hard. Asset starts to circle him slowly, head poised, body angled toward him, on the alert and yet oozing confidence. Her breathing is deep but calm. The computer finishes processing the fight and spits out a list of moves and counter-moves, text flowing up the display almost too fast fro me to read it.

Asset charges this time, feinting and punching. They have at it, perfectly matched, but then she starts gaining on Loki, following the prompts from the data-bank. I see his face change from confident to concentrated, as he switches from offence to defence. She dodges outside a strike to her jaw and grabs his wrist; before he can break her hold, she pulls his arm straight and slams her forearm into the back of his elbow. Loki screams as the joint dislocates with a sickening crack. Asset ducks under his ruined arm and drives her elbow into his stomach. They crash into the curved wall and Asset pushes Loki up the glass, hand wrapped around his throat. His heels kick and slide on the glass as he squirms and wriggles in Asset’s hold, clawing at her face with his good hand, but she grabs it and twists his wrist cruelly.

I scream in rage and desperation, throwing myself against the barrier, oblivious to the pain, desperately trying to break through, trying to reach out and stop her. How could this happen?! How could she beat him?! His eyes are bulging and his face is a horrible shade, pink froth leaking from his mouth. Asset simply watches as Loki struggles in her grasp. He chokes out a barely audible “Please…” before his body goes limp.

Asset waits a moment longer. Loki hangs in her grasp, twitching slightly. I’ve never looked directly into the eyes of her victim and watched the kaleidoscope of emotion that preludes death. Shock, horror, desperation, anger, fear, acceptance… relief… then, nothing…

Asset withdraws her hand, and Loki slides down the glass and topples over, his head thumping on the floor. She looks down at the sprawled body of the god at her feet. A trickle of blood runs from the corner of his mouth, across his cheek.

Target terminated.

Oh, God. What have I done?! I let this happen… I watched and could do nothing to stop it. Loki is dead, because of me.

I scream, my bottomless grief and sorrow echoing through the ether. When the sound stops, the silence crushes me, but there is nothing left. I have nothing now. My only hope, my link to the world of the living is gone. Darkness rises around me, beaconing me into its comforting oblivion. I fall down, down into the inky black that roils like currents above the seafloor, cold, dark and unstoppable. I am consumed by it, wanting only to be torn apart so I no longer have to feel this pain. The heaviness, the turbidity; guilt and heartbreak, regret and despair. It reaches out to me, seeking entry, and I let it pour into my mouth, its bleak coldness washing through me, wishing only to stop feeling. There is a familiar feeling, like an old friend. Recognition blooms in my heart, but I can't name it. A feeling of resignation and relief brushes past me, a shape in the dark. I turn, trying to through the shadows but the current drags me down into the sea bed, the wet sand pours into me; I am crushed by it, filled with its grainy weight. The world flips over and suddenly I am blinded with light and colour –

I look down at Loki, sprawled at my feet. The trickle of blood seeps into his hair. The display in my vision flashes the words ‘target terminated’, then goes blank. I kneel down stiffly, unused to the feeling of a physical body tied so intimating to my intention. Tears blur my vision and course down my cheeks for the first time in years.

“I’m sorry…” I whisper. The display in my vision flickers and then a notification appears:

New User detected.

Welcome, User.

Say “Enter command” to activate vocal interface.

“I’m so sorry...”

His body seems smaller in death. I wonder what it’s like to die… All those lives ended: the test subjects, the soldiers, the children, and finally this Asgardian prince. His long, glorious life, filled with tragedy and miracles, magic and adventure, ended here, at the hands of a scientific abomination. He deserved so much better.

The horrible, choked blush is gone now. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought he was asleep; I guess, in a way, he is. I move his head into a more natural position, brushing clinging strands of hair off his forehead, closing his eyes and wiping away the blood. As my fingers trace the lines of his face, I recalled how I used to think, what would I give to be able to touch him, feel his hand in mine, run my fingers through his hair. Well, turns out the price for that privilege is his life. I laugh at the cruel irony, but it becomes a sob. I take his hand and press it to my face, inhaling the telltale scent of pine and blood.

“I am the monster they made me…” I whisper, my lips brushing the back of his hand, “And you’re dead because of me. So many are dead… How can I ever fix this? How can I make it right?”

How can I live with so much guilt? The weight of it presses on my heart. Maybe the best thing to do is just end it. After all, the experiment worked. I’m back in control – that was the point of all this. A dark, twisted thing rises in the back of my mind, whispering end it, you'd be doing the world a service, just fucking die already, but no, I have to keep going, if only in honour of his memory. But not like this... Not as a machine, a scientific plaything, somebody's puppet. As me.

I sit up straighter, “Enter command…”

Voice command detected…

“Terminal shut-down.”

Terminal shut-down is un-reversible. All integrated electronic systems will be disabled. This may jeopardise life functions. Do you wish to continue?

”Yes,” I whisper. My voice wavers as more tears fall.

Command accepted, processing…

I press Loki’s hand to my chest, “Thank you for everything you’ve given me. Your time, your understanding, your humour, your friendship... But I failed your trust. I wasn’t strong enough to stop. I’m sorry.” I kiss his forehead, “Goodbye, Trickster.”

Activate protocol: Terminal shut-down.

Collecting data for crash dump...

Caching log file...

Memory dump complete.

Encrypting disk...

Disk encryption complete.

Disabling internal devices...

60 seconds remaining.

I drop his hand as my body starts quaking, shivering and twitching. I fall to the floor, writhing as my muscles spasm and my spine arches beyond normal limits, hands balling into fists so tight the fingernails bite into the skin of my palms. My brain feels like it’s being squeezed. I scream. Everything is pulling tight, too tight like I’m ripping myself apart from the inside! My eyes screw shut as I thrash violently and excruciatingly hot pain sweeps under my skin.

30 seconds remaining.

My heart is beating too fast like it’s trying to get out of our chest; I scream again, trying desperately to rid myself of the agony. It feels like I’m being burned from the inside out. Tears spill down my temples as I convulse one last time and then go limp, my heart thumping painfully, beating so hard it’s clearly audible and my ribs quake with each contraction.

20 seconds remaining.

I remember that night in the storm, the look of joyful amazement on Loki’s face; his delighted laugh when we first established the kinaesthetic link; my pride at him learning to accept some of his shortcomings and his determination to better himself; that time we pranked Nat, Tony and Clint, accomplices in mischief.

Format complete.

10 seconds remaining.

That day in the hangar, when he reached out and changed my life...

5...

4...

3...

2...

1...

My heart stops. The world explodes.

Floating… Peaceful, weightless, quiet. It’s different to before; the colours are all weird, washed out some places but overly intense in others, making everything eerie and dreamlike. There is a bright light above me. I squint, trying to see what’s up there.

“Ghost?”

I turn away from the light, looking down at the scene below me. There are two figures, one hunched over the other one that is sprawled across the floor. Loki, cradling Asset’s body in his arms. I stare, not comprehending. Loki is dead, his soul would have moved on by now – how is this possible?

His hand is moving toward Asset, but it’s moving slowly like time has almost stopped. I move closer, observing the hand as it traverses the endless space between it and its target. The fingers glow with warm green light, leaving sparkles and fizzing trails in the air. A look of intense concentration has put a crease between its owner's brows, his eyes flashing with the same green fire. In this strange world, I can see through the translucent form of his physical body. It’s a bit like the aura’s I’m used to seeing, but more real, absolutely beautiful, mesmerizing; I watch as the glowing heart swells and contracts rhythmically, just like it’s flesh-bound counterpart, pulsing life-force and magic throughout his ethereal form. There is a surge of power flowing from the centre, through his chest to his arm, drawing closer to his hand is it, in turn, draws closer to the chest of the woman whose head is cradled in his lap.

She is also translucent, but her pale body is riddled with fine lines so black they play tricks on the eyes. There are places within her that are opaque, where the glow of life is completely gone. Her eyes are dull, staring blankly, blown wide in death. Her heart’s warm yellow glow is fading slowly, retracting tendrils from her form, shrinking in on itself.

As I watch, it’s movement stops altogether, like the world is holding its breath. Something strange is happening to Loki. He shifts and ripples, and suddenly there are two superimposed images. One rises, taking the transparent, glowing nature with it, leaving the other form solid and physical, still hunched over Asset.

Loki?

“Ghost...” He gives me a small smile, eyes kind but sad.

How… how is this possible?

He gives his signature cocky grin, “It was an illusion.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded.

“Like you once said, artists create lies to tell the truth. I created a lie, and you believed it, and in doing so, found something true about yourself.”

What ?!

He holds out his hands, palms up. “You were afraid. I watched you fight for days, always so close and yet so far. Strange was all for stepping in and helping, but I knew you had to do it by yourself. You were strong enough, you just needed the right push.”

I move away, shaking my head, I thought I killed you…

“And you dreaded the prospect of that more than anything, did you not? You were terrified to accept that Asset was part of you, that you different sides of the same person.” He steps closer and takes my hands in his. “Believe me, I know there is nothing more terrifying than watching yourself become a monster. But when you accept that, in your heart, you can then claim ownership of that creature and begin to tame it. No one else can do that, only you.”

But… Aren’t I dead?

“The electrical system linked to your heart shorted, causing you to go into cardiac arrest. Not the same as dying. But, right now, you do have a decision to make: stay, or move on.”

I can’t leave yet. There are things I must do.

His expression softens, pride laced with tenderness and relief. He moves to where his body and Asset are still frozen, crouching down to realign with his body and becomes a single form again. Time speeds up and the burst of energy flows down his arm and into his hand, which is drawing nearer to her chest. I lay my hand over his and feel his magic and strength flowing through him into Asset. Blue-white light explodes through her at the contact, billowy and roiling within her form like smoke in a bottle. She convulses, back arching off the floor.

A surge of electric attraction between me and her, magnetic in its irresistibility, sucks me in. I lose all sense of self as spiralling, kaleidoscopic images swirl and a blinding light races towards me –

Reality hits me like a ton of bricks. A buzzing tingle fills my body, my muscles twitch; this is nothing like before; it’s too much! I twist out of Loki’s arms, scrambling away on all fours. Tears stream down my face as I double over, retching, my body rebelling against the stress. I topple over and just lay there, shaking, eyes shut against harsh reality.

A light pressure on my shoulder makes me flinch.

“Look at me…”

I turn my face against the hard floor, ashamed. I don’t deserve his kindness; I am a monster.

“Ghost?” He squeezes my shoulder reassuringly.

I look up at him through my tears. The moment I see his face, something snaps inside me. Something dark and evil rears up. Instinctual rage, terror and hatred course through me, shocking in their intensity and desperate power. Before I realise what is happening, I’m on top of Loki, my hands around his throat. He grabs my wrists reflexively but doesn’t try to fight me off. His face fills my vision, his entire focus on me, green eyes burning with such cold fire I am paralysed by his gaze. It’s enough to break the hold of the shadow in me and I scream and throw myself away from him, crashing into the wall, scrambling away, putting as much distance between us as possible in the cramped cell. My breathing is shallow and erratic, I whimper and gasp, clutching at my head as adrenaline rushes through me. The darkness reaches out, telling me to end him, that he is a threat, that I will die. The conflict of it is too much. I scream so loud it burns my throat. The walls are closing in. The blackness is creeping up on me like a predator, I can’t stop it! Oh, gods, no, please let me out! Please –

Chapter Text

One month after reintegration …

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My life has settled into some semblance of a routine. I keep myself pretty much isolated. I am civil when cornered, but human interaction makes my skin crawl, so I steer clear of people whenever possible. My disfigurement still draws stares occasionally, and I am terribly self-conscious of my rugged appearance. I mask my insecurity with aloofness and cold indifference.

Every day I run around the perimeter of the Avengers compound grounds before sunrise, then spar with Clint or Bucky for an hour before breakfast. I like them, they don’t talk much and are good fighters. Having both been mind-controlled themselves, they understand that I just want to fight, not talk. When they go off to breakfast, I go to the library. I don’t eat much. My genetics have stopped mutating, leaving me, according to Dr Strange, the most energy-efficient human he’s ever seen. Long story short, I eat about three times a week, but I do need daily supplements to counteract the effects of not being in the tank’s fluid every night.

Stephen’s taken me under his wing. As both a doctor and master of the mystic arts, he finds my condition fascinating. He doesn’t quite understand how I was able to live as a ghost for so long. Since my ability to experience other dimensions of reality has vanished since my reintegration, he’s teaching me all the basics he thinks I should know, portalling me to the sanctum every day for lessons. I really enjoy my time there. The atmosphere is quiet and calming, and Wong treats me no differently to anyone else, but I go back to my apartment in the compound every night.

In the evenings I practise his teachings, trying to stabilise my roiling emotions and understand and deactivate Asset’s old programming. It’s hard work. So many years of negative conditions, fight or flight, adrenaline, death and murder. Her memories are still locked away, but the feeling of her is unavoidable. I often wake in the middle of the night, a scream stuck in my throat, covered in sweat. A run through the bushland or a swim in the river is the best way to ease my rattled nerves.

The subdermal armour is slowly driving me crazy; I can’t lie down comfortably, it digs in and rubs with certain movements. Like the wires and gadgetry, I can’t wait to have it out, but Stephen wants me to delay a while longer, to make sure my body is stabilised enough to withstand the invasive surgery necessary to remove the components.

In the meantime, I study and meditate. Aspects of physical existence are still overwhelming, but as I become more familiar and comfortable with life, so it becomes more bearable. I really miss the metaphysical aspect of my old life; another reason I can’t wait to get the implants out.

My circle of friends is limited to Stephen, who has become my mentor and friend. I think he had a chat with everyone early on about my needs because no one has tried to find me or ask why I’m being such an anti-social bitch. I’m grateful because in unexpected situations Asset’s programming rears it’s ugly head all too quickly, but I regret the pain I’m causing, especially to Loki. When I first saw him after waking up to in the hospital ward, I experienced the same rush of primal hatred. I screamed at him to get out, to not come near me. His devastated expression broke my heart, and then his mask of indifference fell into place, and that made me feel even worse, but the conflict of my affection and Asset’s rage was tearing me apart, and she was winning. That’s the power she has, what I’m learning to understand and control. There are no words from her, only feelings and intentions. I’m used to intention from my time as a ghost, but now I’m in a body, they have a whole new level of power. I wrote a letter to Loki the next day, explaining to the best of my ability what had happened and why, begging his forgiveness and patience, and slipped it under his door. Two days later, I found Piccadilly roses in a vase on my kitchen table. No explanation, just two flowers the colour of my eyes. I cried myself to sleep that night, gazing at the symbols of rebirth in the colours of friendship and love, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in my bedroom window.

Chapter Text

Two months after reintegration…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you all for coming,” Stephen glances around the little group gathered in his study. I stand tall at his side, but my gaze is fixed on a spot on the floor. I’m on edge, being in such close proximity with the five men.

He lays a fatherly hand on my shoulder, “As you know, I’ve been working with Ghost for some time now. Her body and mind have stabilised to the point where I certain she will not only survive the removal of the implants but flourish in their absence. However, the surgery will be long and intense. Which is where I need your help.” He turns to Tony Stark, “I will need access to the most advanced hospital equipment you have.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Tony nods absently, eyeing me.

“Vision, will you be able to assist me during the operation?”

My eyes flick up to meet Vision’s cybernetic gaze. He smiles kindly and speaks to me directly, “I would be glad to assist the good doctor in any way necessary to improve your well-being.”

I give him a brief smile and a small nod in thanks.

Stephen claps his hands together, “Great. Given the closely entwined nature of the e-Nerv, some of the parts that are linked with her central nervous system might need to be disintegrated for complete removal. You can do that, right?”

Vision nods once and opens his mouth to elaborate but Tony cuts him off, “Wait, what? What do you mean, disintegrated?”

Stephen raises his eyebrows at Tony, “Fragmented, shattered, turned to dust.”

“Yeah ha, ha. Don’t give me cheek, wizard.” Tony waves his hand at me, “You can’t destroy that. Think of the advances we could make from studying it. You’re just going to vanish it away?”

Stephen’s face turns stony. He speaks slowly and carefully, “Yes, Stark, I’m going to destroy it. It’s alien technology. Just as Loki said,” he glances at the man in question, who is standing by the door, as far from me as possible in the small room, “it’s not meant for humans, and it does not belong here.”

Tony holds his hands up, “Sure, I get it. Take it out of her, but don’t destroy it. The opportunities – ” He throws up his hands and turns away.

Bruce polishes his glasses in that distracted way of his. “It’s not about the tech, Tony, it’s her life. She deserves her life back.”

Stark spins around, “She has her life back! Look, I’m not saying that what was done to her was right, of course not. It was horrible.” He turns back to the window, “I’m just saying, maybe it’s better to learn from her what we can. How do we know she’s the only one with this tech inside? Maybe we could use it – “

I’ve had enough. I duck around Strange, walk up to where Stark is staring out of the window and spin him around by the shoulders.He does a double-take, shocked at my proximity, but speak softly, in my most eloquent voice, “I understand your concern. I share it. I understand that you wish to capitalise on the opportunity I present. But please, do me the courtesy of listening to my side. I'm going to explain it in a way you will hopefully understand. Will you hear me out?”

He looks taken aback, but nods.

“I want you to imagine something,” I start to pace back and forth. “The Ironman suit is a part of you, right? You rely on it, it’s an integral part of you? You couldn’t imagine your life without it?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Imagine that one day you step into your iron suit, and something happens. You have no control, it’s is following someone else’s programming, someone else’s agenda. You’re still in there; you see and hear, you feel everything, but all that matters is the suit’s programming.

“But no one can hear you or see you. No one knows your still alive in there. The more you try to take back control, the more it hurts. There is something that pushes you back. It stuns you, burns you alive, rips your very essence apart. But even when you give up, wishing for nothing but death, somehow you just keep existing. For years, you live as a ghost in your own life.”

There is dead silence in the room. I glance around at the faces; Stephen looks proud, but Vision, Bruce and Loki are hanging on every word. None of them has heard me talk more than a few sentences at a time, and never about my experience. I turn my attention back to Tony.

“During this time you witness your suit – your body, if you will – commit heinous acts of violence. You watch it kill without hesitation, torture without mercy. You hear your victims screams, hear them beg for their lives and the lives of their loved one, but there’s nothing you can do. You’re just bystander, and your body is a puppet on a string. You try and try but you can’t do a fucking thing!”

My voice cracks as my composure slips. I turn away from Starks shocked expression, closing my eyes against the images that flash just under the surface of conscious recognition. I swallow hard and continue shakily, “Now imagine you somehow gain back control. You’re free. You regain your autonomy. Everything’s fine. You’re not prosecuted for your past crimes – quite the contrary, you are forgiven and accepted back into the world with open arms, because after all, you were not in control. It was someone else’s doing.

“But the things no one understands,” my voice drops to a whisper; the other men actually lean forward, “Are the memories. You can’t consciously remember anything, it’s all blocked, but it's waiting like the sword of Damocles. Years and years of memories, captured from behind your eyes, every single thing you’ve done, every life you’ve taken, every blow struck and shot fired, it’s all there. And that’s not even the worst part,” I laugh humourlessly, “No, the worst part is the programming, the indoctrination to lie, sneak and strategise, to treat every person as a possible hostile, to be always on the alert. I can’t even look at those I love without analysing them as a threat. There is a shadow that stands behind me, looking out at the world through my eyes, and if I'm not vigilant, it might just reach through me and wrap its hand around someone's neck.” I turn to Loki, "You saw it first hand, in the holding cell." He nods slowly, eyes never leaving my face. "That was the first and only time it's gotten out, but I live in fear that one day I won't be strong enough."

I turn back to Stark, arms out, palms up, “So tell me, in all honesty, if it were you, could you ever trust that suit again? Could you ever feel truly safe, knowing of what it is capable? Sure, maybe you work hard at rehabilitation and can manage the PTSD, but what about the nightmares?” My voice cracks again, angry tears coursing down my cheeks, “Reliving random moments of your puppet life every night, watching yourself kill and main and torture, watching yourself being mutilated and experimented upon?! What happens when you dream about killing all those you love?! What happens when you wake to find you own body is exactly as you dreamed it, filled with wires and covered in armor?! If that's real, what else might be?“

My voice shakes from the strain of speaking through my tears, “That’s my reality, Tony! Every night I relive what was done to me, what I did. Sometimes, I dream that I have killed every – last – one – of you!” I whirl around, taking in the shocked faces around me as I jab my finger at each of them to emphasise my words. I stop at Loki, dropping my hands into a pleading gesture and whisper, “You were the best part of my ghost life. Now I cannot stand to be near you, and every night I watch you die!”

I turn back to Stark, “Please, Tony. Do you understand why I want this stuff gone? It’s like a cancer. I can’t stand it any longer. I want to be myself again. I lost all the abilities I gained as a ghost because of the conflict between my body and my mind. Even with the system shut down, I still feel it, a constant reminder of what they made me, what Asset became.

“You can have whatever is left of the tech, I’m sure Strange can be careful getting it out; study it, play with it, destroy it, do whatever the fuck you want with it. I just want it out of me!” My hand claws at my chest as I stare into his eyes until he looks away.

He clears his throat, “Okay.”

I clasp my hands together and bow my head to him, “Thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says gruffly, and I can tell he’s trying not to show how much my speech affected him. I turn toward the door, head held high, not looking at anyone, especially Loki. The door clicks shut behind me. I lean my back against it.

Stephen’s voice, “You see what I’m talking about.”

Bruce, “I had no idea… I thought I had it bad with the other guy, but this, I mean, my God, how is she still sane?”

Tony gives a derisive snort. I prick my ears up at Vision’s mellow cadence, “Will it be easier for her when the spirit-killer is removed?”

Stephen again, “I don’t know for certain. The implants, even though they are disabled, carry a residual charge and interfere with the energy body, the soul, if you will. Normally, with practise and training, people are able to separate the ethereal form from their physical one. The spirit-killer prevents Ghost from doing this, it’s like a cage for her. She’s gone from complete freedom to complete entrapment. I think it would have been much easier for her if she had been able to return to her previous disembodied state at will, at least at night, but she’s locked in her body 24/7. It’s a living hell. I think that’s why her memories are blocked. It’s just too much to handle. However, with the implants gone, it's much more likely she will make a full recovery.”

Tony, “Okay, I’ll make some calls, get the ball rolling.”

There are footsteps and the door into the other corridor opens, “Loki. A word?”

More footsteps and the door shuts.

I slip silently along the perpendicular corridor, till I can hear their hushed conversation.

Loki’s voice, laced with sarcasm, “’Much more likely’?”

Stephen sounds pensive, “We just don’t know. She certainly has exhibited remarkable resilience and tenacity, but everybody has a breaking point. You knew her the best. Do you think she’s strong enough?”

“I don’t know.” Loki’s tone is desolate, and tears prick behind my eyes, “The woman I knew is gone. She used to be happy, inquisitive, unafraid and cheerful. Now there is a haunted look in her eyes, like every corner might conceal a threat. And though she stands tall, there is a tension in her body, like she’s poised to run.”

Stephen sighs, “She’s in pain, Loki. She tries to hide it, but she’s in constant, intolerable pain, both physical and emotional. I do the best I can to make it easier for her, but to be honest, I’m surprised she’s lasted this long.”

“What?! Why?” Loki sounds incredulous.

“Many reasons. All I can say is that she is doing better than I ever dared hope and that when the implants are gone, I think she will be able to return to, if not normality, then at least something resembling it.”

“I hope so.”

Stephen pauses, then, “You really care about her, don’t you?”

Footsteps that were pacing back and forth falter. Loki’s voice is husky, “What of it?”

“She really misses you, you know.”

Loki gives a derisive snort, “I doubt that.”

“I don’t.”

The door opens and the two men rejoin the others. I pad away, not wanting to hear any more. I stop at the end of the corridor, lean back against the wall and close my eyes, trying to get my breathing under control.

“Nice speech,” a voice murmurs from my left. I jump, but it’s only Wong, busily dusting the ornaments on a cabinet.

“Thanks,” I take a deep breath and hold it, then blow it out slowly. “Hey, why are you cleaning?”

Wong flips the duster over an immaculate cabinet top, “A clean home, a clean mind.”

“Uh-huh,” I narrow my eyes at him, “Yes, I see the area around Stephen’s study door is spotless.”

Wong smiles at me in a terrible attempt at looking innocent.

I push off from the wall and walk back along the corridor, passing the door in question, from which the sound of heated conversation is clearly audible. ‘Clean house’ my ass. When I reach the balcony, I swing myself over the railing and drop to the foyer, continuing onward without pause.

“Hey!” Wong yells after me, “You’re going to kill some doing that one day!”

“Not likely,” I slip through the kitchen door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea and staring into space when Stephen walks in some time later. He slumps into the chair next to me and heaves a sigh.

I get up to make him a tea, “How’d it go?”

“Good. The procedure is scheduled for early next week. Which is amazingly short notice, considering.”

“Considering what?”

He gives a dry chuckle, “The people we’re dealing with. Stark is so focused on the idea that this technology could give him the upper hand if it comes to another alien attack. It’s rather difficult to get him to appreciate the other side of it. Your side of it.”

I hand him the tea, “Did my little spiel help?”

“Most definitely. I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself like that. And it was important for the others to hear it from you. They are more open-minded.”

I frown, sitting back down and putting my feet up on the opposite chair. “I think Stark is open-minded, it’s just he’s been through a lot, and therefore has different priorities. He suffers PTSD from the attack on New York, and the whole debacle with Ultron has him jittery about his own creations, let alone aliens. I remember when I was a ghost I saw him have a panic attack. It wasn’t good, energy all over the place. He’s hurt, too, and afraid, though he’d never admit it. He’s terribly aware of his fragile mortality. Especially being surrounded by freaks like the Banner, or Thor, or even you.”

Stephen gives me a look.

“Oh, come on!” I scoff, “Don’t tell you haven’t seen it? His nicknames for people? Part of his eccentricity, sure, but also a means of elevating himself over people by whom he feels threatened. I’m human, as far as he’s concerned, or at least I was. Mostly am. Whatever. He can relate to that. Much as I want this stuff out, I do understand why he wants to study me.”

Stephen puts his mug down a little harder than necessary, slopping the tea. “You are a human being, not ‘something to be studied’. You are an amazing individual, with a mind and feelings and a life. Your freedom and peace of mind are more important than theoretical preparation for a hypothetical future.”

I smile at him shyly, “Thanks.”

“I mean it. After everything you’ve been through, I’m amazed that you are so… grounded.”

“Me too,” I stare into my tea, lost in thought, “You know, it sounds terrible to say this but deep down, I’m grateful for everything that’s happened. I don’t think it’s right, not at all, but if Asset hadn’t been made, I wouldn’t have become a ghost. I wouldn’t be here now, with the experience that I have.

“I wish it could have been different, I wish I hadn’t done all the horrible things I did as Asset, but I can’t change the past. Can only learn from it. And I think the best way to do that is to accept what I was, how it shaped who I am today, and use that to become better tomorrow.” I glance up at Stephen, “What?”

He’s watching me with paternal pride. “I haven’t seen anyone accomplish in two years what you’ve accomplished in two months. I’m really proud of you, you know that?” He drains his cup and rises, “Oh and by the way, Wong has asked me to tell you that if you jump over the bannisters again, ‘the consequences will be dire’. His words, not mine.”

I nod absently. Just as Stephen reaches the door, I get up, “Hey?”

He turns, “Hmm?”

“Thank you for the opportunity, and for believing in me.”

“You’re most welcome.”

I get up and walk cautiously to where he stands in the doorway, and awkwardly put my arms around him. He returns the hug warmly, patting my back. Emotion overwhelms me and a dry sob shakes my shoulders. His embrace becomes comforting, swaying me side to side. “This really is difficult for you, isn’t it?”

“On so many levels,” I rest my head against his shoulder. “I’m scared.”

“I know. It’s okay. Everybody fears the unknown, but when you turn that fear into curiosity, then truly amazing things can happen.”

“Trust you to say something like that.”

He laughs softly. I pull back, wiping my nose on my sleeve. “Thank you, Stephen. Really. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He pulls a face, “Yeah, you could. Would have been much harder, and taken longer…” I huff and his grins, then becomes solemn again, taking me by the shoulders. “Seriously though, give yourself some credit. I merely provided the tools, you’re doing all the hard work. Now, we’ve got four days till the procedure. I need you to take some extra vitamins and follow a modified exercise routine in preparation, okay?”

I nod.

“That’s my girl. I’ll portal over some things when I have it all sorted.” He glances at his watch, “It’s getting late, you want to go home?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Stephen steps back and sling-rings open a portal into my apartment. “See you tomorrow.”

I smile and step through, turning to watch the portal shrink and vanish behind me. The familiar feel of my apartment settles my jittery nerves. The window is open, letting in the afternoon light and the sound of distant birds. I collapse onto the sofa and close my eyes, letting the days events replay, the excitement tingling through me. The implants are finally coming out! I shift, trying to find the perfect position in which none of the plates rub together or press into my muscles. Gods damn, I’m looking forward to sleeping in a bed. The evening chorus of bird calls usher me into sleep.

Chapter Text

The surgery goes smoothly. With the technology and armour gone, and with them the immediate association of Asset, Ghost’s metaphysical abilities immediately resurface. She is up and about without a few days since she heals much faster than normal humans. She still spends a lot of time with Dr Strange, learning what she can from him, trying to understand her unique brand of magic that has manifested. It's a hybrid mix of seidr and mystic arts. She spends more time with the team and starts helping them with some of their missions. Memories are still repressed, but she does her best to get on with life, relearning what it’s like to be human. She takes Aquilla as her moniker, saying that it feels wrong being known as either Ghost or Asset, and that the reference to aquila, meaning eagle, is a reminder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sit by the window, watching the sun rise slowly through the morning mist. I couldn’t sleep very well last night, tossing and turning, worrying and fretting. Eventually, I gave up, dragged my blanket to the armchair by the window and watched the stars wheel across the sky until it turned from indigo to purple, pink to gold, white to blue.

The sun’s rays now warm my skin. I get up stiffly and go into the bathroom. After a shower, I rub healing ointment into the delicate scars that now adorn my body; the back of my neck, across the shoulders, down my spine, along the inside of arms and legs, across my stomach and lower belly. They’re fading now, and I accept them as part of me, much preferable to the wires and components they were created to remove.

The morning routine complete, I slip on a pair of loose trousers and shirt and check myself over one last time in the mirror. Anticipation flushes my cheeks. Loki is back today, after a month in New Asgard. Since he arrived late last night, I was hyper-aware of his presence nearby. It’s like a beacon in my mind, pointing me toward him.

I slip on my shoes, walk briskly to the elevator. Tap my foot throughout the seemingly endless ride to the foyer. Smile at the security guard. Walk out the front door. My heart is pounding, my palms sweaty. How will I react to him? As Asset? As Ghost? Will he see the changes in me? Will he care? Does he even want to know me any more?

I bee-line to where I know he is, following the feeling in my gut. My stomach turns over as I take in the sight of him under the same tree where we met so long ago. He’s sitting cross-legged, head bowed, hands folded in his lap. The top button of his shirt is open and he’s wearing classy black jeans. The gentle breeze moves his hair. I walk cautiously closer. There is a twitch of trepidation in the back of my mind, but nothing like what it used to be. No fear, no hatred, no uncontainable need to get away. Just the wonderful warm feeling of being reunited with an old friend. I put my hand over my mouth as a dry sob catches in my throat.

Loki looks up at the sound and meets my gaze, a slow smile spreading across his handsome face. He rises gracefully, but stays under the tree, waiting for me to close the distance. I stop a few feet away, uncertainty clawing in my chest. Will he accept me? Can he forgive me? His brows quirk upward and holds out a hand. I step toward him gingerly and put my hand into his. The simple action feels so important. He looks down at my slim fingers in his palm, his gaze flicking up to my face.

I take a deep breath, “I’m sorry I’ve been so cold towards you. I’m sorry that I pushed you away without explanation or consideration – “ My voice cracks, “I know I hurt you; I don’t know exactly how, or why, but I did, and I’m sorry for that. Can you forgive me?”

Loki’s eyes are glistening in the morning light as he watches me, one side of his mouth twitches up. “Aquilla…” He sound of my new name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine. “That’s your name now, yes?”

I nod.

“Aquilla, there is nothing to forgive.” His voice is so soft, so full of understanding. I bite my bottom lip to stop it trembling, “But Loki, I – “

He silences me with a raised finger, “All right. If that’s what you need to hear, I will say it: I forgive you.”

Tears fall, leaving cool tracks on my cheeks, “Thank you.”

“I do not hold anything you did against you.” His seriousness lightens with a rye grin, “I did miss you, though.”

I hiccough a laugh and throw myself forward, “I missed you, too!”

He folds me into his embrace and buries his face in the crook of my neck. I can’t get close enough, wrapping my arms around him tightly, fingers pressing into his back. All the worry, the stress, guilt and shame I had harboured for the possible outcomes of this moment run down my cheeks, staining the fine cotton of his shirt.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble into his shirt.

He hushes me, gently rubbing my back.

Chapter Text

Aquilla still keeps her distance from everyone, including Loki, as the confusion of physical life still overwhelms her easily.

A few months after the surgery...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The paths I have worn through the bushland have become second nature to me by now. I walk slowly, hands shoved deep in my pockets against the chill in the early evening air. At the river I stop and sit on a log, staring out over the water. A familiar presence drifts closer to me. It’s been following me for a few minutes, always staying well back, but now it drifts closer. I concentrate, throwing my attention outward, delineating the space taken up by the person wreathed so thoroughly in illusion as to be practically undetectable. But not to me. I continue along the path, and the presence follows, two paces behind and to my right. I stop dead, and it stops too. I turn slowly, scanning the air for the minutest indication that something might be amiss, but nothing gives him away.

“Damn, you’re good.” I smile at the empty air. The presence moves slightly, and I imagine him cocking his head and raising one eyebrow in disbelief.

“So are you going to come out?”

Nothing. I sigh, “Fine,” and raise my hand, stepping gingerly closer to the feeling of life. A buzzing tingle starts in my fingertips, my hand feels hot and cold at the same time, then my fingers brush rough cotton and warm skin. The illusion melts away from my touch, revealing a very disgruntled Loki.

I grin at his obvious chagrin, ”Hello there, Trickster.”

“How did you do that?” He falls into step beside me as I continue along the path.

“Do I really need to spell it out for you?” I giggle, “Loki, you of all people must be able to work out why I can see through your illusions.”

“Just tell me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” I scoff, “No, you have to work to out. I’m very interested to know how and why you get to the answer, and what theories you invent in the interim.”

He snorts, “So, you do actually know why my magic doesn’t work on you. And you won’t tell me.”

“Correct. Though to clarify, your magic does work on me.”

“But you can see through my illusions.”

“Yes and no.”

He rolls his eyes, “Well, that’s helpful.”

I twitch my head in mock deference, “Glad to hear it.”

We walk in silence for a while. The sunset tinges the clouds a rich pink. The subdued roar of the quinjet’s engines disturbs the peace for a few minutes, then shuts off.

“Nat’s happy to be home,” I murmur quietly.

Loki, sauntering along with hands clasped behind his back, gives me a searching look, “Why do you say that?”

“Because she is,” I shrug, “She broadcasting it like a searchlight. And Clint is happy to see her. They’re on the tarmac, swapping stories and laughing,” I smile at something only I can see.

Loki’s full attention is on me now, "Can you see them? Or is it just in her head?”

“I just know,” I shrug again and look up into his intense green eyes, “I was practising earlier, what you told me about mind-reading and the like. It works differently for me, it’s like I’m a part of the person, seeing through their eyes, hearing through their ears, understanding the world through their preconceptions, beliefs and experiences. And at the same time, I’m me, watching their life, with my preconceptions, etc.” I frown, “It’s kinda weird, now I say it aloud, and if I think too much, the whole system implodes and I get a massive headache. But mostly, it works well. Easier with no distractions around, hence I’m out here.”

“What about the barriers? Protection from mind-reading?”

I give him a pensive look, “Well, I can’t exactly test my progress on myself, can I? So read me.”

Loki’s brow furrows and he leans closer, concentration obvious in his face. I am aware of a probing, but nothing uncomfortable or threatening. His eyes widen in amazement, “It’s like trying to get through a brick wall. Quilla, that’s the best mental defence I’ve ever seen.”

I grin happily, “Thanks!”

“What else have you been working on?”

“This…” I snap my fingers and balance a ball of light sparks into life on the tips of my thumb and index finger. It’s mainly a warm yellow, but streaks of red zip around it, and sparks of pure white light spin and dance across the surface in swirling agitation. I open my fingers and the ball grows larger until I have to hold it with two hands. Loki backs away, mouth agape, staring in fascination. He reaches out a hand tentatively and touches the surface. A fizzle of activity flows outward from the contact, emerald traces of light race around the equator before dissipating into the yellow-crimson spectrum. I watch him through the transparent lattice of light, smiling slightly at his awe. I raise my hands to opposite sides of the globe and bring them together, pressing it into a smaller and smaller size, the light increasing and the mass decreases until it almost blinding and the size of a grape. I hold the tiny star between thumb and forefinger again, squinting against the light. Loki holds out his palm and I drop my creation through it, catching it in my other hand below his. He snatches his hand back like he’d been burned, eyes wide.

“That stung!”

I laugh softly, “Hold out your hand again.”

He complies cautiously. This time I let the light rest in his palm. He stares at it open-mouthed. When I start to feel the drain of sustaining the globe, I gently lay my hand over his, sandwiching the orb between our palms. The heat of it warms my skin, the light passes through my flesh, backlighting the bones in my hand. I see myself reflected back in Loki’s eyes, illuminated by the glow in our joined hands. A buzzing, tingling, desperately bone-deep itch suddenly forms in my hand, and from the twitch in Loki’s face I know he feels it too. Then with a rush of electric fizz, the globe explodes, the remaining energy washing through us. I pull it into me, returning it to the special place behind my heart from whence it came. Loki looks dazed, blinks rapidly a few times, then sneezes violently. I double over laughing.

“Not funny!” He huffs, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve.

“Yes, it is!” I cackle, “Oh, your face! Priceless!”

“By the Norms, why does it tickle so?!”

“It’s just the energy integrating with your own. Feels weird at first, but the more you do it, the easier it is,” I giggle at his scrunched up face. “It always feels worse in the face. Don’t worry, it’ll be gone soon.”

He humphs in response. “Apart from that aspect, what you did was amazing.”

I duck my head in humility, “Thank. I’m still learning, still finding new things.”

“Well, don’t practise too much or you’ll be better at magic than I.”

“Oh dear, really?” I frown in mock concern, “You mean to say you don’t know everything?”

Loki lunges at me, but I duck away, giggling, slipping into an illusion and disappearing from his sight.

He looks around, desperately trying to find me, but I stay quiet and hidden.

“Oh come on, really? You can see through my illusions, but I can’t see through yours? How is that fair?”

I rematerialise a few feet away, shaking my head at him, “It works both ways, Trickster. You can’t hide from me, I can’t hide from you. The only difference is that I know how it works. When you learn, I won’t be able to hide from you, either. But until then - “ I slip away again, gone from physical sight, “Bye!”

Loki’s frustrated shout echoes after me as I trot away, back along the path to the river.

Chapter Text

Some months ago, Tony came to me one sunny morning with a proposal: would I be willing to try my metaphysical hand at science - specifically, studying and understanding the structure and electrical nature of radioactive substances and atomic structures. I agreed on the spot.

The first facility I visited was in Sweden. At first, it felt like I had found a job that was absolutely made for me. But, even though I had the curiosity and mental dexterity to investigate the minutia of the atomic world, I didn’t have the stamina or control to stay for more a few seconds; that can be a very long time, but even so, the limit was extremely frustrating. I talked (complained) to Dr Strange about it, and he suggested I ask Loki to help. He had the experience and strength, but could not manage the fine detail and patience required for manipulation of the molecular world. So, we compromised; sat facing each other, one hand on the others forehead, we slipped into a hybrid state of meditation, mental projection (for me) and magic (for him). Using a mix of our old telepathic and kinaesthetic links from my ghost days and his magic, Loki gave me strength and stability to venture farther and for longer, and in turn, I gave him access to the ‘live feed’ of the experiences I had and the things I learned. We made a good team, and the researchers gibbered with delight over the information I was able to provide them.

At first, our cooperation was a practical agreement. But months passed and we broadened our playing field, working with researchers and designers in nano-technology, microbiology, quantum experiments and suchlike. We became more and more comfortable with each other, physically and psychologically. Some of the walls I had built around myself began to crumble and the easy friendship we had previously shared started to return. I could have fun again, Loki smiled more. He started playing tricks on me occasionally, light-hearted pranks that always ended with me chasing him, both of us laughing.

One morning during the elevator ride down to the lab, we stood shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space; without my conscious control, my hand slipped into Loki’s larger one. It was instinctive, felt so natural, so comfortable, I didn’t know what to make of it, shocked at my own action. Then he looked at me with a smile in his eyes, gave my hand a gentle squeeze and all my worry vanished. Since then, we have often held hands during elevator rides, walking the long echoing hallways of the various facilities, or watching movies or reading books in motel rooms. I enjoy Loki’s company and from the sparkle in his eyes and the spring in his step, I guess he enjoys mine, too...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quinjet touches down, jolting me from a light sleep. I blink in bleary confusion, disorientated. Why is it so warm, why am I wearing such light clothes, what’s that pervasive whirring? Reality comes back with a crash: we’re not in Norway any more. I’m dressed for summer, not endless, freezing nights. The quinjet is taxiing into the hangar.

Loki sits next to me, leaning back against the fuselage, eyes closed, hands folded in his lap. Still half-asleep, I stare at his chiselled face. Unforgiving cabin lights illuminate the planes and the angle of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes, the lines from the slight frown that is permanently etched into between his brows. Wing-tip strobes reflect in his hair, a strange mirage of red and green highlights. He looks unreal.

I poke him unceremoniously in the ribs, “Wake up sleepy-head, we’re home.”

He lets out a warning growl, “Touch me again and you’ll lose that finger.”

I chuckle, unstowing my bag.

“Welcome home, folks!” Clint calls from the pilot’s chair as the engines shut down with a soft whine, “Please make sure you have your valuables and proceed to the door in an orderly fashion. Shore-leave will last approximately four days, so don’t go too far. It is… nineteen oh eight local time, so get settled in and relax. Dinner will be served approximately half an hour after you remember to order it.” He spins the chair around and grins at me, “Enjoy the holiday?”

I swing my pack over my shoulder, “Oh, sure! Nothing like two weeks in a Norway to really highlight the joys of America. Like sunlight. And only one layer of clothing.”

Loki barks a laugh. Just as we reach the ramp, Clint shouts from the cockpit, “Wait!”

I pause, hand hovering over the opening mechanism, “Why?”

“There’s an urgent message coming through.”

“What? Can’t they wait until we’ve gotten through the front door?” I grumble, making my way to the nose of the craft to lean over Clint’s shoulder. The screen flickers and Tony appears.

“Glad you’re home safe. There’s something important I need to brief Antlers and Eagle about, come straight to sublevel 16. Hawkeye, see you on level 1, boardroom 3.”

The screen freezes as the feed cuts off.

“What the fuck was that?” Clint snorts in derision, “Since when does he order us around like lackies? ‘Level 1, board room 3’,” he mocks in an impression of Tony’s voice, “Sir, yes, sir!” He gets up from the pilot seat, still muttering to himself.

I can’t stop staring at Tony’s face on the monitor. There’s something odd about it.

“Guys? Come back here a min, would you?”

There’s no sound, but I feel Loki’s presence behind me so I don’t jump when he speaks, “What is it?”

“Look at that,” I point to Tony’s frozen face, “Does he look normal to you?”

“You’re asking me if the man of iron looks normal?”

I roll my eyes, “Let me rephrase that… Does anything look unusual, like, he doesn’t look the way he normally does?”

Loki peers at the image as Clint comes over too. “Hard to say. People don’t usually look their best on a paused image.”

I flick my fingers over the controls, running the recording back and replaying it.

“He looks tired, and stressed… So no, nothing unusual,” Clint shrugs.

I stare at the image, trying to pick out what’s bugging me. Then it clicks. But I need to be sure… “Is there any way to get a better quality image?”

“Uh… “ Clint drags a hand down his face, “You could get the original file from the main server, but I doubt you have clearance – ”

“Don’t need it.” My fingers fly over the keypad, finding back doors and loopholes, diving through firewalls and passed security clearances without pause.

Clint stares at the switching tabs with his mouth open. “And I thought Tony was good at code…”

“Yeah, living with a robot in your brain does that to ya.” I force the temporary file manager to regurgitate the high-res footage and copy it to the quinjet’s data drive.

After a few seconds, the file opens, playing the clip again, “Glad you’re home safe – “ I stare at it, dread pooling in my gut with every passing second, and sink into the co-pilot’s seat with a sigh.

Loki puts his hand on my shoulder, “What do you see?”

I gesture to the frozen image again, “Think back to when you fought Asset. Anything in his eyes look familiar?”

He considers for a moment, then draws a sharp breath.

“What’s wrong with him?” Clint peers at the image.

“See the fine black lines within the iris? Those are the feelers of a spirit-killer. It’s the same as I had.”

“But, I thought it turned your eyes yellow? And his are still brown.” Clint sounds almost hopeful.

“The experimental drugs did that to me, not the implants. No, he’s under someone’s control alright. The clipped tone, distant expression. He’s not himself.”

“Ah shit,” Clint turns away with a heavy sigh, “Another mind-controlled jack-ass on the lose.”

Both Loki and I wince, and I feel a wash of regret from Clint as he turns back to us, claps a hand on Loki’s shoulder and gives me a nod, “Sorry, didn’t mean it like that.” He turns away, running a hand through his cropped hair. Loki looks at him sharply, uncertainty and surprise in his face, but Clint ploughs on, “Okay, so presuming the boss is compromised, I guess it’s safe to say that everyone else is, too.” He lets out a ragged sigh, “This is bad.”

I shrug one shoulder, “Maybe, maybe not. We’ve got a minute, I’ll have a look-see.”

“We don’t got a minute,” Clint gestures to the monitor. Two security guards are approaching the quinjet. They stop short of the raised ramp and signal the camera to lower it. 

I grab my pack from the floor, “Right, plan B: pretend we didn’t notice anything and make the best of what we find.”

“You got it.” Clint gives me a sad smile, “Be careful out there.”

“You, too. Thanks for the smooth flight, you really are the best pilot. And thank you for everything else, too.” I give him a tight hug and a peck on the cheek.

Clint’s eyes are soft as he pats my shoulder, “It was my pleasure, sweetheart.”

Loki brushes past us toward the lowering ramp. I grab his arm, “Loki…”

He looks at me, and for an instant uncertainty clouds his face, but he pushes it away. He grasps Clint’s hand and gives him a curt nod, which the other man returns, then he’s gone, down the ramp. I sense a shift in the air, but it’s too subtle to discern. I pause for a second, trying to define the feeling.

“Come,” Loki calls from the bottom of the ramp. I roll my eyes at his unintentionally degrading mannerism and follow him like the good girl that I am. The cool night air raises goosebumps on my bare skin. I’m so used to layers of clothing, it’s wonderful to feel the breeze again. I want to jump and skip and run around, throw myself on the soft grass, but not today. We walk briskly to the foyer, trailed by one guard. The other is walking with Clint, a few paces behind us. No one says anything. In the foyer, we separate to elevators on opposite sides of the room. Clint’s arrives first. He steps in and turns, catching my eye and winking just as the doors close. A burst of warmth and affection blooms in my chest, and I file the memory away carefully.

Our lift arrives, the guard stays in the foyer. As soon as we’re alone, I glance up at Loki’s face. It’s a carefully blank mask. His eyes flick to the security camera in the corner. I know we’re being watched; I step closer and slip my hand into his, something I’ve done many times on elevator rides in the Norway lab, only this time his fingers are twitching, and they close around mine in a surprisingly desperate grasp. I close my eyes and lean my head against his shoulder, a pretext to reaching across to him with my awareness, pushing at the barriers around his mind, silently asking what’s wrong. A crack appears in the wall. I press myself to it, reaching through, trying to understand. Paralysing fear brushes past me, chased by rage and indignation, followed by depression, which is dragging panic behind it. Memories of his time under the control of the Mind-stone flicker and flash, the pain and humiliation, the timelessness and torture. Memories of Asset, her cold eyes, the deadly efficiency of her movements, her hands around his neck –

I pull away, slipping back into the here and now and give Loki’s shaking hand a reassuring squeeze. He takes a deep breath, and some of the tension leaves him on the exhale.

Sixteen levels below the foyer, the lift decelerates and the G-forces press me into the floor. The doors open without a sound. We step out, still hand in hand. Through our connection, I feel Loki drawing on my strength, and I welcome it; a flash of pride makes my lips twitch in a smile. The lift doors close and it whirs away, rising back up to the surface.

Three people are gathered in the centre of the bunker-like research lab, around a table. A hologram bobs in the air, displaying a ‘please wait’ message. As we approach the little group, Wanda turns and her face lights up when she sees me.

“Aquilla! You’re back!”

I return her greeting, wrapping her in a half-hug because I won’t let go of Loki’s hand. Wanda glances at our joined hands and looks back at me with both eyebrows raised high. A blush rises at her enquiring expression; of course, no one here is aware of how much has changed between us. How much I’ve changed.

“I’ll explain later,” I murmur.

“You better,” She mock-whispers, taking my other hand and leading us to the table. Vision smiles at us in welcome, and Stephen claps me on the shoulder.

“Nice to see you again, Aquilla. How was Norway?”

“Cold. Seriously, I didn’t know how much I appreciated being able to wear sandals.”

Wanda giggles adorably and I wink at her. She’s been my fashionista since we became friends after discovering we had both been binge-watching Mr Robot over the same few weeks.

Stephen turns to Loki, “Did the cold remind you of home?”

Loki’s eyes go hard. He drops my hand abruptly, jaw tightening, “Midgardian temperatures could never come close those of Jotunheim, a fact of which I am glad, as I do not need to be reminded of that place.”

Vision clears his throat in the awkward pause that follows and tactfully changes the subject, “Aquilla, did you, by chance, get to see the fjords? They are quite spectacular this time of year.”

“Ah, well, I didn’t have the time or energy to go out and see them for myself. But Loki did, and he showed me,” I take his hand again, and feel three pairs of eyes suddenly trained on us, “And they were indeed glorious.” I give Loki a small smile, meant just for him, and his expression softens slightly.

“So,” I half-sit on the table, “What are we waiting for? Anyone know?”

“No,” Vision sounds pensive, “It seems we were all told to come here, but no one knows why.”

The hologram flickers and a new message appears, ‘Thank you for your service.’

“’Thank you for your service’?” Wanda looks around in confusion, “What – “

A whirring sound fills the air. The air vents in the walls and ceiling rattle and creak, spewing black dust into the air. But it’s more than dust, it moves and swirls like a living thing. The cloud roils and strikes at us, but Wanda keeps it back with her magic. Vision rises into the air, the blast from the Mind-stone lasering through the cloud, but it parts to let the beam through. The energy cuts into a section of wall and the ceiling cracks. Cement dust rains down on us.

“Vis, stop! You’ll bring the roof down on us!” Wanda shouts. I splay my hands above my head, helping her keep a bubble of protection around our little group. The black cloud swirls around us like a sandstorm.

“Wanda, can you hold this by yourself for a moment? I need to see with what we’re dealing.”

“Yes!” She’s breathing hard. I release my layer of fortification, letting her take the weight of the black cloud that’s pressing in on us inexorably. The cloud is so thick it would be pitch black if not for Wanda’s glowing red dome.

Very carefully, I place my hands together on the wall of the bubble, then ease them apart, creating a window of my own magic. The cloud recoils from me, but I reach into it, grab fleck of black sand and snap the window shut. The single grain floats in another tiny bubble of yellow light. It bumps into the walls, trying to get closer to me, but I keep it away with a wave of my fingers.

“Come here, Loki. I need you.”

“As you command, my lady.” Loki is by my side in an instant. I hold the little marble of light in my palm, focussing all my intension on it, it’s history, it’s purpose. The world blurs and drips away, lost in greys and dark purple. The tiny speck is suddenly huge, and living thing, with an intention of its own. It swims against the tide of my magic, desperately trying to reach the destination of my brain, where it will be safe and warm and fed. I reach into its memory, flying back through time, watching as the speck circles the red dome, as it recedes into the air vents, back into the holding tanks, back into long tunnels, the echo of dripping water, the smell of stale air and –

Oh, fuck no –

I collapse into Loki’s waiting arms. He holds me upright as the world spins. The little glowing orb is warm in my palm. I stare at it in horror, then slap my hands together, forcing my magic through the creature’s structure, blowing it apart atom by atom.

“What did you see?” His soothing voice murmurs in my ear.

I shake my head, slapping myself, trying to get back into reality. “This will keep up until we are no longer strong enough to hold it back, then when it breaches the barrier, the spores will burrow into our heads, into our brains, to lodge there and grow. If we don’t die, we will be taken over.”

“I don’t understand,” Stephen shakes his head, “What – What are they?”

I stare into his confused blue-green eyes, “Control units. Spirit-killers. Remember the pea-pod thing in my brain? Well, this is the upgrade of that.”

His face goes slack. I turn to Vision. “This is why we’re down here. We’re the ones that can’t be controlled by conventional means. The rest of the people in the main building are probably already under command, those that are compatible, anyway. But we’re different, maybe we can’t be controlled by this technology. Hence we’re trapped down here, with more than enough to kill us if necessary.”

“Aquilla…?” Wanda’s voice shakes, “I can’t hold this for much longer.”

“Okay, this is what we do: Wanda, I will take the load, let you rest. Stephen, can you sling us out of here?”

“Yes, I – “ He gropes around his waist for a second, “No… No, he took it! Damn it!”

“Loki, see if you can portal them? Doesn’t matter where, just outta here.”

“Of course.”

“Good. Jump to it!”

I stand in the centre of the dome, hands outstretched over my head, replacing Wanda’s red dome with my yellow one. With more time to prepare, I let the structure grow stronger, more thickly, like bulletproof glass instead of glad-wrap. The power flows through me continuously, out of my raised hands and in through my feet. I am rooted to the spot, unable to move without breaking the self-perpetuating cycle. Wanda staggers to the table and leans on it, breathing heavily. Loki bows his head, takes Stephen’s arm in a firm grip. There is a strange feeling of suction, like the tide going out before a wave, and both men vanish in a roil of black and green. A breathless second later, the other-worldly mist spits Loki back out. He sways alarmingly and Wanda puts out a hand to steady him, but he flinches away from her touch. He moves closer until our opposite shoulders almost touch, drops he gaze and murmurs for my ears only, “It’s different. I can’t travel beyond a mile away.”

"Is Stephen safe?"

"Yes."

“Then that's fine.”

His eyes search my face, “What if I’m not strong enough?”

I smile reassuringly up at him, “Take what strength from me that you need. I have faith in you.”

Loki bows his head and turns away. I meet Visions gaze and nod, knowing his cybernetic hearing would have picked up our soft words. He turns to Loki, “Perhaps you could take me only far enough from the building so as not to be seen. Say, down by the river, where Aquilla used to go in springtime. I wish to remain nearby, to observe.”

I mouth a silent ‘thank you’ to Vision. He grasps Loki’s arm, meets Wanda’s eyes and gives her a small smile. She blows him a kiss as another black and green flash swallows the two men.

Wanda turns to me, “I don’t think he can do that much longer. How will you two get out?”

“We’ll take the stairs,” I state confidently, even though I don’t in fact have any idea. At that moment, Loki reappears.

“Vision is by the river, as requested. He said to expect you to state in no uncertain terms that you would be joining him there?”

Wanda looks a little deflated, then shrugs and takes Loki’s proffered hand.

“Hold on tight,” He takes her other hand as well, and then they’re gone.

I wait for several seconds before Loki reappears. With the witnesses gone, he falls to the ground.

Apprehension shoots through me. Did he push too far? “Loki, talk to me… When you have a breath to spare. Are you alright?”

He nods, rolling onto his back, “It’s so… thick. The feel has changed since last time I teleported, as though the space has become… glutinous. It’s somewhat disconcerting. And really tiring.”

“But you’re okay?”

He opens his eyes and looks up at me, upside down to him, “Yes, little bird, I’ll be okay.”

“Good.” The strain of holding the dome out from us is increasing. “Either I’m getting tired, or the spores are pressing in harder. The dome’s getting smaller for the same amount of effort.”

Loki gets up with a groan and I let the dome pull inward, becoming just enough space to hold us.

“Shall I portal us out?”

“No. In the split second that I let this drop to travel, they’ll have us. I need to reverse it…”

He cocks his head in confusion.

“This is a ball around us, yeah? Well, I’m going to make it a ball around the spores. It’ll give us time to get out the door, at least. You need to cast an illusion for the cameras down here so the boys watching don’t see the situation change. Keep it looking like it does right now.”

Loki’s eyes glaze over for a second and green tints highlight the shadows on his face briefly.

“Done.”

“Okay. This will be difficult, please don’t let me fall.”

His eyes soften for an instant, “Never.” He steps closer still, wrapping his arms around my waist very lightly, just enough to reassure and be there if I falter. Before I can get lost in his proximity and his cool breath on my cheek, I pour myself into the energy flowing from my hands up into the dome. Spread across the surface, feeling the press of the spores. So many, so single-minded. From my feet, spread across the floor, out until there are no spores above, then rise, drawing a curtain up and over the roiling cloud. It does not see, it doesn’t know it’s been tricked. As the curtain meets at the apex, the shape snaps into a sphere, holding the spores in a giant, golden ball of light, at least 12’ across.

I stare up at the giant creation floating on my fingertips. Carefully, I release it, letting it float to the floor. The spores still strive to reach us, but they are trapped.

“That won’t last long; the further away I am, the weaker it gets. Let’s go!”

We sprint to the staircase door, Loki places a binding spell on it and we start the endless climb up 16 levels of stairs. After two flights my legs are burning, but the adrenaline pushes me onward. After three more levels, a deep rumbling shakes the stairs. I meet Loki’s wide-eyed gaze. Explosions below us shake the stairs. Darkness blinds me as the lights go out. Loki grabs my hand and hauls my along. After a mind-numbing spiral of cold metal, I collapse against the foyer door, legs shaking too much to stand.
“Oh, great!” I gasp for air, “It’s blocked!”

“Hangar tunnel door was intact,” Loki is doubled over, hands braced on his knees. A panel by the door catches my eye, much like a bottle of water to a man dying of thirst; I rip it open and dive my hands into the wiring and circuitry behind it, pulling the energy from the building. It’s a fizzy, insubstantial, but better than nothing. I force myself to stand, “You okay?”

Loki raises his head, still breathing heavily, “Too many stairs!”

I laugh and grab his hand, “Come on, going down!”

A crash echoes up the stairwell as we jump down the stairs one level, bursting through the door into the basement–hangar tunnel.

The lights flicker on for a second, blinding me after the darkness, but the orange glow delineates the exit, at the end of what looks like a mile of shaking corridor. The ground heaves and we are thrown along, tumbling and rolling on a wave of concrete. Glass and sparks shower down around us. The door bursts, splintering wood and bent steel as the ceiling sags alarmingly and the walls crack. Flame licks up the walls and pools across the ceiling. I’m distracted with controlling the fire, keeping it away from us when Loki grabs me around the waist and throws me clear as the door frame collapses and rubble bears down on him. I run back to him, pushing the fire away.

“Go!” He gasps, face twisted in agony.

“Don’t be stupid!” I drive my intention between the atoms of the largest block that pins him, forcing them apart. The block splits and crumbles. He staggers upright, wincing, and we shuffle and hop our way farther into the building. The quinjet stands on rubber-less tyres, wreathed in flame. The heat is relentless, I can’t keep it out, there’s too much fire, too much smoke, not enough air! I sling Loki’s arm over my shoulder, put all my will into the protective shell I have created around us and stumble toward the service door.

Cool air hits me like a slap in the face. The shell vanishes with a slight popping sound and Loki staggers away from my support. The tremblings and rumblings have eased, the ground is solid under our feet again. I brace my hands on my knees, gasping for breath. When the world stops spinning, I straighten up and look around. The main building is mostly intact, but the hangar fire reflects erratic in many broken windows, and on side of the architecture over the foyer door has collapsed. Ash and smoke clouds the air. People are moving around the main doors, but no one is near us.

Loki limps over to a listing lamppost and leans against it, eyes closed, weight off one foot. His hair is matted with sweat and blood, rubble dust covers his clothes. I’m not much better off; my shirt is burned through in places, a cut on my arm drips slowly into the dirt. And I’ve lost a shoe. Not surprising really, the light sandals weren’t made for running from certain death. I cover my mouth in a vain attempt to stifle a giggle. Loki opens one eye and glares at me like an owl at midday. “What in the world…?”

“Sorry,” I croak, but I can’t stop it now. I double over, laughing silently. “Please say – “ I dissolve into giggles again, but force myself into composure, “Say, ‘you lost a shoe’.”

Loki gives me a condescending look, “You lost a shoe?”

“Nah, dude – I found one!” I collapse in hysterical laughter.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His lips quirk in response to my infectious mirth and he shakes his head. “Crazy little human.”

I gasp a breath and wipe the tears from my face, “That was a Jeff Dunham and Peanut joke. It doesn’t make sense out of context, but thanks for humouring me.”

“Oh, I think you did all the humouring. Now, can we go?”

I scramble up a pile of rubble to get a look at our predicament. There is a whirling noise sweeping in from the north and I duck instinctively as a drone zooms overhead, banking sharply to overfly again, blasting the concealing smoke away with its propellers.

“Quill, get down here!” Loki hisses in panic. Green mist twists around his fingers in preparation to cast an illusion.

“No, let me do it!” I slither and slide down the pile, throw myself in front of Loki and cast as illusion over us. The drone circles and hovers, canning the area, then zooms off to the south. I let out a breath I didn’t realise I had been holding and lower the illusion. Only then do I realise I’m pressed against Loki from chest to toe. His dark green eyes are inches from mine, cool breath on my cheek. I am lost in his eyes for a second that lasts an eternity, then push abruptly away from him.

“Sorry,” I shake my head violently, “It’s easier to hide a smaller target.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with an unreadable expression.

“That drone will be back, probably with people. Can you walk?”

He tests the injured leg, winces, then nods, “Why didn’t you let me cast the illusion?”

I frown, “Because your magic is limited, and if we need to get out of here in a hurry then we’re going to need all of it.”

Loki’s jaw tightens and he glares at me, “My magic is not limited.”

“I don’t mean like that!“ I back-pedal hurriedly, holding up my hands in supplication, “I simply meant that you have a finite supply at any given time, and using it depletes your potential until you have time to recharge, so to speak. Same for me!” He relaxes slightly but still looks offended. “I grabbed a top-up from the building. I have much more than you, right now. And if we need to get out of here in a hurry – and I mean really outta here, not just a mile but maybe a few state lines – then we’re going to need all of our combined power, because I have the resources and you have the experience, so to speak.”

Loki shakes his head, “That’s purely theoretical. Some say it can’t be done.”

“Eh, can’t be done, never been done before – not the same thing…”

“None who have achieved the state have survived it with their sanity intact.”

I put my hand on his arm, “Yes, well, it’s a good thing we’re both a bit crazy then, isn’t it?

“How can you be so sure it will work?”

“I just am. Do you trust me?”

He stares into my eyes for a second longer than necessary, then nods.

I open my mouth to add something else when Loki focuses over my shoulder and the blood drains from his face. I rotate on the spot, muscles tensing. On the top of a pile of rubble stand two men in full body armour, looking around. They both see us at the exact same moment and swing their guns up in unison.

One shouts, “Freeze! Do not move!” His voice is mechanical, probably distorted by the mask. The other one mutters into a radio on his shoulder. They make their way down the rubble pile. I stare in horror at the men’s aura’s; they are grey and turning so slowly as to be almost still. I’ve never seen anything similar; this is not good at all.

I spin back to face Loki, “Time’s up!”

For a split second our eyes meet, he shoves his fingers into my hair, palm pressed to my forehead; the tingling pull of our connection tugs sharply. I don’t even wait for the link to open properly to reach into his mind and pour my magic into his. Time distorts, colour swirls, distantly I am aware of modulated screams. The portal swallows us, blackness consumes us, pulling, pushing, tearing us into a million pieces. Memories flash and whirl; distorted images, voices, music, gunfire, screams, laughter, explosion, whispers; flashes of colour and light. All of the present, a continuously modulating instant from the lives of over 7 billion people, twists and wraps around us, two souls unhitched from the fabric of reality. The colours reflect in Loki’s awe-struck face. I wrap both arms around him and focus all my intention towards a place of which I’ve only heard; a quiet place, far away from the terror and confusion. Loki’s training and experience refines the search and directs us toward the destination.

The sensation of enormous speed pushes the hair back from my face, even though there’s no wind. We hurtle along a tunnel of distorted images and light. The ambient colour scheme changes from daylight to night, the cacophony becomes subdued, morphing to the sounds of the ocean. A patch of noise and colour flashes past and then we’re alone with darkness and quiet, the occasional flash tinting the walls of the tunnel with a warm orange hue.

Suddenly it’s there, all around us, a dark, deserted tract of land, trees hanging heavy branches of leaves and seed pods, unkempt grass and wildflowers. The fabric of reality yanks us back into its weave, the sensation of being reordered and coalesced makes my head spin. The portal spits us unceremoniously onto soft grass –

Chapter Text

I cough and role over, groaning. Everything hurts, like I’ve been punched and stretched and squeezed and run over. Something hard bumps my elbow, and I shy away, but it’s only a headstone. I peer up at it in the gloom. The words ‘Basha Doltevsky’, the date of birth and death, followed by, ‘Beloved daughter, friend, wife and mother.’ I press my hand to the cold stone and whisper, “Hi, Mum.”

There is no reply. What did I expect, she’s been dead for years. A few feet away is a dark shape, lying still on the damp grass. I crawl to him, press my hands, cold and wet from the dew, to his face, slap him, but he’s barely breathing. How long was I out? Oh, gods, no, please –

“Loki!” I try to shout, but only a hoarse croak emerges.

His energy is dangerously low, a faint glow. I place my hand over his heart and let my magic trickle into his, slowly this time, carefully, replacing what was used in the thousands of miles of travel. Weariness shuffles into exhaustion but his light starts to shine again, and I collapse against him as he draws a ragged breath and opens his eyes.

“Oh gods, Loki, I’m so sorry,” I rasp, “I didn’t know – “

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

“You very nearly weren’t.”

“But I am,” He sits up and I role away, bone-weary. Tears clouds my vision, but I push them down. Loki picks himself up gingerly and looks around. “Where are we?”

“In a cemetery.”

“I can see that. What town?”

“Toowoomba.”

“What… country?”

“Australia.”

“What?!”

I chuckle dryly.

He sounds incredulous, “We teleported over nine thousand miles.

"Yep. Through glutinous sub-ether, pure chaos and indecision. Suffice to say we won’t be doing that again anytime soon."

"How are we even alive right now?”

“Like I said,” I push myself up to lean against the headstone, wincing, “There’s never been any two quite like us.”

Loki slips off his coat and shakes it, creating a cloud of dust in the still night air. I cough and flap my hand in front of my face. He glares at me and shrugs the ruined garment back on with as much aplomb as he can muster. “Australia? Of all places?”

“Remote, sparsely populated… What better stage from which to watch the world burn…” My voice fades, eyes drift closed. Cool fingers pressing lightly into my thready pulse.

“Quill?”

“’m tired…”

“I know nothing of this country. Where do we go from here?”

“Don’t know yet,” I grin up at him, drunk with exhaustion, “Just know I’ll know it when I know. You know?”

He shakes his head, the ever-present frown deepening, “Be careful, Quill. The amount of magic you’ve used recently, it’s not natural. The price will be high. I don’t want you to – “ He stops abruptly, snapping his mouth shut as if trapping words that cannot be spoken.

“’T’s okay, trust me.” I reach back and pat the headstone, “See that?”

Loki peers around me, reading the inscription, eyes widening, “This is your birth mother's grave?”

“Yep.”

“Did you know her?”

I giggle, “Of course, silly, she gave me life. But I don’t remember her.” The bubble of levity pops, “I didn’t even know where she was buried. But now, it’s coming back, little by little, in feelings and half-remembered glimpses…” My eyes glaze over at the memory, weeping willows and soft grass, gurgling water, ducks feasting on bread crumbs –

Loki’s voice pulls me back, “Where do we go, Quill?”

“We have to find her old house.”

“Won’t there be people living in it by now?”

“No. Don’t ask, it’s a long story. Can you cast illusions, keep us out of sight?”

He nods, placing a hand over mine on my knee, “How will you find this place?”

I smile faintly, “Ah, a new trick: I’m going to disconnect from this body and follow the call of memory to it’s source. Asset will then follow our connection to where I am, wherever that is.”

Loki looks sceptical, “That sounds incredibly dangerous. What if – “

“We don’t have time for ‘what if’s!” I snap, pushing his hand away, “The time for caution is gone! You could barely teleport a mile before I gave you my magic, and what with reviving you after the trip, I barely have any left! We don’t have a choice!”

His eyes go cold and he gets up. I try to grab his hand, tears pricking my eyes, regret for my thoughtless words, but he pulls away from. I reach out to him, pleading. Loki stares down at me, face set in hard lines. “If I’m such an inconvenience to you, why don’t you just go on without me. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

My mouth falls open, “What?! Why would I ever do that? Loki, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it through. I never meant to sound so spiteful.” A tear runs down my cheek.

His blank mask cracks as he takes a deep breath and looks away, out over the gently rolling slopes of gravestones, gnawing his bottom lip.

“Look, if we spend too much time outside, we’ll be spotted. We can’t risk that.” I stifle a small sob, “Please, I can’t do this without you.”

He avoids my gaze, “Alright.”

I let out a shaky sigh of relief, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, crouching down again and taking my hand, pressing it between palms, “I – “ Words fail him for a second time. I tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. His eyes flick up involuntarily, and the depth in them threatens to drown me.

"I really am sorry. I'm dazed and confused, I never meant to be mean. I have to go now. Come find me, okay?”

He nods, gaze dropping to our joined hands. The oddly familiar feeling of falling backwards drops me into a different kind of darkness. The world shifts, receding in my awareness until barely a dream. The feel of warm cotton and the smell of green tea pulls me up and away, follow the feeling until I find the source, wait in the drift, calling to Asset to follow –

Rise and straighten my clothes. Start walking due east at a steady pace. The man falls into step beside me, limping slightly, and together we walk across the cemetery to the street. He speaks, but I ignore him. There’s a pull in my chest, a glowing rope of yellow light, thin as spider silk yet stronger than steel. It cuts a straight line through the city, wafting through buildings. I follow the direction as best I can, jumping fences and cutting across parks and parking lots.

There are no other people about, and very few cars. The man casts a simple illusion over us so that to the casual observer, we aren’t even there. The stars wheel above us, the street lights blur into a continuous stream of yellow orbs. Block after block passes under my feet, which are cut and bruised, but I don’t care.

The sun is peaking over the horizon when we reach the little house. It’s quiet and closed. No car, no sign of habitation, an overgrown front yard. The man breaks the lock on the back door and we slip inside. There is no alarm. No one has lived here for a while. The air is stale, a fine layer of dust cover the flat surfaces.

He sneaks through the house, checking rooms while I wait by the door, eyes down, motionless. The line of light leads up through the ceiling, but I don’t want to follow it any more. The man returns from the upper story. He pauses in the hallway. I stare at him blankly, he stares into my eyes for a while, frown deepening as I gaze into his, then turns away and disappears down a hallway. A moment later he returns.

“Quill?”

I put my head to one side, “ Unrecognised title. ” My voice is soft, deadpan.

His eyes widen and he takes my hand gently, “It's your name.”

“Incorrect. Designation: Asset 47.”

“No. You are more than that. ”

I frown. “ What is there, more than that? ”

The man winces slightly at my question. “ Everything. You are so much more than just a machine, more than just an experiment. You are human. A human woman.”

“ I am human? ”

The man takes my other hand as well, running his thumbs over my knuckles, “Yes.”

“ No, humans live. You refer to the other. She lives; I exist.”

His brows quirk up in the centre, and moisture glistens in his eyes, “That’s not true. You are alive right now. Your heart beats, your breath moves in your lungs. Your skin is warm. You are alive.”

A strange, unfamiliar feeling pulls at my heart and a prickly heat swells behind my eyes. He steps closer and I shy away from him. Loki, the name echoes up from the depths. He places a hand on my cheek. I draw in a sharp breath at the contact that makes my heart contract painfully. His dark eyes stare into mine, into the darkness where my soul used to be. I put my hand over his, feeling the texture of his skin, the ridges of the tendons and bones.

“No, Loki. I exist to continue existence; that is not living. The other lives, because of you. ”

The golden thread connected to my chest swells and coils back on itself. The world dissolves in a kaleidoscope of muted colours. From a great distance, I hear Loki calling my name. I am dissolving. There is no time here, just an endless ‘now’. Darkness, warmth, peace –

Reality snaps back into focus. Cold air, pain, Loki’s arms around me, tears on my cheeks. The intensity is disorientating. I twist away from his support but my legs give out and I land heavily on the wooden floor, bruising my hip. Still disorientated, I scuttle backwards away from him.

“Quill?” His soft query makes my heart pound.

My back hits the kitchen cabinets. Nowhere to run now, I stare at Loki, crouched a few feet from me, watching me like he would a wild animal. I shake my head violently, trying to make sense of the confusion: should I run to him or from him? I am scared or safe? Asset doesn’t cry, why are there tears on my face? Why is there such a deep longing, a desperate, resigned loneliness pulling at my heart? The memory of Asset’s words hits me like a fist in the gut. Her voice isn’t new to me but she’s never spoken to anyone else before. Why did she say she doesn't live?

I turn my face away from Loki, overwhelmed with uncertainty and shame. I don’t want him to see me like this. I’ve never let my composure slip with anyone but Stephen. Only he has spoken to Asset, only he knows how crazy I can get in times like this, but he’s not here. Fresh tears run down my face.

“Aquilla? Can you hear me?” Loki’s voice is soft, placating. How stupid I’m being, hiding from him when he’s the only person in the world right now I can trust. I pull myself upright, leaning on the kitchen counter, and reluctantly meet his calculating gaze.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, trying to control the shaking in my limps, “It’s just a bit much – “ A sob claws it’s way out, breaking my words. I clamp a hand over my mouth instinctively, as I have done for so long, and turn away to hide my pain, but Loki will have none of it. He closes the abyssal distance between us and spins me back to face him, prizing my fingers away from my face.

“Look at me.”

I close my eyes and turn my head away, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me.

“Look at me!” He snaps, inches from my face. I jump in fright and freeze; he’s never used that tone on me before.

“There’s nowhere to run to any more. No Doctor to whisk you away, no forest to lose yourself in, no place to hide.” His green eyes blaze and I curl in on myself, shaking with shame and intimidation. He continues in a deadly whisper, “You told me Asset was a mute creature, a feeling, an instinct. But that’s not true, is it! She spoke to me! She knew my name!”

“I know,” I whisper, eyes downcast.

He turns abruptly and stalks away, then spins around, one finger raised, “You lied to me about her, Quill. W hat else have you lied about?”

“I haven’t lied about anything!” I’m shaking so badly I can barely stand, but the anger at his accusation drives me on, “She was a mute, instinctual creature when I first found her, curled up in the back of my mind! I raised her up and gave her a voice!”

“Oh, how noble of you!” He laughs cruelly, “And when she could speak, you silenced her yourself!”

“How dare you?!” I scream at him, “You have no idea what it was like, having two people in here! D’you think it’s all happiness, laughter and friendship? Really? Well, I hate to break it to ya, but it’s fucking insanity, that’s what it is! I couldn’t keep my food down, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t have a normal conversation, couldn’t keep track of time, couldn’t fucking live!”

I gasp for breath. Loki stares at me, open-mouthed.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t keep you updated on the minutia of my existence,” I sneer, sarcasm dripping from my tone, “but at the time, it seemed more appropriate to keep my borderline insanity to myself, since it in no way affected you.”

Loki blinks a few times, and snaps his mouth shut without a word. My anger dissipates in a flash and I lean on the kitchen counter, exhausted, “It’s been getting better, we’ve come to an arrangement. We’ve been coexisting peacefully for a while, and recently we started working together. You have no idea how long it took to teach her how to see and feel enough to follow me through the world like she did today. But it’s been bloody hard work, and I never knew if I would be the same person after a session that I was at the start. Every time, I talked with Stephen for a few hours after to make sure I was still me! I am sorry I kept secrets, but I thought it better than the unnecessary burden of my problems.”

Loki takes a step toward me, and I back away. His voice is soft, disconcertingly affectionate, “Why did you try so desperately to keep this from me?”

“I didn’t want you to see how fucked up I was.”

He advances slowly, never taking his eyes off mine, "Why?"

The pressure in my chest increases with his proximity. I gulp shallow breaths, unable to think fast enough to twist the truth into a more acceptable form, “It would break my heart to lose you, and I am terrified of that, because it could happen so easily.”

“Why do you think that?” He backs me into the wall, trapping me, hands braced on either side of my head. I avert my gaze, blinking back tears, “I’m not worth your time and effort! I’m not worth your patience!”

“I decide that, not you,” he growls. I twist against the wall, trying to find a way out, but he blocks my escape. “Why are you hiding from me?”

I swat at his arm and push feebly against his chest, sobs claw at my throat but I swallow them desperatly, pushing down the confusion that rages inside. I want to run away and hide, I want to fall into his waiting arms. I can’t stand this, “Please – “

He grips my chin in one hand, forcing me to look at him, “Don’t give me the poor defenceless woman act. I know full well you could lay me out if you wanted to, so I’m going to ask again: why are you hiding from me?”

“Because I don’t deserve you!” I shout in his face, my trembling hands balled into fists, pounding ineffectually on his chest. “I’m twisted and broken, fighting everyday just to stay sane! I’m nothing like you, why would you ever see anything in me? How could you ever see in me what I see in you? I’m worthless! I am nothing – I’m – “ Sobs I can no longer control shake my body, shame and self-hatred gripping my heart, “I don’t deserve – “ I collapse in on myself, falling against him, weeping uncontrollably. He holds me as I bawl into his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere, little bird,” he murmurs, but that just makes me cry more.

“Why? I have nothing to offer that you couldn’t find elsewhere, in better shape…”

“Why do you look at it like a trade agreement? Can I not enjoy your company for its own sake?” Loki sways me gently side to side as I pour out my insecurities, hands clutching desperately at the back of his torn and dusty jacket.

When I am calm enough to catch my breath, I lean into him, really feeling the hug for the first time; the sound of his heart under my ear, his hands on my back, his scent mixed with ash and dirt. I push away gently, and he gives me space. A ray of morning sunlight peeks through the old curtains and illuminates his face in a rosy-golden glow, casting deep shadows across his sharp features. His eyes sparkle in the light, onyx set in emeralds and pearl. Once again, I am painfully reminded of his extraterrestrial beauty. The image blurs and tilts and before I realise what’s happening, I am once again pressed against his strong body.

“Easy does it, little bird, nearly lost you there.”

“Sorry,” I slur, trying to stand on my own, only half conscious.

“Shush, I have you,” the world tilts again as I am carried. Softness and the smell of old blankets and musty sheets pulls me to reality.

“Here, take this…” I pool the last vestiges of magic into my hand and press it into Loki’s palm. He stares in surprise at the glow dissipating under his skin, shivers as it melts away, then meets my half-closed eyes with an exasperated sigh.

“Why did you do that, Quill?”

“You need… be safe… I’ll catch up…”

“I’m not leaving you.”

I grab his hand and pull it against my chest, “Thank you…”

His reply is lost in the hum and swirl of the drift, as I fall backwards into welcoming oblivion.

Chapter Text

Mellow afternoon light spills through the half-drawn curtains, laying a strip of highlight across the threadbare carpet. The cream walls are cracked, the ceiling sports an impressive collection of spiderwebs in the corners. The smell of must and dust pervades the world. I yawn hugely and stretch, groaning at the intolerable weight in my bones. I just want to sleep… My stomach grumbles. Oh well, food first, then sleep…

My clothes are folded neatly on a chair, free of grime and burn marks. Once dressed, I shuffle along the hall and down creaking wooden stairs. The house feels familiar, though I can’t place the memory. It also feels empty. I find the kitchen, intent on food. The hum of the refrigerator thermostat kicking in makes me jump. I gingerly open the door and cold air pools over my feet. Bread, milk, water, a few pieces of fruit and cheese make my mouth water. I grab a few things and take them to the counter, where I find a piece of paper folded in half, standing on its edge. A single sentence is scrawled in elegant calligraphy, I’ll be back before dark. I turn the paper over, but that’s it.

“Don’t waste any ink, will you.” I chuckle dryly.

After a lettuce and tomato sandwich and a glass of milk, I feel a little less frail. It only takes a few minutes to explore the house; the rooms are small, the furniture utilitarian. To my delight, the hot water works. The scalding shower leaves my skin sensitive and as pink as it ever gets. I study my reflection in the dusty mirror; yup, still a pale freak. The scars stand out, paler lines on pale skin. When they were post-surgery angry red, I had hoped that they would fade only to the point of invisibility, but no such luck. Ironic that my body used to be covered in dark lines, now they’re white.

I conjure a tiny speck of magic on my fingertips, but dizziness overcomes me. I lean heavily on the sink for a moment, fighting to keep my breakfast down. When the nausea passes I limp downstairs again and curl up on the couch, pulling a blanket over my legs. Rain patters gently on the roof, staining the patio brickwork a burnt orange. A frog croaks somewhere outside. Thunder rumbles softly in the distance. I drift away, lulled by the sound of the rain.

A gentle caress on my cheek makes me jump, eyes flying open in a panic. Loki is crouched by my side. He pulls back, regret in his eyes, “Sorry…“

“’s okay. ‘m glad you’re back,” I shuffle around to make room, still wrapped in the blanket and half asleep.

He sits next to me on the worn-out couch. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I haven’t slept for years, like m’bones are made of lead,“ I yawn and move over to sit right next to him, too zoned out to be self-conscious, seeking warmth and comfort. He hesitates a moment, then wraps one arm around my shoulders. “I’m all tired out and used up. Can’t even make a spark.” I snap my fingers and make a silly farting noise to emphasize my point.

“You just need rest, little bird.” There’s a smile in his voice. He adjusts his position on the couch so I am snuggled into his side, head pillowed on his chest. I sigh happily and yawn again. Fingers comb through my damp hair. I hum in peaceful contentment and fall into sleep.

It’s dark when I wake again, still on the couch, still curled up in the arms of a god. It takes a few minutes to get my head in order, remembering everything that happened over the last… day? Days? How long has it been? I raise my head slowly, not wanting to wake him, but two predatorily glowing eyes are watching me from under hooded lids, and curiosity gets the better of me.

“I’ve always meant to ask, why do your eyes glow?”

He chuckles, “I don’t know exactly. I think it’s mostly because of the magic. Like with you.”

I frown, “Mine don’t glow.”

“Yes, they do.”

“No, they don’t.”

He lets out an exasperated huff and retrieves something from the little coffee table, holding up some kind of reflective surface. Two golden discs stare back at me.

“Wow… That’s new…”

“It suits you.”

My gaze flicks up to meet Loki’s, then back to the reflection. I stare at my glowing eyes in puzzlement, then lower my head to rest on his chest again. Lean muscles flex under my splayed fingers as he reaches out to return the reflective thing to the coffee table, then wraps the arm protectively around me. I inhale slowly and let out a sigh. Sweat, ash, ever-present pine, and a unique musk that is unmistakably Loki. I idly wonder why he hasn’t cleaned up from our ordeal; after all, he fixed my clothes, and he’s usually quite fastidious when it comes to cleanliness. My fingers twitch and move almost of their own accord on the rough cotton; warmth seeps into my fingertips. I press my hand flatter against his chest, absorbed in the vibrations of energy and the feeling of life. The slow, steady thump of his heart falters, then kicks up a notch. Before I can make anything of the change, he speaks.

“Are you comfortable here?”

“I’m happy if you are.”

A subtle tension creeps into his body and I curse my choice of words. Why didn’t I just say a simple ‘yes’? I want to tell him it’s perfect here, this is the best possible moment of which I could ever dream, but I can’t. Instead, I bumble, “I mean, I am comfortable here… would rather stay here like this, if you don’t mind.”

He relaxes a little, but some tension remains. Under my ear, his heart skips a beat, thumping solidly on the follow-up. Worry pools in my gut.

“Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay? Physically? It’s just, you nearly died from traveling through the ether. The magic I gave you, it hasn’t hurt you, has it?”

He rubs my back gently, “I’m in perfect health, Quill. Why do you ask?”

“Um… Your heart, the rhythm has irregularities…”

An amused huff ruffles my hair, “You are observant, little bird. Do not fret. Just as in a human, I have sympathetic systems that respond to my thoughts and moods. But here’s something most humans can’t do; listen closely.”

The beat slows and then stops altogether. I press my ear into Loki’s chest, unable to comprehend what just happened, as if getting closer might change the fact that he just stopped his own heart. I count under my breath; after 7 seconds, the beat resumes, somewhat slowly, but gradually picks up the pace to normal. I look up into glowing eyes, lost for words.

He flashes a cocky grin. “I’ve not seen you so completely gobsmacked.”

I shake my head, still speechless. Loki laughs, a gentle chuckle that resonates through his chest and into my body. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Finally my words return, “You – you just stopped your own heart!”

“Yes. But more importantly, restarted it. Perfecting control of the physical body was a vital component of initiation as a mage. Some thought it an unnecessary tedium, but I’ve found it to be quite a useful skill. That concept isn’t new to you, though, especially since – “ He goes absolutely still for a second, then suddenly takes my head in his hands and turns my face to his, an elated smile splitting his face, “That’s it!”

I blink, confused by the sudden urgency in his voice, the intensity of his gaze, “That’s what?”

“That’s the reason that we can share magical resources without consequence, why you can see through my illusions, why I always know where you are. My magic, it’s a part of you!”

I cock my head – always knows where I am, huh? “Yes. You poured your magic into me when you restarted my heart. We are… made of similar stuff, you might say.”

“Oh, it all makes sense now!” He slaps a hand over his eyes, “It’s so obvious! How could I not have seen it before?”

I shrug, “Doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’ve figured it out, though.”

He sighs, “To think the answer was under my nose the whole time. What must you think of me, that I am such an unobservant fool.”

“I never thought that,” I prop my chin on my hand, gazing up at him. “I have been a creature of pure energy for several years, I’m hyper-aware of the smallest changes in that realm. You’ve never experienced that, you didn’t really know that having a part of your essence as part of me would feel different, or what to look for if it did.” He bobs his head noncommittally, still frowning, chiding himself for his lack of observation, no doubt. I continue, “I guess, in a way, it’s a bit like Harry and Voldemort. But in a good way.”

“Like a who and the what?”

“Harry and Voldemort,” I laugh at his perplexed expression, “From a story, written in the 1990s. It’s about a wizard – “ Loki rolls his eyes and I giggle, “Hey, give me a chance! It’s about a boy, who goes to wizarding school. There’s this really bad wizard, Voldemort, who wants to take over the world, you get the picture. The books span all of Harry’s life, from age 11 to twenties. Anyway, unbeknownst to Harry, he carries a part of Voldemort’s soul with him, as part of him, because when Harry was a baby, Voldemort tried to kill him but Harry’s mother gave her life to protect Harry and that created a protection over him that bounced Voldemort’s spell back, maiming them both.” Loki frowns and draws breath to speak but I hold up one finger, “That’s not the important part, let me finish. Over the years, no one could properly kill Voldemort, and no one knew why, until they worked out that a piece of him was always alive in Harry. So when Harry faced him in a duel, and Voldemort tried to kill him, he was actually killing the part of himself that lived in Harry, and when that happened, he became mortal again. Do you see what I mean?”

Loki considers for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “Are you saying I’m currently immortal and should therefore never challenge you to a duel?”

“No, I – Wait, you’re immortal?”

“According to your theory, in a way, yes.”

“Huh.” I stare at nothing, mulling the theory over, then shrug. “Well, compared to us measly humans, you’re practically immortal anyway.”

“You forget, my dear, that you are not technically human either.”

“Oh yeah…” I grin cheekily up at him, “In that case, compared to those measly humans, you’re practically immortal.”

A soft smile warms his eyes, “I am by no means immortal. Time just works differently for me, as it does for you too.”

“What do you mean, time works differently for me?”

Loki just gives me a smug smile and raises his voice in a mocking but accurate imitation of my own, “Oh Quill, you of all people should be able to work that out – “

“Why, you – !“ I swat his arm playfully, but still hard enough to feel it, “How dare you use my own words against me!”

He laughs huskily, catching my wrist in a firm grip, “You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can be misquoted and used against you.”

“That sounds about right, you - you bastard!” I dissolve into laughter as I struggle to break his grip on my arm. When it’s obvious I’m not going anywhere without some serious effort, I give up with a huff, laying my head once again in the hollow of his shoulder. I relax completely, my captured wrist at his mercy. He loosens his grip, laying my arm across his stomach. In the aftermath of mirth and our proximity, a wash of affection flows through me. My heart skips a beat and thumps loudly as a wave of unfamiliar relaxation and profound peace brings tears to my eyes.

Loki’s arm tightens around my shoulder, “Your heart is beating out of time, little bird, and your breath is shallow. What ails you?”

I bite my tongue on the first response that comes to mind, afraid to speak openly in case I screw up this perfect moment, “Nothing…“

“That was a lie," he purrs in a deadly soft voice.

Too late. I pull in on myself, shrinking away from him, “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be; just speak your mind.”

I take a deep breath, “I’m so tired I’m loopy, hence I’m just gonna say everything: I’m scared and confused. I feel terribly guilty that I kept things from you about Asset and my life, and to be honest, part of me didn’t think you’d be here when I woke up. And after that, I am pinching myself that this is real. I don’t know if it’s who I am, or what I’ve been through, but…” I take a steadying breath, “This, here, just curled up here with you, is… so right. So perfect. Another living being so close to me, content to have me close to them … But it’s more than that because it’s you. And I don’t mean to sound clingy or desperate or needy, it’s just… true. Perhaps it’s because I spent so long alone. Both of us. Asset was kept just as much in isolation as I. The longing of two people shared as one.”

The silence echoes with unspoken words, so I close my eyes and let them pour out, “Loki, you have been a beacon in the dark, a voice when no one else could even hear me, a friend when I was alone. A teacher, a counterpart, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, a smile to share. I… I think I’m searching for something without even realizing it, or even knowing what it is. But at the same time, thinking I’m never going to find it, that I’m not worthy, that I don’t deserve it. That I’m not good enough to be worth someone else’s time and effort. And I’m terrified that whatever it is, it will slip away, and I’ll lose the one thing that I am so desperately searching for without even knowing it. Or worse, that I’ll get a taste of it, enough to know what it is that I’m looking for, how it feels to have it within my grasp, and then it will be snatched away.”

Loki says nothing when I fall silent. His hand still rubs lightly up and down my arm, shoulder to wrist. Then he takes my hand, raising it to his face and laying a soft kiss on my knuckles.

“Thank you for your honesty.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“There is no need to apologize, and I mean that most sincerely,” He kisses my hand again and returns it to rest on his stomach. “Fear not, little one, you have not scared me away with your candor; I know you too well for that.”

“I know, but still…”

“All will be well.”

“All will be well…” I repeat slowly, “Fifty-three percent of the letters in that sentence are ‘L’s.”

A soft chuckle, “Indeed." After a pause, he adds, "You know, I get the feeling we're going to stay here the rest of the night. Shall we make it a little more comfortable?”

"Sure," I scramble upright, shaking out the blanket. Loki shrugs off his jacket and throws it onto the other chair. He gets comfortable laying along the couch, head pillowed on the sagging armrest, and I throw the blanket over us both and snuggle between him and the backrest. He cradles my head in the crook of his shoulder, one arm around my shoulders, the other hand over mine on his stomach. I relax, feeling lighter as if my worries had been a physical burden.

His fingers ghost over the back of my hand. “That story of the wizard boy, how do you know of it?”

I shrug one shoulder, “What kid doesn’t know about Harry Potter?

“When did you read it?

“can’t remember…”

“Hmm.”

I rack my brains for a moment, trying to trace the memory of Harry and Hogwarts and Diagon Alley and Draco and magic castles and Death Eaters and… the smell of old paperbacks and freshly cut grass. I open my eyes in the dark, staring at nothing. “I think it’s from before… I think I read it as a kid.” A proud smile cracks my face, “I remember… There were three new water tanks for the house. They lay on their side in the grass, waiting to get set into place. I would sit on them and read.”

“Is that so…”

“May I show you?”

“If you wish.”

I press my fingertips to his temple. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly as we fall into the memory, pushing away from the here and now into the feeling of tough plastic, static, warm summer air, the smell of freshly cut grass, birds chirping and fluttering in the trees nearby, horses snorting; static raising the hair on my skinny child-like arms, heat from the sun softening the tank walls until they bow under my weight, jumping from one to the next and back, pretending the gap is a deadly trap. Lying draped over the roundness, reading from a foxed and creased paperback. Sliding down the sides onto the ground, being zapped with static from the gate latch.

The memory fades and I settle back into reality.

Loki is silent for a moment, then whispers, “That was beautiful.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Everyone should have memories like that.”

“I don’t have any others, though…”

“This is the first of many. They’ll come back, trust me.”

“I do.”

“Do what?”

“Trust you.”

Loki squeezes my shoulder, “You and no one else.”

I tighten my grip around his waist, “They don’t know you as I do.”

He says nothing, just turns his head to rest against mine. My eyelids droop, my breathing slows. Before long I’m falling back into darkness, only now I am wrapped in softness and comforting warmth that pulls me into the deepest sleep I’ve ever known.

Chapter Text

Mid-morning sun warms my face, lighting my eyelids with rosy color. My body is filled with tingling lightness, a welcome change from the tiredness. I stretch luxuriously, raising my arms over my head and pointing my toes. A murmured one-sided conversation drifts from the kitchen. I sigh and lay still for a moment, savoring the peaceful sounds of birds chirping. The voice falls silent and soft footfalls herald Loki’s approach. When he sees I’m awake, he hands me a mobile phone with a muttered, “It’s the under-privileged eagle.” He flops into the armchair opposite, throwing one leg over the armrest. In the morning light, he looks exhausted, dark shadows under his closed eyes and lips pressed into a thin line.

I shake off the worry and lift my mood for Clint, “Hey there Big Bird, how are ya?”

“Can’t complain, sweetheart. How are you fairing?”

“Had a bit of a rough trot, but much better now. You?”

“I’m good. Look, I can’t talk much longer, the Green Goblin says you’re staying with your mother?

I burst out laughing at the new nickname, “Yeah, for now, at least. I’ll know more after I’m back on track and functioning at peak, but for now, we just sit tight and hope the storm blows over.”

“ Good, that’s good.” C lint sounds relieved. “Well, I better go. You tell that piece of work if he doesn’t behave himself, he’ll have to answer to me .”

“I’ll pass the message on,” I giggle, “You take care now, you hear? Be safe.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The line disconnects and I put the phone on the coffee table. Loki opens one eye and then closes it again, “What was so funny?”

“He called you the Green Goblin.”

“Meaning?”

I sigh, frowning at his terseness, “It’s just a pop-culture reference. When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t need as much as humans do.”

I roll my eyes at his evasion, “How long have we been in this place?”

“Since yesterday morning.”

I raise my brows in surprise, “Is that all? Wow. So, the last time you slept was on the plane, if even then. And since then, you’ve teleported and fought and run and traveled half-way around the world and walked half-way across town in the dark. Then we had a blazing row, a heart-to-heart, then you either did some more magic or some more walking, or both, because that fridge didn’t stock itself, and I bet you didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, did you? Oh, and we then had another heart-to-heart. And you know how I know you’re running on empty? Because you haven’t cleaned yourself up. You fixed my clothes – thanks for that, by the way – but you’re still dusty, ripped, and singed.”

He sighs and opens tired eyes, “Aquilla, the Avengers have been overthrown by an unknown invader, we’re in a foreign country, for the past 24 hours you’ve been practically comatose. What did you expect?”

I kneel by the armrest of Loki’s chair and take his hand. His fingers curl around mine unconsciously, and my heart swells at the contact. “Comatose from escaping said invader, may I point out. And I appreciate your care, but it's your turn now. Look, I’m feeling almost as good as new.” I produce a small golden flame between thumb and forefinger. “Not a hundred percent yet, but… at least eighty. Maybe eighty-five, after some breakfast.” I give him a cheeky grin, which he returns half-heartedly. “My point is, we’re safe here. Rest. Let the world turn without you for a while.”

“I can’t – “ He stops, brows rising, lips parted to speak but no words come.

“Can’t what, babe?” I murmur, placing my other hand over his. At the sound of the pet name, his unguarded gaze flicks up to meet mine, and for a split second, I see the turmoil, the worry, the uncertainty, and fear plainly in his emerald eyes. Everything I've felt, reflected back at me.

“Tell me,” I whisper.

Wetness pools along his lower lids, hand twitching in my grasp. He looks up at the ceiling and blinks a few times, clears his throat, “I couldn’t sleep, even if I tried.” He glances at me and away again, “I can’t stop – ”

“Can’t stop worrying, can’t stop thinking? Can’t stop listening for that furtive footstep, that creaking floorboard? Heart pounding at the slightest unrecognized noise, the half-seen shadow?”

He nods, and I squeeze his hand gently, “I know the feeling. I lived like that for months. I know you try to hide it, and you're really good at hiding it, but I see through the act because I do the same. I see your eyes flick toward an unrecognized sound, your shoulders tense when a door slams, the straightness of your back when you walk in unfamiliar surroundings. Always looking over your shoulder, never certain of safety, least of all when you need it most. But we’re in this together. You’re not alone anymore. Let me help you…”

He looks at me then, eyes still overly glossy, shame twitching the corner of his mouth. “You shouldn’t have to – “

I cut him off, “Everything you’ve done for me, you shouldn’t have had to do, so don’t try that on me.” I sigh, “Look, Loki, you need to rest. Anyone else, I wouldn’t think twice about just dropping them into the drift without further ado, but I would never do that to you without your permission. Please…” I hold up my hand a few inches from his face, fingers splayed, “All you have to do is lean forward.”

Loki stares at me for a moment, then abruptly closes his eyes and leans his head into my grip. Our link opens and I gasp at the weight of his consciousness, agitated and twisting, unstable, fraught with worry and the imaginings of possible futures. I’ve put people to sleep before, and it was never like this. But then, I’ve never tried to calm the mind of a god. Wanda and Clint are only human, a storm in teacup compared to the raging ocean now bearing down on me. I push back against the tide, wading through the sea of thoughts until I find the center of the maze, where a dark-haired young man is curled up on the ground, rocking back and forth. I put my hand on his shoulder and he raises his head and looks up at me. His hair is shorter, his face is younger, not etched with the evidence of hardship and scorn like its physical counterpart, but the exact same bright green eyes stare at me with the same piercing intensity. The swirl of memories, thoughts, and imagination twist in tumultuous abandon around us as we stand in the eye of the storm. The young man rises slowly, dressed in a simple cotton shirt and trousers, barefoot in the swirling mist.

It’s time to let go.

He drops his gaze and nods. I move around him, place one hand around the back of his neck and the other on his chest.

Trust me?

He nods again and closes his eyes. I let myself fall backward, taking him with me through the floor of consciousness and down into the drift. All around us fills with pin-pricks of light, zipping and zapping, faint trails of rainbow colors. The dark is never black here. We float in soft nothingness. A smile graces Loki’s young face. I release my hold, letting him float away. His hair rises and fans about his head as if he were underwater. His arms open out as the specks of light start to drift toward him, curious of the newcomer. One lands on an outstretched finger and slips beneath the skin, running up his arm and settling in his heart. Another enters through his other hand, and another and another, until steady streams of light are pouring gently into him. I move away and rise up to reality, leaving him in the peace and quiet of the drift.

Loki’s head is heavy against my fingers, face slack, lips parted. A sighing breath gusts over my wrist as I lower his head back against the chair. I get up stiffly and slip away silently, make myself some breakfast and eat it outside, curled up in a faded hammock chair on the back porch. The patio bricks steam in the morning sun after last night's rain. The grass in the back yard is long and unkempt, the bushes overgrown and flowering with abandon. Mock orange competes with jasmine, parsley is going crazy along the border, rampant Petunias and lilies fill the flowerbeds. A leopard tree is growing in the center of the yard, heavy branches drooping to the ground. The dirt is bare around the trunk, hollowed out in one placed and scuffed as if by an animal. Two pieces of frayed rope dangle from the strongest bow, as if there had once been a swing beneath the branch.

I walk over to the tree and place my hand on the smooth bark, gazing up at the fern-like leaves, dappled with morning sun. The familiar scent of the tree pervades my senses and pulls me into a memory of clambering about the branches, finding cicadas and caterpillars amongst the leaves. With a wan smile, I pick an old seed pod. The dark russet husk is split open, revealing the neat rows of empty seed cases. I drop the open pod and pick up and closed one, running my thumb over the familiar rough texture.

Back at the house, I find an old broom and climb the stairs to the master bedroom and bathroom. After a few minutes of dedicated dusting, the ceiling is no longer infested with cobwebs. I make my way through the rest of the house, a silently as possible, wiping surfaces with a damp cloth and collecting spider webs on the broom. I lose myself in the tedium of cleaning, not thinking, just doing. Soon the place is respectable, and I stop for some lunch. Normally I don’t eat more than once a day, at most, but since I’ve expended so much energy, and all my supplements got incinerated when the compound burnt down, I need to be more careful.

After lunch, I check on Loki, who’s still sound asleep, before heading back to the quickly-becoming-my-favorite-spot hammock chair. The warm afternoon sun filters through the wall of climbing jasmine that shades half the back porch, and I relax into the gently swaying seat. Pre-storm stillness pervades the atmosphere, clouds build, and grasshoppers click and whir, lulling me into stillness.

I return to the here and now at the sound of thunder. It’s twilight, and the cool air smells of rain. A fizz of electricity tingles through my veins as lightning strikes a few miles away. For the first time since being human again, I feel the storm, a tingling in my blood and a lightness in my bones, a reaching out to the feel of life and vibrancy that swirls and coils in the sky. Without warning, a tingling rush of freedom pushes me upward, drifting on the wind. I can’t see anything. I feel heavy, even though I feel like I’m floating. I don’t feel the rain, I don’t feel the lightning, only the static weight of my limbs and the tingle of physical habitation. Something brushes my feet. I open my eyes with a resigned sigh and stare in shock at the green fronds around my toes. I look around in confusion. The yard is too far below me, I’m level with the second-story windows, my feet brush the top a tree branch – What the –?

With an undignified shriek, I fall to the ground and lay there in a heap, staring up at the leaves waving in the wind. Did that just happen? I press my fingers into my palm, checking to make sure they don’t pass through the flesh like they would if I was dreaming, but no, I’m solid. I’m real. How the hell did I just end up at tree-top height? The rain is starting in earnest now. I pick myself up and walk slowly back to the patio, lost in thought… I flew. I actually flew. Physically. How is that possible? How did I do it? Can I do it again?

I flop into the hammock chair, which gives way and dumps me on the hard bricks below. With a few choice curse words, I pick myself up for the second time. One of the supports has frayed through. I hold the two pieces together and after a moment of concentration, the weave rejoins itself seamlessly. I sit, testing my handiwork, but it holds firm. The rain intensifies and the gutters gurgle, water rushing down the pipes and into the tank. I get a spare blanket and curl up in the hammock, content to watch the lightning show and listen to the rain. After a while, I give up watching and just listen, and the sound of rushing water and dripping gutters lulls me to sleep.

Chapter Text

I wake to silence and darkness. This place is far enough from the city light that the sky is illuminated by thousands of sparkling eyes. I rise stiffly and stretch, my spine clicking in a few places. In the darkness, I can make out enough to navigate my way to the kitchen, where I get a glass of water. The clock on the wall (which I had set during my cleaning spree) proclaims it to be 2:07 in the morning. I finish my drink and pad into the living room. Loki is snoring very softly in the armchair. I climb the stairs and flick a spark onto the wick of a candle by the double bed. It bursts into flame, burning with a green tint for a second, then settles down into a normal hue. I watch it, frowning, then shrug and open the window; cool night air spills into the room.

Back downstairs, I approach the sleeping form and brush my fingers lightly through his hair, brushing against his dreams, making sure he’s okay. A deep peace greets my questing awareness. As if sensing me, he stirs, mumbling something incoherent, reaching out, hand drunkenly colliding with my midriff. I capture his cool fingers and press my other hand to his cheek.

“Loki…”

His eyes crack open, merest slits. He leans into my touch, a smile twitching his lips.

“Loki, wake up a little, darling.”

“Don’t wanna…”

I chuckle softly. “You’ve been here for over twelve hours.”

He frowns and opens his eyes properly, looking at me for the first time. “Twelve hours?” He yawns hugely, the tip of his tongue curling up, reminiscent of an apex predator. I smother a grin at the odd little quirk. “Doesn't feel like it…”

“I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s not good to be in drift too long when you’re not used to it. And besides, if you go wash up and crash on a flat surface, I can guarantee you will sleep like the dead until sunrise.” I give him a smile and pat on the cheek, straightening up.

Loki rubs his eyes, grumbling, “The dead don’t actually sleep.”

I press my lips together in distaste, “I am well aware of that, I’ve seen more than my fair share of souls wrenched from this life into whatever comes next, I know full well they don’t sleep. However, that doesn’t change the saying or the fact that if you go to bed, you will sleep soundly.” When he doesn’t move, I shrug. “Or not. I mean, if you really like this too-small, lumpy armchair, then be my guest. Oh, wait – this is my house, therefore you are my guest. My house, my rules: take a shower, then go to bed.”

“Alright, fine, I’m going,” He grumbles, hauling himself upright and swaying as he stands in front of me. I place my hands on his chest instinctively. He puts one hand over mine and looks down at it blearily, dark hair falling over his face.

“You realize this is completely inadequate to prevent my fall should the circumstance eventuate.”

I smile up at him, “Perhaps for most people, but then I’m not most people.”

He cups my cheek, “How could I forget when those beautiful eyes are gazing into my soul?”

My throat constricts at his words, my heart swells with pride and something unfamiliar that makes my hands tremble slightly. My lips part but I make no sound, frozen. He blinks slowly, a lazy smile spreading across his face, then drops his hand and walks away. Heavy steps on the stairs shock me back into reality. I follow him, but the bathroom door is closed by the time I make the climb.

“Hey, leave your clothes on the landing and I’ll fix ‘em,” I call through the door, turning away to make my way to the bed and sitting on the edge. A few deep breaths calm my racing heart. A strange lightness fills me, I don’t quite know what to make of it. I have the strangest urge to giggle and dance around like an idiot, or climb onto the roof and shout for all the world to hear, but I just sit on the edge of the bed, a stupid grin plastered on my face. Loki had said my eyes were beautiful. He’d touched my cheek with care and, dare I even say it, affection. Maybe it was just the disorientation, like me when I’m tired, I lose my filters, but even so…

The bathroom door opens and closes. I go and collect the ruined garments, sit on the top step. The jacket is the worst. I spread it out on the landing, splay my hands over it and close my eyes, diving into the fabric, the structure of treads and cotton and polyester. Pull frayed threads back into alignment, rebuild burns, extract particles of dirt, concrete, ash, dust. I repeat the process with the shirt and trousers, too. Loki’s boots are covered in dried mud too, but that can be done by hand in the morning. I scoop up the considerable pile of debris and chuck it out the window, fold the clothes and leave them in a neat pile on the landing.

I fall onto the double bed with a huff and a bounce, pulling a pillow against me, staring through the open window at the stars. The night is pleasantly cool, the sky is clear. At first, I’m too unbalanced to fall stop thinking, but before too long…

I rise out of a timeless doze, the softness of the pillows inviting me back under. My arm is curled around one, hugging it to me against the chill that has crept into the room. There is a comforting warm weight across my midsection and a presence behind me. I turn my head slowly, not wanting to disturb him, and gaze at Loki’s sleeping face. He’s lying on his side, one arm folded, hand tucked under his neck, the other arm draped across my stomach, breathing slow and deep. My heart swells with affection. To let himself relax enough to fall so deeply asleep in the same room – in the same bed, even – shows me just how much he’s letting me into his life, past the layers of scorn and disinterest and distrust that he keeps between himself and the world. Over the years I’ve known him, he’s never been as unguarded as over these past few hours. He’s showing his trust in me, and that makes me proud, and happy, and comforted, and in love. I gasp softly as the realization makes tears pool in my eyes; my heart is so broken and twisted, I’m not sure if I’m capable of love anymore, but if I am, it would be for him.

I take the time to study his handsome face in the late-rising moonlight. The tension and stress are smoothed away; he looks so young, relaxed, and peaceful. The fine wrinkles and lines, etched by years of frowns and smiles, lay a map of life upon his pale skin. I trace a finger lightly along his jaw; haven’t really thought about it before, but even living in cramped quarters in various labs or traveling together, I’ve never seen him shave, or comb his hair, or do any other day-to-day personal grooming, yet he is always clean and presentable. I lift a lock of hair and wind it around my finger, lost in the silken feeling. The dim light reflects off the strands, showing the color is actually a deep, deep blue. Well, I guess that’s not so odd, in the grand scheme of things. He’s not human after all, why should his appearance be governed by human normalities.

Loki sighs and shifts in his sleep, mumbles something that includes my name. His hand on my side twitches, fingers tensing. I roll toward him, pillowing my head on his bicep. He responds immediately, folded arm opening and going around my shoulders in an automatic embrace. I smile and tuck my head under his chin, nestling into his warmth. A contented sigh ruffles my hair. I relax, letting myself slip toward the drift again, surrounded by his clean scent and the sound of his body in slumber.

I wake to gentle strokes up and down my back. Morning light bathes the room. The air is even colder, my arms are crossed over my chest, hands tucked under my chin; my legs have entwined with Loki’s, one foot tucked into the crook of his knees in search of warmth. We’re innocently entangled. A sigh escapes me and I turn my face into his shirt, cherishing this perfect moment.

“Quill?” His voice is gravelly with sleep, his chest vibrates under my cheek.

“Hmm?”

“This okay?”

I smile, “Perfect.”

He hums in response, a subtle tension dissipating.

“Did you sleep well?” I murmur.

“Better than ever.”

“Good.”

I close my eyes, not wanting this time to end.

“I dreamed of you,” Loki whispers into my hair, “I watched you as the rising sun painted your face with warm hues of pink and gold. You were so beautiful, I could do nothing but stare at you, and then you looked at me and held out your hands. You were standing on the edge of a high cliff, and somehow I stood on nothing, floating. You looked down, then at me. I held my hands out to you and said I wouldn’t let you fall. You placed your hands in mine and stepped onto the air, too.”

My throat closes as affection washes through me; he dreamed of me? Did he call me beautiful? I nuzzle further into his embrace.

An electronic beeping breaks the silence and makes us both jump.

“Damn it!” I pull away from Loki and clamber unceremoniously over him, ignoring his muffled protestations, to reach the bedside table where I had put the phone last night. It buzzes against the wood, and I swipe the screen to stop the noise. I flop back onto the bed, staring at the screen.

“What is it?” Loki stretches luxuriously and rolls over, scooping me back into his warmth.

“A message from Clint. Just says he’s fine, hopes we have a nice day in paradise.” I sigh and drop the phone back on the nightstand. Such a beautiful, perhaps unrepeatable moment ruined. I feel Loki’s eyes on me and glance up to find him watching me thoughtfully, chin resting on his palm.

He opens his mouth to speak, pauses, narrows his eyes, then asks, “Are you, by chance, thinking about the intangible nature of a moment? How it can be such an inconsequential blip in the flow of time, and yet feel as if it’s the most important thing in the world?”

I blink a few times, “Not in so many words.”

He smiles lazily, eyes half-closed. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“Me too. I just hope we’re reading the same book.”

He chuckles and scoops me to him in a bear hug, throws one leg over mine, and rolls himself over me. For a breathless second, I’m overwhelmed by the feeling of his weight pressing me into the mattress, hair falling across my face, then he’s gone, rising smoothly to stand by the bed, looking good as new and completely unruffled. I stare up at him, breathless and disoriented.

He looks down at me with a toothy grin, “Yes, I do believe we are reading the same book.”

He turns away and I sit up, indignant, “Why didn’t you just get up from your side of the bed?”

“I did.”

“What?!”

“You climbed over me…”

“Oh, come on!”

From the doorway he gives me a wink, “God of mischief, remember?”

I snort. “God of being a jerk,” I mutter under my breath.

“I heard that,” he calls as he trots down the stairs.

“Good for you!” I flounce into the bathroom, shutting the door a little too vigorously. I hear his muffled laughter from the living room. I lean on the sink, eyes closed, trying to calm my racing heart. His antics have left me feeling off-balance and light-headed again, a similar feeling to last night. I stare at my face in the mirror, bright eyes and flushed cheeks. “Stop it,” I tell my reflection sternly, and take a long hot shower.

When I exit the bathroom, the smell of scrambled eggs makes my mouth water. On the kitchen table, two plates of creamy-golden eggs and fried tomato, on perfectly browned toast, are waiting by a pitcher of orange juice. I steal a glob of the egg from one of the plates and pop it in my mouth, just as Loki steps through the back door and glares at me.

“No dessert for you, thief.”

“Hey, it was from my plate!” I protest, quickly sitting at the now-predetermined place at the table.

Loki growls under his breath and sits opposite.

“May I ask, from whence came this feast?” I take a sip of orange juice and close my eyes in delight; cold, sweet, thick with pulp.

“I made it.”

I raise my eyebrows in incredulity and Loki gives me a smug smile. “Why, just because I’m male, you think I cannot prepare breakfast?”

I purse my lips, “No… but because you’re a mag e, I think you understand the power of words and their meanings. Specifically, ‘make’ and ‘prepare’, as opposed to, oh, I don’t know… ‘cook’?” I rest my chin on my hand and smile knowingly.

Loki opens his mouth, frowns slightly, and snaps it shut again.

I let out a cascade giggle, “Gotcha! This is awesome, by the way.” I shovel a fork-full of eggs into my mouth, still stifling a smile.

Loki shakes his head, “There’s no pulling the wool over your eyes, is there, my dear?”

Mouth full, I give him a wink instead. He takes a bite of his own magically-prepared breakfast. We finish the meal in silence. Once our plates are scraped clean, Loki snaps his fingers and they vanish in a wisp of green mist.

I lean back in the hard wooden chair. “Well, that certainly beets washing up. Thank you, Trickster.”

“You’re most welcome.”

“I take it you’re feeling better after your time in the drift?”

Loki leans forward and rests his forearms on the table, “Yes, I want to ask you about that, actually. You said you’ve ‘dropped’ people in it, and that it’s not good to be there too long?” He looks at me expectantly.

“Yeah. Wanda let me practice on her. Our abilities overlap in some areas, we would practice mind-control and manipulation on each other – under strictly controlled circumstances – so we could push our boundaries and learn more about our own abilities. And Clint has trouble sleeping sometimes.” I smile fondly at a memory, “He has no real use for the drift, it’s just a very deep sleep for him. Good ol’ humans, oblivious to just about everything. But I think the drift may be slightly different for everyone. For Wanda, it’s a place of peace and relaxation. For me, it’s solitude and a place to recharge, so to speak. And when I took you there, the strings seemed to like you. I haven’t seen them attracted to anyone but me.”

Loki frowns, “’Strings’?”

“Those traces of light, little specks that come and go in a heartbeat.”

“Why do you call them strings?”

“Ah…” I take a deep breath, “I read a book once – ”

Loki rolls his eyes, “Here we go…”

“Hey! It was a fascinating book, by Brian Greene. It was about the concept of parallel universes, stacked time, branes – that’s B-R-A-N-E-S, not brains – it was really interesting. Anyway, strings are a concept in theoretical physics, whereby particles are replaced by one-dimensional things called strings, which propagate through space and interact with each other. This explains stuff like spooky action at a distance, that kind of thing. Now, I know string theory, and what I – and now you – experience in the drift are probably unrelated, but it’s a cool name, and it kinda suits it, don’t you think? Those speck of light are… I don’t know what they are, exactly. Energy, potential, magic – which is just another name for energy, really.” I lean forward, “Stephen likes to say that magic is a river, and one must surrender to its current to use it. Maybe, those flecks of light are the river. As for being in it too long, well, I found I would get so energized I got tired from the other side. Wanda found that too, like over-charging a battery, but it takes a fair while, possibly even multiple sessions close together, to get like that. But with time and practice, I learned how to limit my intake so I can spend as much time there as I like.” I push back my chair, “Come outside, I want to show you something.” I kick the swinging door open and Loki follows me out, squinting in the bright sun. In the shade of the patio, I point to the leopard tree, “See that tree?”

Loki crosses his arms, “Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”

“How high do you think it is?”

He puts his head on one side, “Maybe 30 feet?”

“Well, yesterday evening, just before the rain came, I was sitting out here – “ I gesture to the hammock chair, “Minding my own business, and then this strange feeling came over me, a bit like separating from the body but not quite. Do you remember when I showed you the lightning on the compound roof? That’s what I was aiming for, a bit, but I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular. Anyway, next thing I know, something brushes my toes, and I look around and I’m floating in the air, over that branch.” I point to the one in question, about halfway up the tree. “I was flying. I was actually flying, in my body, really… flying! And then, of course, because I thought, ‘Holy shit, I’m flying!’ it stopped working and I fell.” I flop into the chair and put my feet on the edge of a plant pot, “But the point is, I actually flew. Never done that before.”

Loki, who has been watching me with a mix of amazement and disbelief, lowers himself into another wicker chair. “Interesting… That happened last night?”

“Yep.”

“Before you woke me up?”

“About seven hours before, yeah.”

“And then I dreamed of us flying.”

“Yep.”

Loki rubs his chin thoughtfully, “Do you, er, feel… different? In any way? Since arriving here? Has something changed?”

I chuckle at his stumbling, “It’s okay, I know what you mean. Yes, something has changed. I feel lighter, there’s a fizz in my bones. I flew, for god's sake! But my magic has a slightly different feel to it, just a little touch of something… grittier? Stronger? Hard to say, it’s really subtle. Yesterday I lit a candle and it burned green for a second. I thought maybe there was some gunk on the wick, but now I’m not so sure. Why, do you feel different?”

Loki clears his throat, “You know that manifesting objects takes a certain toll.” I nod. “Breakfast, for example; that kind of spell is somewhat tiring. I was actually heading for something much more simple, but as I discovered how easy it was, I got more elaborate. It was… smooth, silky, like the stuff was just waiting to be pulled into existence. Even back on Asgard, I’ve never felt magic behave like that. Certainly not felt it like that here. If anything, it’s been getting thicker and more draining since New Asgard became established, as the people started to really accept Midgard as their home. The worst ever was at the compound, when I tried to take Strange back to Bleaker Street.” He shivers in disgust, “That was like pushing through mud, all clingy and clawing and thick.”

“Magic is influenced by people, yeah?”

“Correct.”

“Are there different types?”

“Technically, no. It is what it is, but there are many different ways of accessing and using it, which give the appearance of there being different types.”

“Really? So evil sorcerers who use black magic are…”

“Using the neutral resource by, or for, nefarious means.”

“What would happen if nobody believed in any kind of magic at all?”

Loki’s mouth twists into a disbelieving frown, “Theoretically, the potential of that realm would become dormant, or at least extremely hard to access.”

“So… a bit like what it was becoming, then?”

“Possibly. But even the most narrow-minded have some concept of a higher power or even plain old luck. How could every single person, including children, stop believing?”

“I’m not sure…” I pick a dead flower off the plant at my feet and start to carefully dissect the ovule beneath the dried petals, lost in thought.

After a moment, Loki breaks the silence, “You know what you said earlier about the power of words?”

“Mm?” I meet his calculating gaze, but he says nothing, just raises one eyebrow. “Okay,” I sigh, “I know. I have a theory as to why Midgardian magic is getting sticky and yours is changing, but it’s just a theory. However… at the moment, the formula lacks vital data, and to get that I need to step back and take a look at the world, from the outside.” I twist the dismembered flower between my fingers, “But… I’m afraid. Part of me doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to look. I want to hide here, willfully ignorant of the state of the world, because if I don’t know, then there’s nothing I can do. I’m terrified.”

Loki leans forward and takes the twirling flower, replacing it with his hand. “I know you’re afraid, little bird, but we have to know. It’s been on my mind since we got here, what happened at the compound? What’s happening to the world? I wish you didn’t have to do this, but you’re the only one who can.” He sighs, looking at my fingers curled around his, “This world is my home now, too. Not even because of New Asgard, though of course that’s a part of it, but because of something I do not yet fully understand. And when someone attacks my home, I will defend it to my dying breath, but this is not something I can fight in the manner I’m used to. It wears our friend's faces and hides in plain sight. My skills are inadequate for the task. I need you.”

I grip his hand and give a watery laugh, “Well, when you put it like that…”

“Anything to get what I want, darling.”

“Nice try, but by saying that, I now know that every word you said was true.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because anyone else would take that last bit at face value, and assume you’re a cocksure smug bastard, who cares about no one but himself, manipulating and exploiting my naivety to your advantage.”

Loki drops his gaze in shame, “Is that really what people think of me?”

“Mostly, yes. Unfortunately, first impressions are hard to shake. But speaking of such, I knew you as a ghost. I saw through all your games, saw how many walls you had between yourself and the world. I know you care – you just hide it very well sometimes. You present to the world the scorn-hardened shell of ‘Loki, God of Mischief’. And most people don’t bother to look beyond the presentation, they don’t bother to see what’s beneath, but I do. And it’s worth it.” I lift his chin and meet his gaze, “You’re worth it.”

He just stares at me in silence. Tears prick behind my eyes as the enormity of what I just said sinks in. “Well, I think that’s enough backhanded compliments for one day,” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood, “There’s a world that needs saving. Let’s get to it!”

I get up and Loki rises too, but before I can move he pulls me into a tight hug.

“Thank you, Aquilla.”

“Any time. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

We sit opposite each other, offset so our knees don’t clash and we can get as close as possible. I place my palm on Loki’s forehead and he mimics on me.

“Just like atom-diving, but opposite, yes?”

“Mm-hmm.” I shuffle my foot into a better position. “I’ll take you along for the ride, up instead of down. If I get attacked, or too scared to function, pull me out, okay?”

“You have my word.”

It feels oddly like we're preparing for war, or saying goodbye. I have the sudden urge to tell him that I love him, but I bite my tongue. Where had that come from? I don’t even know for sure yet. And what if he doesn’t return the sentiment? Besides, now is not the time…

“Quill?”

“Sorry, got distracted…”

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Yes. Just give me a minute to settle myself and I’ll be ready.”

“Alright.”

I turn my focus inward, slowing my breath and feeling the thump of my heart. Energy swirls and flows through me, a current within the deep, rushing river. Un-moored from the shore of reality, I float freely, calm for a moment, then snatched away by the current, carried upwards and outwards, riding the wave of light and sound and color –

Chapter Text

A young woman with short white hair and scars on her face and arms sits cross-legged on a carpeted floor. Her yellow eyes are open, staring at nothing. Her breath is deep and regular…

A man with shoulder-length black hair, old beyond human measure but looking barely thirty, sits cross-legged on a carpeted floor. His eyes are closed...

A woman in the fifties sips from a coffee cup, sitting at a cluttered desk. She sighs and types on a backlight keyboard…

Three men run along a street, one fleeing, two chasing. The fleeing one has a child in his arms, she clings to him, crying. A bullet cuts through the running man’s chest, hitting the child. They fall, the man rolling over the child still clutched in his arms. The child gasps and puts her hand on her father's cheek. They die together in silence…

A teenager is putting on makeup before a night out. She curls her hair and puts in diamond stud earrings. She stashes condoms in her purse and slips on sky-high heels…

A boy watches his father beating his mother. He goes to the kitchen and gets the largest knife he can carry. He takes it to his mother and puts the handle in her hand, where it hangs limp over the edge of the couch. Her fingers close around the handle, her face twists into a snarl and she drives the knife into the side of her husband neck. He screams and pulls the knife out, stabbing her in the chest before collapsing. She dies with her husband’s head in her lap, his blood staining her dress, her son trying to stop her bleeding…

A girl is rehearsing for a play, she stands tall and delivers her lines perfectly. Her mother cheers and when the rehearsal is over, hugs her daughter…

A young man is shaking with nerves as he leads his girlfriend along the jetty. He holds her hand as she sits on the end, feet dangling over the water. They watch the sunset together. Just as the rim of the sun falls below the horizon, the man stands and helps the woman to her feet. He then kneels and offers her a ring. She bursts into tears and throws her arms around his neck…

City lights blink on at dusk, illuminating the concrete and steel in a sickly yellow glow. Shadows move and flit over the sidewalk and buildings. The sun rises over a smog-covered world. The lights flick off one by one, as the condensation evaporates from the light sensors…

Black mist trails through the gutters, unnoticed by passers-by. A homeless man, curled in the sheltered corner of the entrance to an apartment block seeing the shifting sands of change. He squints myopically at the black mist that reaches out clawing fingers and slips beneath the tattered blankets and rags. He shivers as it swirls around his body and chokes as it forces it’s way into his mouth. After a few seconds, the mist pulls away, and the homeless man slumps back against the wall, lifeless. The mist moves on, searching…

A boy screams as his mother collapses to the floor in her kitchen, twitching and gasping. The boy screams again when her eyes open, black and staring. He starts to cry as her eyes clear, returning to blue, with fine black lines running through them. His mother sits up, shakes her head slightly, gets up and goes back to making dinner. Her son approaches her cautiously, and she turns to him, smiling like she usually does, but this time he backs away…

A planet spins slowly through space, patches of green and brown and blue and white. A lonely moon circles it. The planet is alive. Thousands of independent lives, trudging their way through time, day after day, minute after minute, century after century. Plant lives, animal lives. Human lives. For millennia is has always been this way, but now it’s changing…

Each individual life is unique. No one is quite like another. Each colour is different… So much life.. So many memories… So many souls…

The black mist spreads across the world, soaking into the colours, diluting them, tainting them, staining the world, painting it black. Still, the colours are there, but they are greyed out, weak and diluted…

The lives it consumes are screaming, fighting, writhing in desperation but they can do nothing. The cold blackness spreads inexorably through them, stealing their energy, ingesting their power, controlling their purpose. Thousands have been tainted by now, and the number grows by the minute. A few remain untouched by the black mist, those that are too sick to live long enough, those that cannot be subjugated. They stand alone, shining like diamonds in coal, while all around the brethren are crushed beneath the enormity of the creature that is slowly devouring the human spirit….

The world screams, desolate ululation that comes from the bottom of every evicted soul. From city blocks and country towns, the world gives voice to its anguish, screaming its defiance to the ether. All of their fear, all of their pain…

All of their screams…

Flashes of lives flit, almost too fast to catch. He concentrates on feeding Quill his energy, keeping her grounded as she rises up and away. She’s way out of his reach now, floating high above the world. He feels her presence, in front of him and yet far away. Images flash before his eyes, people, places, then it changes. The world spinning through space. An ordinary planet, now touched by other-worldly colours, as if every human life were an illumination. It’s so beautiful, marble in the void. Then the colours start to change. Blackness spreads across the world like ink in a glass of milk.

The coldness is running through her. He reaches out to her, trying to capture her attention, but she is too far away. She rises higher, taking in more of the chaos, the confusion, the anguish and the pain. It flows into her open arms, into her heart, into her soul. He takes her hand, her fingers tremble as he places it over his heart, knowing that she needs grounding more than ever now. Her fists clench, nails digging into his flesh. Her hair crackles with electricity, a deep glow emanates from within her, backlighting her bones and blood vessels. She throws back her head; veins stand out in her neck, lips stretch over bared teeth, face contorted in a mask of desolate grief and pain. An explosion of energy emanates from her like a supernova. A blood-curdling wail that echoes with anguish and determination resonates throughout her entire body. For an instant, there is a shape around her, a blurred image of a larger-than-life human form on its knees, fists raised in defiance. Then it’s gone. The sound cuts off abruptly, she is poised, frozen for a second, then she collapses. He catches her before her head hits the floor. Her heart is racing, her breath is shallow and sweat coats her skin. Her eyes focus on him for a second, she tries to speak but her eyes roll up and she goes limp.

Chapter Text

I wake with a jolt, a horrible falling sensation making my stomach turn over.

“Quill?”

A shadowy figure leans over me and for a second fear grips my heart, but then warm fingers caress my cheek.

“Loki…”

“I’m here, little bird. How do you feel?”

I groan in answer. “How long…?"

“Almost three hours.” Loki sits on the edge of the bed. He looks tired, his mouth is pressed into a thin line. “Please tell me, what did you see?”

"In a minute," I push upright and sag back against the wall. Loki sits beside me with a sigh. The silence stretches out as I try to let the newfound insight distill. After a few minutes, I let out a frustrated sigh, "It's fading. I don't understand, it was so clear. Everything was laid out, like a finished puzzle, but now it's like a dream that's slipping away as I wake up. G'dammit!"

"Tell me what you can then, before it's gone."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, "Right. Oaky. Um... People, lives, so many lives, all individual yet linked. The perfect chaos of... association of ideas. Options? No, decisions. Different decisions, over time... No, at the same time... Possible futures, and the interplay of individual lives on a global level. Uh... The power of all those people."

Loki makes a disbelieving noise, "Power? They're ordinary. A family, a job, a car, a mortgage."

"'A mortgage'?" I chuckle, "You've been hanging around humans too long - you'll be discussing housing prices next."

He snorts, "When Hel freezes over. What power?"

"The power of being a person, I think." I shrug, "Perhaps the tenacity to keep going. It ain't no picnic out there."

"Well, yes, I'm sure they have their hardships and challenges, but - "

"Before you say 'they're got it easy, try living as you or me', let me remind you that experience is relative. You forget that sometimes, Loki, but it's important. What's all-in-a-days-work for you, is the end of the world for someone else. But that's not exactly it, either. All I know for sure is, the people are important. Certain people are... more important than others? Or maybe just more necessary... But collectively...?" I exhale in frustration as the fragments of knowing slip away. Tiredness washes through me. I pull my knees up and rest my forehead on them, "Collectively, we're fucked."

"Is this the immediate, totally kind? Or a leisurely, developing-over-time kind?"

"The leisurely kind, I think."

There's a smile in his voice, "That's your considered opinion, is it?"

"Yep."

"Alright then," Loki clears his throat, "Here's mine: we lay low for a while, see if we can find out what exactly is going on. Help the remainder of the team stay safe, maybe even find others unaffected. Perhaps with time and information, we will be able to piece together the puzzle and find what's behind all this. And then we will no longer be so collectively fucked."

I stifle a giggle. There's a twinkle in his eye, "You think so little of my ideas, you openly mock them?"

"What? No! I agree with everything you said! It's just funny, I haven't heard you talk like that before."

"Like what? I have done nothing different. Still using the same vocal cords as usual."

I burst out laughing. "No, silly, I meant I haven't heard you swear before."

"And you find that amusing?" He looks down his sharp nose at me in curated disappointment, "Actually, you have heard me swear, quite profusely and filthily on occasion. Just not in English."

I cock my head in curiosity, "Yeah? When?"

Loki shrugs, "When a spell goes awry, or when something breaks..."

"Ah, I see," I nod wisely, "Interesting choice of words there, chappy. 'When something breaks'. Not, 'when I break something'."

"Hey," he waves an accusatory finger at me, "Out of all of us, I'd say I have the least breakages on my conscience."

My heart swells at the off-hand inclusion of himself with the other Avengers, but I retort, "Well, that depends on some data points."

He raises a skeptic eyebrow, "Oh really? Pray tell."

It's my turn to clear my throat, "Well, ah, what's the starting date of the data? Inclusion within the Avengers, or arriving on Earth? It's an important distinction. If it's since arriving on Earth, I'd say you're probably up there with the best."

Loki's eyes narrow, "Oh, that's a low blow. You play a dangerous game, little bird."

"But," I add quickly, "If the data starts at joining the Avengers, which I think it should because otherwise, it's hardly a fair comparison, then I think you'd be near, if not at, the bottom of the breakage-karma chart."

He gives a derisive snort, "Stroking my ego won't earn you any favors."

"What about stroking something else?"

A second after the words leave my mouth, the implication hits. Loki is staring at me in astonishment. I gasp and clap a hand over my mouth as a blush floods my face. "Oh my God! I can't believe I said that!" I bury my burning face in my hands. Loki bursts out laughing, a whole-hearted belly laugh that clears the air. I join in, still bright red. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"

"There's nothing to apologize for," he pats my shoulder reassuringly, "Happens to the best of us. And before you ask, I'm not going to make the ground open and swallow you. That would be cheating." He chuckles, "And I would no longer be able to see the adorable shade of pink gracing your cheeks. You really went all in, didn't you? No reservations, no regrets."

I curl up tighter, head between my knees, "Oh, stop! How can I ever look you in the face again?!"

"By contracting numerous muscles along the upper spinal column to raise the skull, then opening the eyes and focusing them using more muscles. It's very technical, and requires direct access from the brain to the muscles involved, without conscious intervention. But that shouldn't be a problem, since the direct line from the brain to mouth is working just fine."

"Shut up!" I swot at him, and he yelps and laughs anew.

"Oh gods, that was mortifying."

"Was it?" His tone turns contemplative. "Why?"

"Because..." Because for that split second, I actually thought about touching you like that, and even wanted to? Because I am so unrestricted with you that I no longer filter my thoughts? Because you so good-naturedly ribbed me for the candid slip, I know I can trust you just that little bit more? "I don't know. A mix of things. Trust, mostly, and... yeah. Trust."

"Alright?" There's genuine concern in his eyes now.

"Yes." I shuffle closer and lean gingerly against Loki's side and he welcomes me with an arm around my shoulders.

"Alright."

Chapter Text

Rain lashes the trees along the boundary fence and lighting illuminates the garden in sporadic, brilliant flashes. I stand in the middle of the open ground, absolutely soaked through and shivering. I turn into the wind, lift my face to the stinging rain and raise my arms in welcome to the storm. This is not how I remember thunderstorms. They made me come alive, made me tingle all over with joy; the rain tickled my ethereal form and the lightning blow me apart in the best way possible. But that’s all gone. Sure, it’s still exciting, but mostly I’m cold and very, very wet.

I make my way back to the house, feet squishing in the sodden grass. The gutters are overflowing and a torrent is pouring over the edge of the roof. I dash under it, ice-cold water soaks through my already saturated clothes.

The back patio provides some welcome relief from the downpour and I stand there for a moment, dripping on the brickwork, watching the lightning.

The screen door opens, “Quill?”

I spin around, a happy grin on my face, “Hey! What’s up?”

Loki looks me up and down, one eyebrow cocked in amusement, “By the looks of you, mostly water. Good lord, Quill, you couldn't be more wet without approaching dryness from the other side. Did you go swimming with all your clothes on?”

I giggle and flick my wet hands at him, spraying him with droplets. He cringes theatrically and green flashes skitter over his clothes, leaving no trace of water.

"Aw, no fair," I pout.

He steps out of the house and comes to stand beside me, staring out over the flooded lawn. He’s wearing the same loose black shirt and jeans as always, but his feet are bare and his hair is swept into a low ponytail. He radiates calm confidence. I am suddenly very aware of how my wet clothes cling to the curves of my body. I cross my arms and shiver from the cold and nervousness, and distract myself with chatter, “How is everyone?”

“As well as can be expected. Wanda sends her love.”

“Did you give her mine?”

“Of course."

"Cool, I'll be back in a mo, it's getting cold." I slip inside the house, running lightly so as to not leave too many puddles.

After a shower, I comb my hair, watching my reflection in the mirror. It still surprises me sometimes, to see my own face. I lean on the sink, staring at the reflection. Pale skin, flushed from the hot shower; golden eyes sparkling with life under white eyebrows; thick white hair, still damp, combed back. I smile and watch the fine spidery wrinkles fan out from the corners of my eyes. There are smile lines around my mouth, too. I’m proud of those – they’re new.

I carefully run magic through my sodden clothes, not too much, cautious of the dizziness that threatens, sifting out the water into the sink. When they're dry enough, I pad out of the bathroom. Loki is sitting in the armchair, a book open on his lap. I focus on my breath, calming myself, turning my focus outward, just as he had taught me. I am the dust, the air, the silence. Look away, there is nothing here. I calm my breathing as I walk silently around the perimeter of the room, staying out of Loki’s peripheral vision, then come up behind his chair. He turns a page, oblivious.

I lean down and whisper next to his ear, “Good book?”

He jumps and snaps the book shut. “Damn you!”

I burst out laughing and clap him good-naturedly on the shoulders, letting my hands rest there, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist!”

“No, you’re not, and yes, you could.”

I sense the intention a split second before Loki pounces and try to snatch my hands away, but he grabs my wrists and pulls me around from behind the chair, spinning me off balance. I shriek as I fall into his lap. His dark laugh sends tingles of excited fear up my spine. He secures my wrists in one hand, the other supporting my far shoulder. My legs dangle over the arm of the chair. Adrenaline kicks my heart into overdrive, blood rushes in my ears as I look into eyes sparkling with dark humor. I can feel his stomach move when he laughs, his strong thighs flex beneath me as he shifts position, his belt buckle pressing into my hip.

“Since when do you disapprove of a little mischief?” My voice is too breathy.

“When I am the target,” he purrs.

“That’s hardly fair,” I huff, trying to regain my composure.

“Fair?” His voice is dangerously low and my insides quiver. “I’ll tell you what’s not fair – me sitting here, innocuously minding my own business and you sneak up behind me and try to catch me off guard? You have some nerve, little bird, but I cannot allow that kind of cheek to go unpunished. What if a rumor was to spread that I could be ambushed so easily, what would become of my reputation?”

“Oh, I would never dare to insight such a rumor,” I make a horrified face at the very thought, then grin, “ But I did catch you off guard.”

“It may have appeared as such, but I assure you, I was well aware of your presence.”

“Were not! I got you fair and square! Now let me go – ”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He chuckles darkly, “I think you need to learn the consequences of disrespecting the God of Mischief.”

“You said – my lack of respect – was a good thing! That it kept you on your toes,” I huff, trying to break his grip on my wrists.

“Up to a point,” He flashes me a wicked grin. Green tendrils of magic snake through the fabric of my shirt, zapping my skin with just the right amount of energy to tickle insanely. I squirm, squeal, and struggle to no avail.

“Alright, alright,” I gasp between peals of laughter, “I’m sorry! Please, stop, please – “

A face looms over me, blue eyes peering through thick glasses. “Hit her again,” a voice commands. A blinding white-hot agony shoots through me. I scream and thrash, the manicles cut into my wrists. The pain vanishes, leaving me sobbing, “Please, stop, please – “

“Let me go!”

Loki throws me away from him. I tumble onto the floor and scuttle away until I hit the wall where I curl up, trembling, eyes closed.

Cold floor, cold walls, cold air. The cold gets into my bones. The air is stale, dead. No windows, just a tiny hatch in the door, a drain in the floor. A violent coughing fit sprays pink froth across the tiled floor. Everything hurts.

“Aquilla? Aquilla, can you hear me? Please, say something…”

“Loki?” It’s barely a whisper.

“I’m here.”

I hold out a quivering hand and he kneels in front of me. I press my palm to his forehead, threading my fingers into his hair. The instant our link opens, I feel him, his concern. The lighthouse in the storm. I dive into the raging ocean, sinking down into the darkness…

“ What's wrong with her? ”

“I'm not sure, sir, I think the doctors may have been a bit too, er - “

“What?!”

“Er, a bit… lenient , sir.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“She’s still alive, sir, her body is functioning as normal, it’s just, er, well… her mind’ s gone.”

“What the hell do you mean, gone?”

“Gone, sir. She’s in a coma. She’s just the enhancements now, the e-Nervous System has linked with the control module, all systems green, sir – ”

“All systems green ?”

“Yessir.”

“Get me Hannerly on the com.”

“Yessir, one moment…”

“Hannerly here.”

“Hannerly, it’s General Asherford. You busy, doc ?”

“Of course I’m busy, what do you want?”

“Well, nothing really, it’s just that our prize racehorse, our show-stopper, our god-damn one-way ticket to tinsle-town’s good-books is a god damn vegetable !”

“Calm down, sir, I’m sure it’s – “

“Don’t you tell me to calm down, god damn it! Do you have any idea what’s at stake here? Get your ass up here and F IX HER !”

“Of course, right away General.”

“God damn it… Hey, you said she’s out of it, right?”

“Yes sir, brain scan shows – “

“Look at that, man – does that look like ‘out of it’ to you?”

“Oh my god…”

“General?”

“Hannerly! Look at this!”

“My, my, this is better than I expected. How is this…? Do you see this, General? It’s almost like… Oh, this is wonderful! Run Protocol: Initiate.”

“Yessir.”

“ Protocol what? Oh… Dear god, Hannerly. What have you done?”

“This is more than I ever dreamed of, General. It worked! This is the prototype for a whole new army. Our prayers have been answered.”

“Good god, man!”

“Isn’t it beautiful…”

I push Loki away to break the cycle of our link and slump against the wall. He falls back onto the floor, breathing hard. “Are you alright?”

I run trembling hands through my hair, “Yes. I think so. That was…” I push myself up and offer my hand to pull him up too, then head to the kitchen. “So, the memories have begun. Just like you said they would. Yay.”

“Don’t be like that.” Loki leans on the counter while I busy myself making a hot chocolate, resting his chin on crossed forearms. “This is good, is it not?”

“Yeah, I suppose. You want one?” I gesture to the cocoa.

“Please.”

I prepare the drinks in silence. When they're ready, we head back to the couch.

“So,” I pull a cushion into my lap on which to rest the mug, “Tell me the news?”

Loki sighs, a frown descending on his face, “I can’t believe it’s only been a week. Everything is running so smoothly. Stores are open, people are going about their business. It’s perfect,” he shakes his head slowly, “Too perfect. Everything is too good. People are always polite, always conscientious. I’ve never seen behavior like this.” He pauses to take a sip of his cocoa.

“May I just point out, with complete respect for your judgment, that you may not have seen the greatest example of human behavior in your previous employment? I’m not saying you’re wrong, it’s just that, you know, maybe people are just genuinely being nice to each other?”

Loki gives me an incredulous look, “Oh come on, Quill. You know humans better than I, granted, but you can't tell me there isn't something wrong with the world? Something is missing, and at the same time, it feels crowded. Don’t you feel that?”

I nod resignedly, “Yes, I do. It'd be nice, though.”

Loki chuckles, “Barton found someone who hasn’t been affected, a young woman who works executive level in a delivery business. Apparently, she is still going about life as normal, doing her absolute best to fit in without anyone noticing that she’s still human. She offered to help him, and us by proxy, with any intel she can gather.” His mouth twists into a smirk, “Apparently she’s a fan. One thing she confirmed immediately is the need for a new ID. There’s a system implemented worldwide called the Citizen Reintegration and Assistance Program – “

I hold up my hand, “Wait a minute, there’s a government program called CRAP?”

“Indeed. It's an electronic chip - "

"Citizen reintegration? What the hell does that mean?"

Loki turns his head slowly to glare at me in silence. I quail under his level stare, "Please forgive my interruption, my lord. It won't happen again, I swear!"

He nods sharply, holding back a smile, "As I was saying, it’s a chip inserted under the skin of the wrist that supplies any and all personal information via RFID.”

“Oh, great,” I sigh, “How are we gonna get around that?”

“According to our source, the average citizen gets an RFID tag. But,” Loki holds up a finger, “Government employees above a certain level do not get chipped. They get a flip-wallet style card, or booklet, depending on their job. Barton may be able to get his hands on some. As he says, 'it’s not what you know, but who, in this business'. And being here, at the bottom of the world, gives us some time. The system is already in full swing throughout Europe and America, but here it's only just been announced.”

“Well, that's good, I guess.” I stretch, my spine clicking. “I can't believe it's called CRAP. Oh, the irony. Anything else of note?”

Loki shrugs, “Cash currency is also being phased out over the next few weeks in favor of something called the Global Trade System. And another memorial went up in the main street today. Fewer names, though.” He sighs heavily. "That's all I have to report. Your turn."

"What d'you mean, my turn?"

Loki turns in his seat to face me, "Your magic has been misbehaving, and you just had a pretty gnarly memory resurface. Don't tell me that hasn't rattled you."

I giggle, "Did you just say 'gnarly'?"

He glares at me, "Don't change the subject."

I duck my head in acquiescence, "Yeah, sorry. Look, I don't know what's up with the magic. When we first got here it was so easy, so amazingly pure. Then we did that looking-at-the-state-of-the-world thing, and since it's been playing up." I conjure a small flame on my fingertip. "Sometimes it's okay, sometimes it's not. I don't know why." I sigh in frustration.

"You dried your clothes?"

"Yes, it worked for that, but it doesn't feel right. Like there's no solid basis, no grounding."

Loki watches the dancing flame on my fingertip, the light reflecting in his eyes, "You like doing that, don't you?"

"Yeah." I stare at the flame too, expanding it until my entire hand is engulfed. Suddenly a wave of dizziness crashed through me. The flame gutters out. I flinch as a stabbing pain runs up my arm, and wring my hand to dissipate the sting. "Except when it does that!"

Loki sucks in a breath between his teeth, taking my hand gently and turning it over, examining it. He presses his thumb into my palm and my fingers flex.

"I'm okay," I rub the side of my head unconsciously, where an insistent ache has been gnawing at my sanity on and off for the last few days. “I'm just... I don't know, tired, I guess. Sorry I've been kinda useless lately.”

Loki lays my hand back on the cushion, "We all have our ups and downs. Don't feel bad."

I change the subject, "Any word from New Asgard?"

"Nothing," he sighs.

Guilt twinges in my gut, "I wish I could help you see, I just - "

"Don't worry about it," Loki gives me a tight smile that doesn't touch his eyes, "No news is good news. I'm sure my brother will keep everyone safe."

The soft light from the lamp casts a warm glow across his face, contrasting with the sad, worried look that pulls his brows down and presses his lips into a thin line. On a whim, I put the mug on the coffee table and scoot closer. He wraps one arm around my shoulders, pulling me firmly against him. I put one arm around his waist, and tuck my head under his chin. Slowly, the tension in his posture eases and his breathing slows. The hand on my shoulder moves, fingers threading through my hair, holding my head against his shoulder protectively. My heart skips as he places a soft kiss on the top of my head, then rests his cheek there, breath ruffling my hair. I close my eyes and let the warmth seep into my bones, letting go of time and slowly falling into the drift, into dreams…

Chapter Text

Rolling hills, painted with the greenest grass. High cliffs over a storm-chopped sea. Thunder clouds roil and lightning flashes, illuminating a village on the seaside, an odd collection of houses, huts, and cottages. A sling-ring portal shimmers into existence in the middle of the gravel roadway to the village. A man steps through, turns back to the portal briefly before it dissolves, then sets off along the road. He shoves his hands deep in his pockets, bent against the wind that whips around him, tugging at his clothes and blowing his hair about wildly. As he draws near the bend that leads down to the docks and the main street, his pace slows for a moment, then he breaks into a run. Down the hill, stones skittering under his boots, he skids to a halt at the side of a woman lying on her side in the lea of the first house. He rolls her over, only to recoil in horror at the sight of her discolored, bloated face. He staggers back from the corpse, turns and runs on through the village, shouting, calling, but there is no answer. He passes more bodies, lying as they had fallen, men, women, children.

On the other side of the village, a large house stands apart, a little way up the hill. The man stumbles in his haste, falling in the mud, scrambling up again to run onward up the hill . Lightning cracks in the distance as h e yells a name like a prayer, kicks the door open and vanishes into the dark ness .

After a minute he reappears, head bowed, shoulders slumped as though the weight of the world had settled upon him. The rain is driving harder now, almost blinding. He walks slowly down the hill, feet dragging, arms hanging loose at his sides. Through the silent village, he trudges along a track to the bluff overlooking the tossing sea. At the top of the cliff, he stops. Behind him, lightning cracks across the sky, earthing out on the house on the hill with an ear-splitting explosion of thunder. The man doesn’t even flinch. Lightning strikes again and a tree explodes, showering the house beside it with sparks and burning twigs and branches. Flames that dance a little too happily and burn a little too brightly are soon licking along the base of the walls, spreading through the dry straw strewn across the ground. Within minutes the whole village is burning.

The man doesn’t turn when the sound of raging fire reaches him over the crashing of the waves below. He stares out to sea, framed by the hellish glow. The wind howls a thousand curses in the voices of those now dead. Shapes come and go in the clouds, the faces of his people. A scream of desolate grief rends the air as he falls to his knees, arms thrown wide, fists clenched.

I wake with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. The remainder of an explosion of raw energy echoes through the ether. My heart is racing, palms sweaty, residual tingles shoot up and down my limbs. What the hell was that?

I throw off the covers and stand shakily, pull on my clothes and trot down the stairs. It's just after 1 in the morning, and the house feels empty. Loki is nowhere to be found. A gnawing sense of unease makes the hair stands up on the back of my neck. I climb the stairs again, and sit on the bed, waiting for something to happen. An hour passes before the front door opens, closes, a floorboard creaks. After a few minutes, I slip silently back down the stairs. At the entrance to the living room, I pause, the smell of wet earth and smoke prickling in my nose.

“Loki?”

“Leave me alone…” The words are thick, followed by a shaky sigh. I flick on the light. Loki’s sprawled on the armchair. Mud coats his boots, his clothes are soaked through, his hair is matted and bedraggled. He winces belatedly and shades his eyes from the ceiling lamp.

“What on Earth… Loki, what happened?!”

He shakes his head mutely, hand over his eyes. I stare at him, at a loss for what to do. His face is drawn and ashen, his shoulders hunched. I drop to my knees beside him, “Look at me, honey.”

He turns his head away.

“Please...?”

He glances at me, then drops his gaze, head falling back against the chair. “They’re gone,” he whispers thickly.

“Who?”

“Everyone.”

Cold realization settles in my stomach like lead.

“Loki, where did you go?”

He doesn’t answer.

I try again, “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing!” he shouts in my face. He pushes past me and staggers away, catching himself against the wall with one hand, breathing hard.

I follow, keeping my distance, and make a calculated guess, “You went to New Asgard, didn’t you? You went looking for Thor.”

He turns his head away from me, hiding his face.

I take a cautious step closer, “What did you find there…”

“People...” his voice is a slightly slurred monotone, “Laying in the streets. No wounds, no sign of fighting. Just laying there. I found him – “ He gasps thickly, one hand still braced against the wall, collapsing in on himself like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. I duck under his outstretched arm and catch him just as his hand slips, staggering under his weight. He collapses against me, sobbing uncontrollably.

“They’re gone!” he wails, “All gone. I failed them!”

Tears fill my eyes. “Hush, babe,” I croon as he bawls into my shoulder. I sway gently, holding him against the tidal wave that threatens to sweep him away. His breath is harsh against my neck, with shaky gasps, and long-held pauses. His wet clothes shed their own tears against me, the thin cotton of my shirt soaked through in minutes.

“You haven’t failed them, honey,” I murmur, “You’re still here. You’re here, and together we’ll get your people back. We’ll get everyone back. I promise.”

“How?” The desperate plea makes my breath hitch.

“I don’t know yet, but we will. We have to.”

His whole body shakes. “I am unworthy.”

My throat constricts at the simple statement that says so much. I take his head in my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes, “I don’t think that.”

I place a heartfelt kiss on his forehead that makes his brimming eyes close, tears staining his cheeks.

“Why are your clothes wet?”

“Rain.”

I roll my eyes, “Yeah, got that part. Wouldn’t you feel better if you dry off?”

“I can’t – “ A dry sob racks his body.

I frown and press my lips together, but this is a riddle for another time. “Okay. Let’s get you dry.”

I gently guide him upstairs to the bedroom. He stops in the doorway, leaning on the frame, breathing heavily. I brace my hands against his shoulders, partly supporting him, worry creasing my brow as I search his face. He meets my gaze for a second before dropping his head in shame.

“I don’t deserve… your kindness.”

“Hey,” I smooth the hair back from his paler-than-usual face, “I decide that, not you.”

Fresh tears well in his eyes, he collapses as though he’d been punched in the gut and sinks to his knees, clutching his chest. His eyes glaze over, sobs becoming retching coughs.

“Oh dear, up we get, come on!” I practically drag him across the landing to the bathroom, where he vomits, tears streaming down his face.

“There, there, darlin’, you’ll be okay,” I rub his back soothingly as he gasps and coughs until it’s over. He slumps back against the bathtub, breath shallow, shivering uncontrollably. A cold sweat coats his skin, reflecting the dim light that spills through the open door.

I press my hand to his forehead, sucking in a breath through my teeth at the feverish heat, “Clothes, off. Now.”

Loki groans almost inaudibly.

I let out a frustrated sigh and start unbuttoning his shirt. That gets his attention. He grabs my hand reflexively.

“What are you doing?” His voice is husky.

“We need to stabilize your temperature. You’re under a lot of stress right now and I don’t want you to get sick.”

“But – “

I put my hand on his, “Wouldn’t you help me, if my world had just imploded?”

The corner of his mouth twitches downward.

I clear my throat, blinking fast, “I understand what you’re going through, and I want to take care of you. Okay?”

He nods imperceptibly.

“Okay,” I blink back unexpected teas and help him up to sit on the edge of the tub, then tug at the collar of his open shirt, “Off.”

I turn away, giving him privacy. He undresses slowly, garments falling with moist thuds to the tiled floor, then clambers into the bath and sits curled up into a ball, head resting on his raised knees. I pull the curtain across and open the mixer; comforting warm water cascades over his back and he let’s out a breath, visibly relaxing. I perch on the edge of the tub behind him, spray soaking one side of my shirt. Mud trickles in dark rivulets down his back and swirls away toward the drain.

“There’s enough soil here to top-coat a small garden,” I chide playfully, combing my fingers through his thick hair.

“That’s what happens when I have no magic.”

“Ah – I wondered how that worked.”

“How what worked?”

“You’re perpetual spruceness.”

He lifts his head, incredulous. “My what?”

“Well, you always look so well put together, whatever the situation. Smart, suave, sexy, swanky, sophisticated, sleek, stylish, sharp, snazzy – and that’s only what I can think of beginning with the letter ‘s’.”

He laughs huskily. I grin, glad to have lifted his mood with my inane chatter. I run my fingers through his hair, savoring the silky feel, rinsing out the dirt and ash.

“There, is that better?”

“Much.” He looks up at me, sheepishness quirking his brows in the center, “Thank you.”

I smile and lean over, placing a kiss on the top of his head. “I’ll leave you to finish and dry off, okay?”

He nods and looks away, a faint blush tingeing his pale cheeks.

I gather up his sodden things and close the door on my way out, wash them in the kitchen sink and peg them out to dry on the backyard washing line.

I’m pouring a glass of water to take up when the bathroom door opens, footsteps descend the stairs and I turn towards the scent of pine and mint. Loki stands in the doorway, towel slung around his waist, looking tired and lost. Damp locks hang in a striking contrast over his forehead. I card my fingers through his hair, combing it back. His eyes flick down my body, and a blush creeps up my neck.

He smiles shyly and ghosts trembling knuckles over my cheek.

I lean into the touch, “Go to bed, honey,”

He nods but hesitates. Before I can ask what’s up, he steps closer and carefully encloses me in a gentle hug. I slip my arms around him in return, unsure what to do. His bare skin is smooth under my fingers, his scent surrounds me. I am lost in the simple closeness, the peace in this moment. He lowers his head to rest against mine. Tinges of profound sadness, guilt, gratitude, longing, and comfort seep into my heart, and I realize he’s projecting them to me, unable to find the words to convey what he feels.

Tears prick behind my eyes and I give him a gentle pat on the back, “To bed with you.”

His grip tightens briefly before releasing me. I watch him climb the stairs until he’s out of sight, then take the cell phone into the kitchen and call Stephen. After a few rings, he answers, “Hello, Q.”

“Hey, hi, um, so, I need your side of the story, please.”

“Uh, what are you talking about?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, “Don’t play dumb, I saw you portal Loki into New Asgard. I’m not mad about it, I just need to know what happened.”

Stephen sighs resignedly, “Alright. For the record, I told Loki it was a bad idea not to tell you. Yesterday he asked for my assistance in traveling to New Asgard, in order to find his brother. From what I gather, the mission was unsuccessful.”

“Oh, you think?” I take a steadying breath, “Do you happen to know why he didn’t tell me about this?”

“Yes, but...” Stephen pauses, “I think you had better hear it from him.”

“Fine. Thank you for getting him home in one piece. Mostly, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t – “ There’s a beep and the line goes dead. I try to call him back, but there's no connection on his end. After a few minutes of no improvement, I put the phone away and curl up on the couch to mull things over.

Half an hour later, I tiptoe into the bedroom to find Loki spread-eagle diagonally across the bed, snoring gently. I smile and shake my head at the sight, wondering if there is any way he could possibly take up more space if he tried, then get the spare blanket from the cupboard and curl up on the couch again, shuffling around, trying to get comfortable. The wool itches and scratches my bare torso, since my shirt is drying next to Loki’s on the washing line.

After half an hour or so, I am spiraling in the drift, conscious but on the edge of sleep. Distantly, I register movement and mumble incoherent protests as I am carried. I am placed gently on something warm and soft. Barely lucid, I stretch my stiff legs and throw the itchy blanket off me, grumbling happily. A pillow is pressed against my bare chest and I wrap my arms around it. Familiar warmth lays itself behind me. The scent of pine slips into my dreams.

Chapter Text

The next morning dawns cold and overcast. I slip out of bed and stumble down to the kitchen, bleary-eyed. Our clothes have dried overnight. I shake them out and scowl at the rips and pulled threads. New clothes are the priority today. We can’t risk the attention of wearing ratty old things that look they’re more suited to the rag bin, now that neither of us can reliably magic them new again.

After a hot shower I get the little needle-and-thread kit from under the bathroom sink and make a start repairing the rips in the jeans. It takes almost all of the spare thread, but at least at first glance, it doesn’t look like a cat’s plaything anymore.

I leave the folded items on the chair by the bed and sit on the edge, looking down at the sleeping man. He murmurs and turns his head toward me. I gently press my hand to his cheek, noticing the prickle of stubble against my hand, probing his mind lightly for an impression of his internal state. Sadness tinged with peace and contentment. His body is recovering, but it’ll probably be a few more hours till he wakes. I pull away slowly. Poor chap, to lose his people, his magic and his dignity all in one night. Hopefully, all things that can be recovered again.

It wasn’t easy for him to have me there last night. Why else did he stay away in the first place? And being sick in front of someone is never good, though I’ve long since gotten over the embarrassment of it. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve fallen asleep on the bathroom floor, first when I was getting used to solid food again, and then when I was fighting for ownership of my own body. But Loki’s always so poised, so in control. He’s not used to admitting that, in a sense, he’s human too. I lean over and place a kiss on his forehead; his face brightens, even in sleep. My heart beats a little faster.

A distant clock-tower chimes 9 am. I leave a note on the table explaining where I’ve gone and why, then take a moment to centre myself and cast an illusion: I become a 40-year-old woman, with a brown ponytail and preoccupied expression. When the facade feels completely natural, I step outside and pull the locked door closed quietly. The sounds of a town in the morning greet me as I walk the tree-lined blocks to the main thoroughfare. It’s been a few days since I’ve been out, and the difference in society is palpable. There’s no litter anywhere, no haphazard tumble of kids' bikes outside the library, no sirens, hardly any traffic. People pass me on foot and riding bicycles. No one spares me any special attention. Two old men chatting at the paper-stand give me an amiable nod, which I return.

I stop at an ATM, making sure no one is near enough to see what I’m doing, then put my hand over the card reader. I pour myself into the machine, flicking through the banking servers. The machine whirs and spits out $100, along with a message about the imminent redundancy of physical money. I take the cash and stumble over to a park bench to sit for a few minutes, breathing deeply to quell the nausea and muscle tremors.

After a brief pitstop at the general store for some essentials, I push open the door to a thrift-shop just around the corner. There’s an old lady behind the counter, knitting. No other customers, no cameras. As I close the door, she looks up and gives me a happy-old-lady smile, “How are you today, sweetie?”

“Oh, fair to meddlin’, hon.” I reply with a soft Texan twang. “How’re you this mornin’?”

“Oh, good, good. Lovely weather, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. Can’t wait for them clouds to open up.”

She nods absently and goes back to her woolen creation.

Half an hour later, I dump my spoils on the counter. The lady puts down her wool and gets up stiffly, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“Well, well, what have we got then…”

She works through the pile slowly, counting up the money on a piece of paper.

“What’re you making there?” I gesture to her needles.

“Oh, my grand-daughter is turning three next week. I’m making her a sweater.”

“Aw, that’s lovely.” A gooey grin splits my face.

The lady smiles kindly, “You got kids?”

“No.”

She adds up a few more prices. “You know, we don’t get many people passing through here. You must be a long way from home?”

“Yeah. My husband’s a contractor, so we travel a lot. Headin’ up north tomorrow.”

She finishes adding up the purchases and scrawls the total at the bottom of the page. “That comes to $30.50. I hear there’s some military exercise happening around here somewhere, roads blocks and the like. Don’t pay much attention to all that stuff, me, but watch out it doesn’t slow you down.”

She gives me an innocent smile, but I sense some hidden meaning. I meet her gaze steadily, “Yeah, I’ve heard about that. Nothin' to worry about if you know which roads to take.”

She gives me a small nod and picks up the cash I put on the counter, turning away to get my change. I gather up the folded clothes.

“You want a bag, sweetie?”

“Sure, if it’s no trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” she smiles widely, hands me the change and rummages around under the counter, producing a sturdy woven canvas backpack.

“Oh, no, hon,” I protest, “No, you should be sellin’ that, not givin’ it away! It’s got waterproof zippers and everythin’!”

“It’s been sitting here for a week. You take it.”

I start to push it back across the counter, but she puts her hand over mine and halts my movements. My eyes flick up to hers. A flash of her consciousness imprints into my mind. Fay; watched the people change, some beyond measure; frightened for the future of her daughter and grandchild; knows something is different about me, but doesn’t know what; thinks I lied, because since when do contractor’s wives buy a new wardrobe at a thrift store, but wants to help me, wants to feel that old-fashioned happiness at aiding a traveler, a genuine human interaction.

“Thank you, honey,” I say with all the sincerity I can muster, putting my other hand over hers and patting it. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

I push my gratitude and understanding toward her, letting it seep into her being just enough. Tears well in her pale blue eyes and she puts a hand over her mouth, “Oh dear, I’m sorry. I don’t know what – “

“It’s all right, honey. It’s been trying times for us all lately.” I squeeze her hand reassuringly. She gulps a little and blows her nose on a handkerchief.

“Oh dear me, what must you think of me.”

“I think you’re a fine lady. A lovin’ mother and dotin’ grandmother.” I let the illusion drop a little, just enough that traces of gold fleck my blue eyes. She stares at me, mesmerized. I continue, “You live your life with the hope that the lives you touch will be better for the experience. That’s why you started this shop, all those years ago. You wanted to make the world a little brighter, a little less oppressive. Well, my girl, you have – more than you know. And this time, now, when everythin’ seems to be goin’ crazy, you just remember that you have helped so many people, and you keep on helpin’ in so many ways, even if it’s just a kind word to a stranger. The world wouldn’t be in this mess if there were more people like you, Fay.”

Fay dabs at the tears running behind her thick glasses. “Oh, bless your heart, child. Such a wise head on those shoulders. Your husband is a lucky man.”

I chuckle and start packing the clothes away. “An’ I’m lucky to have him.”

She titters and clasps her hands together. “Safe travels, sweetie. Take care now, look after yourself. And thank you, so much.”

“No, thank you, honey.”

She steps around the counter and holds out her arms with a watery smile. I stoop a little to give her a hug. She’s small and soft and smells like soap and apples.

“Would you mind, could I ask you somethin’?”

“Of course!”

“It’s a crazy world out there, and sometimes we lose sight of the things that matter the most to us. So, when you go home tonight, and give your daughter a kiss on the cheek and hold your grandchild in your arms, really feel it. Not just the everyday routine of carin’ for ‘em, but the love, the gratitude, the joy, that you give them and that they give you. Will you do that for me?”

Fay’s crying again, little lady-like sniffles, “Oh sweetie, I will.”

“Thank you. You have a good life, honey.” I push the door open and walk away down the street.

Around the corner, I collapse onto a bench, shaking. After a few minutes, I push myself up, sling the bag over my shoulder and make my way home. The laurel-lined streets seem twice as long. The wind whips up swaths of leaves, blowing them across the street, buffeting me, the cold slicing through the summery clothes I’d been living in since we escaped the compound. I bow my head against the push of autumn and trudge onward, losing myself in the sound of my bare feet on the pavement, the rhythmic swing of the bag on my back.

By the time I reach the house, I’m stumbling with exhaustion. I sag against the door, trying to hold my hand steady enough to get the key in the lock. Just then it clicks open from the inside. The door moves inward, and I go with it. The bag falls to the floor as I collapse into Loki’s startled embrace.

“What – ?“

“Door…” I gasp. Loki kicks it shut and I groan in relief, letting the illusion melt away. He draws in a hissing breath upon seeing my exhaustion.

“I’m okay… Just need a minute…” My eyes roll back and I go completely limp. With a kick of vertigo, I withdraw from my body, floating above it, aware without thought –

A few minutes later, I open my eyes with a gasp, making Loki jump a little. “Quilla?”

“Oh, gods…” I lift a trembling hand to the damp cloth on my forehead, wiping it down my face. The cool moisture is refreshing. I swing my legs off the couch and sit up, closing my eyes until the world stops spinning. When I open them, Loki is still sitting on the floor, watching me carefully. I give him a small smile, “I’ll be fine, honestly. It was just rather more demanding than I expected. How are you feeling?”

He shrugs and looks away.

I lean forward and grip his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze, “I’m not trying to shame you, or make you look weak, or any other degrading thing of which you can think. The reason I ask is, I care about your well-being, just as you care about mine.”

His stares up at me and I giggle, slipping into the southern drawl, “Why, darlin’, if those aren’t the most adorable puppy-dog eyes I ever have seen!”

A bemused chuckle lightens his mood, “Why are you speaking that way?”

“Tell you later. Could you pass me the bounty?”

He picks up the bag and puts it on the couch beside me. “What did you acquire?”

“Oh, this and that…” I dig around, producing the bag of groceries from the store. “Last night, you kind of implied that your personal grooming was all done with magic, right?“

Loki nods.

“I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but is your magic back today?”

“No.” He runs one hand through his hair, which is disheveled like he’s done that a lot this morning. “I feel something there, but I can no longer access it.”

“Hmm,” I frown, appraising him through narrowed eyes, “Well, until we get that figured out, you might have to do a few things the old-fashioned way.”

Loki cocks his head at me, intrigued.

“Like, have more than one change of clothes.” I pat the thrift-shop bag, “And seeing you this morning with a five-o’clock shadow made me think how Clint would always grumble if he couldn’t shave, said it made him feel dirty and unkempt. Stephen's like that, too. So, I got you these,” I hand him razors and shaving cream.

He stares at the toiletries blankly for a moment. “Thank you, Quill.” Then he seems to remember something, “How did you get all this?”

“I bought it.”

He looks confused, “With what? We don’t have access to – “

I wave my hand dismissively, “I acquired some cash, while it’s still legal tender. And it’s actually not difficult to fit into society now, just be polite and no one bats an eye.”

Loki will not be deterred, “How did you ‘acquire’ cash?”

“I skimmed 1 cent from 10,000 random bank accounts, okay? Yes, it’s technically stealing, but under current circumstances, I think it’s justifiable. Now, as far as clothes go,” I turn back to the spoils, “You know, I only went for practical stuff, bBut this place was awesome, so cheap and so much good stuff. A real gold mine.” I shake my head appreciatively, “The lady there was really nice. We had a lovely chat. It makes you wonder how many people there are, just fitting in, keeping their head down. Anyway, there’s a decent selection of good-quality stuff. Obviously, I had to guess what would fit you, but given that I spent an hour this morning stitching up those,” I gesture to his clothes, “I think I’ll have guessed pretty well.”

I hand him a couple of shirts, jeans, a light but sturdy jacket. “Go, try them on, and I’ll try what I got.”

I take the bundle of clothes to the bathroom, and he goes to the bedroom to change. I slip on a new pair of sturdy jeans and a burgundy long-sleeve cotton shirt. Old but sturdy hiking shoes complete the look.

"You ready?" I call across the landing.

Loki announces himself with a subtle cough, an inscrutable look on his face. I look him up and down; the jeans are casually classy, sitting low on his hips, the khaki shirt brings out the color in his eyes. “My, my, look at you. What did I say about always looking well put together?”

He huffs and looks at his feet. “This is your doing, not mine.”

“Well, what can I say – I have good taste.”

“How would you describe this, then, in a word beginning with ‘s’?” He gives me a shy grin.

I narrow my eyes, “Hmm… I would have said classy but… smart, I guess.”

He nods thoughtfully and then puts his head on one side. “What about you?”

I frown, “What about me?”

“What about your adjective,” he gestures to the new ensemble, “What do you call that?”

I look down, baffled. “Hadn’t thought about it. Practical, I guess. Why?”

“Well, don’t you often say we should treat those around us as we ourselves want to be – or in some cases, are – treated?”

I feel a blush rising. How dare he use my own words against me! My banter about his looks was only meant to lift his mood, not to be used to highlight my own insecurities. He’s watching me squirm, a knowing smile twinkling in his eyes.

“As you have categorized my bearing, may I, yours?”

“Sure…?”

“Sophisticated.”

I bark a laugh, “Uh-huh.” I turn my back to him in preparation to change and hear his footsteps receding to the other room. I’m happy that some of his old spark has returned, but at the same time, filled with excited trepidation at this new turn. There is something raw about him today, something unfiltered. My body responds to it without my permission, my heart beating faster, unable to take a full breath. I change my shirt for a pale blue blouse with short sleeves and a cut-out design.

Loki looks up when I whistle appreciatively. A black shirt with silver collar tips, paired with dark jeans. With his hair loose about his face, he looks like he’s just stepped out of a photoshoot for some high-end men’s fashion magazine. I nod slowly, “Okay, this is sophisticated.”

He grins, “And you are sweet.”

I giggle and slip back into the bathroom. After a couple more shirts, I reach the last in the line-up: a royal green strapless dress, with pale embroidered leaf and flower patterns growing up from a full skirt into a comfortably fitted bodice. I slip on matching heels and stare in amazement at my reflection. The rich color complements the amber glow in my eyes and a pink flush in my cheeks. I run my fingers through my hair until it cascades in snowy fervor to my shoulders. I take a steadying breath and open the bathroom door.

Loki has his back to me, folding the new garments. He straightens abruptly at the sound of high heels on the wooden landing, and pivots on his heel, eyes widening when he sees me. I step daintily into the bedroom and twirl around so the skirt flies out, “You know, this feels different. I don’t know if this is really me. Maybe I’m just not used to wearing such feminine stuff.”

Loki’s mouth opens, he blinks a few times and then closes it with a snap, “This is most definitely you." He shakes his head sharply and clears his throat," In no situation could it ever be said that this is not you. And you are…”

“I am…?” I prompt, head on one side, swaying gently. His gaze rakes up my body before meeting my own.

“Beautifully sexy.”

I blush hard, dropping my gaze. “I doubt that – “

In two strides Loki crosses the space between us and grips my shoulders, “Quill, you always brush off my compliments as if I were exaggerating, but I mean every word.” He takes a deep breath, “Is it once again my curse that you think I would try to charm you with empty words?”

I am rooted to the stop by his intense gaze. My tongue feels heavy, my chest tight, but I force my disobedient body to work, “No, Loki, I don’t think that at all… It’s just, after everything I’ve been through, although it’s liveable, and I appreciate it, I don’t really think this could be considered beautiful, let alone sexy. It’s covered in scars, and it’s got no color.” I shrug, staring pleadingly into his green eyes. He bows his head.

“My dear little bird, let me explain something to you.” He turns away and sits heavily on the edge of the bed. I follow, scooping the volume of my dress out of the way before I sit beside him.

He takes my hand, staring at it nestled in his larger one. “I’ve seen many beautiful people in my time. On Asgard, especially at court and attending dances and feasts, I learned to tell the difference between true beauty and that which is contrived. It is a type of lie, after all. People forget that being the God of Mischief, I understand deception in all its forms. Therefore I am also, perhaps counter-intuitively, a kind of God of Truth, for by knowing how much falsity a person is presenting to the world, I can gauge the exact extent of their honesty.”

I nod slowly, “I hadn’t thought about it that way, but that really makes sense.”

He dips his head in acknowledgment and continues, “I have found that the same theory of beauty applies here, also. A celebrity who dresses in corseted finery because it is expected of her, that is constructed beauty; as is a woman who changes her face with make-up. While they may indeed be beautiful, it is only an illusion,” he flashes a wicked grin, “And, of course, I know all about those, as well. So, if I were to address these people on the subject of their looks, you can be assured that my words would be as insubstantial as their pretty facade. But, my sweet Aquilla,” He looks at me with shocking honesty plain in his emerald gaze, “When I look at you, I am bedazzled by the depth of your beauty. I am lost for words because it comes from the inside, it is because of you, and it is real.”

A fat tear rolls down my cheek as Loki continues, “And as for sexy, well…” He looks away and sighs. “When two people share an intimate, loving sexual experience, it is pure and strong and beautiful, untouchable yet familiar, confidence mixed with vulnerability, without fear or shame. That is what I see in you. You are… sexy. And not just when you wear this dress. I see that in you every day.” He caresses my cheek lightly, “Do you believe me?”

I take a shuddering breath and whisper, “I’m trying to.”

“If I have to remind you every day, I will.”

“Okay,” I sob a laugh. “Loki?”

“Hmm?”

I look down at our joined hands, “Why did you go to News Asgard without telling me?” My eyes flick up to his face, in time to see shame sweep across his features.

“I had to know what became of my people, my brother – “ His voice breaks and he takes a deep breath, "I know how much it irks you, not being able to control your magic like before. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or feel bad not being able to help, especially after you said as much last night. It was meant to be a simple mission – just make certain that they were alright – but I guess that didn’t work out very well, did it?” He lets out a disbelieving huff of laughter.

“You can say that again,” I bump my shoulder against his playfully. “You know, when I asked if you were going out again, and you said ‘not tonight', I’ll be honest: that raised a red flag. I know how specific you are in your language.”

He shakes his head sadly, “I don’t know if it’s comforting or scary that you can deduce my tells so easily. You knew where I’d gone – how?”

I smooth the wrinkles in the skirt self-consciously, “I, uh, saw it in a dream. I saw everything, from the portal to the cliff-top.”

“Hmm,” Loki takes my hand again, searching my face, “Can you forgive me?”

“What? For wanting to check on your family?” I shake my head in confusion.

“For keeping the truth from you.”

I look deep into his eyes, mesmerized by the sincerity of his manner, not quite sure why this is so important to him. “I was never mad at you. I was worried and upset that you’d gone without at least telling me, but I understand it’s difficult for you. We all make mistakes. Of course, I forgive you.”

He smiles shyly, glossy-eyed, and rests his forehead against mine, warm breath tickling my lips. “That is the most beautiful thing you could have given me, and more than I ever deserve.”

He’s closer than ever before, his scent surrounds me, his body radiating warmth like a small sun. My heart pounds, time stands still as my hands move of their own accord, rising to cup his jaw, fingers woven in his soft hair. I feel a twitch of surprise in the muscles of his neck as I lean in and place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. I don’t know what he sees when I pull away, because I have lost touch with reality, swimming in a sea of complete unknown, fear mixed with desire, longing, hope, love. My hands slip down to his shoulders as he takes my face between his palms like I was the most precious thing in the world, searching my eyes.

“I scared, Loki,” I whisper as a single tear falls. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” he murmurs. He leans in slowly, searching my face. I am frozen like a deer in headlights, my heart pounding louder, shaking my chest with its desperate rhythm as he draws closer. My eyes flutter closed as he kisses me with all the love and sadness of a lonely god. The sensation of his lips on mine is like nothing I’ve ever known. It takes my breath away. My body responds of its own accord, returning the kiss with all I have to give. Loki makes a small noise of relief and slides one hand around my neck, winding his fingers into my hair and angling my head just so, to meld his mouth with mine. I melt into him, my mind overloaded with sensations – his hands on my skin and in my hair, the rough fabric of his shirt, the silkiness of his hair, his piney musk and oh, his soft lips, the feel of his tongue within the kiss. I lose track of time until he pulls away and I fall against him, completely overwhelmed. He catches me with a chuckle.

“Are you alright?” He’s out of breath.

I nod, lost for words. He watches me with relief and affection playing on his handsome face. I tap the side of my head and give him a lopsided smile, “You may have… short-circuited something…”

Loki laughs and places a quick peck on my lips, “My dear little bird, you short-circuited my brain a long time ago.”

I laugh breathlessly and wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to the solidarity of his body while my mind wheels and floats in a haze of mesmerizing intoxication. Time passes meaninglessly as we sit together, arms around one another. Tiny, meaningless specks in an indifferent universe, yet the center of each other's worlds.

Eventually, I pull away gently, "We can't stay here all day."

Loki smiles lazily, "Why not?"

"We have things to do," I cock my head at him, "For a start, we need to find out what's happened to your magic."

"Ah, yes," he looks away sheepishly.

"Hey," I put my hand on his cheek, "Don't be ashamed. Perhaps something even better will come out of this. We can only know by trying."

He looks at me with such love I can't help but kiss him. "Come on, Trickster."

I stand, wobbling for a second in the unfamiliar heels. Loki puts a steadying hand on my arm. At the landing, he starts down the stairs.

"I'll be down in a minute, okay?"

He looks back up at me, a slight smile on his face, "Alright."

I watch him descend the stairs and vanish into the living room. There's a spring in his step. I smile to myself and slip out of the dress and into the more familiar shirt and jeans, then head downstairs.

Chapter Text

"I know why you lost access.” I sit cross-legged in the middle of the sofa as Loki settles into the chair opposite, one leg draped over the armrest. “And I know how you can get it back. But it might be tricky." I take a deep breath, “You once said that magic is a neutral resource shaped by the user's motives and desires. You also said that magic is fuelled by people’s belief in it. It follows then, that if there were no people to believe, there would be no magic, as proven by your current predicament. But, if that theory were universally applicable, then Stephen and I would have been having trouble, since most of humanity has been equally affected.”

“You are having trouble.” Loki regards me with a defiant glint in his eye.

I duck my head in acknowledgment, despite the sting of his words, “Yes, I am, but Stephen clearly isn’t.” I watch his face carefully, fully aware I am up against hundreds of years of traditional teachings, if not cultural norms and history as well. “Also following that same logic, you would have been affected as soon as New Asgard was overwhelmed, whether you knew about it or not. It wasn’t until after you realised there were no Asgardians to believe anymore that something happened."

He purses his lips, "Meaning?"

"You subconsciously cut off access, because you believe that’s how it should be.”

“Because that’s how it is.” Loki brings the edge of his hand deliberately down on the arm of the chair to illustrate his point. “When thousands perished during Ragnarök, magic became much more difficult – “ He stops, a frown flitting across his face.

“But that’s a self-perpetuating cycle, Loki. You believe it to be so, then when it is, you say 'aha, look, I said it was so, and it is'.”

Loki crosses his legs, puts his fingertips together and stares at me levelly, “The Goddess Frigga herself instructed me in the ancient ways of her people, some of the finest mages to have ever lived. Are you saying they were wrong?”

I put my head on one side, “No, not at all! I’m not saying you’re wrong, I’m just saying there are other ways.” I lean forward, elbows on knees, “It’s not the only way, because I access magic differently. So does Stephen. Or even Jötunns, right?”

Loki’s lips press into a hard line, and I immediately regret the last reference. I lean back and spread my arms in an exaggerated shrug, trying to steer back onto more neutral ground, “I'm just sayin', there's more than one way to skin a cat.”

He frowns, “Of what relevance are skinned cats?”

I shrug one shoulder, “It’s a saying. Forget it. Now, picture this,” I lean forward again, “Magic is like the ocean, right? If you want to experience all it has to offer, you need special equipment to prevent it from killing you. In the case of the ocean, just get a diving suit or a bell or a submarine or a submersible, whatever is it that you need. For magic, your vehicle of choice was the faith of other people, specifically those of the Asgardian persuasion. Stephen’s vehicle is practise of and belief in the technique called the mystic arts. Mine is a bit weird, because I started as a disembodied spirit; I lived within magic, I was practically made of it, so that’s a bit different, but regardless, all are used in the same medium, for similar purposes.”

Loki regards me over steepled fingers.

“My point is, you need to find a different way of accessing magic because the old way doesn't work anymore. Times change.”

“So you would have me turn my back on the ancient teachings and find a 'new way'.” There’s a barely concealed sneer in his voice.

I meet his critical gaze, breathing slowly to calm my racing heart, “A bit dramatic, but yes.”

Loki taps his fingers together, “And how would I go about such an endeavour?”

“Ah, yes, well, therein lies the rub." I fold my hands together in my lap, "You’ve got to want it. With all your heart. And you don't.”

He blinks very deliberately, “I think I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

Muscles tense in his jaw, his voice becomes a dangerous purr, “Yes. I. do.”

I shrug and look away, “Okay, maybe in your head, you want it. But subconsciously,” I meet his gaze again, now cold as ice, “You know what I’m saying is true, and you don’t want to accept it.”

Loki rises to his feet, looming over me, a snarl twisting his face. “How dare you!”

I stand, deliberately pushing into his personal space, “You can’t accept it because that would mean admitting to the shame and guilt you feel, because the culture that adopted you, that you have spurned and betrayed again and again, is gone and there’s nothing you can do about it! You’re the last one! And that hurts, doesn’t it?”

He wheels around, eyes flashing, “You know nothing!”

"The fact that you react like this proves me right!”

Loki grabs me by the neck and spins around, slamming me into the wall. He holds me at arms length, my toes barely touching the floor. I stare at him, gripping his wrist, pulling myself up within his hold. “I said it might be tricky. But it’s true. From the outside it’s obvious; you're just too caught up in the moment to see it."

He releases me and turns away angrily. "You do not know of what you speak."

I step closer, “Yes I do."

He backhands me across the face so hard I stumble, pain searing across my cheek. The breath is knocked out of me as I slam into the wall again. "Do not test me, human. You will not enjoy the consequences.”

“Oh, yeah?” I stare at him coolly, “Whatcha gonna do, hit me again? Go on, then, do it.” I raise my chin, "I’ve insulted your culture and your intelligence. I've turned your own words against you and betrayed your trust. What are you waiting for? Take your revenge!”

Loki is trembling with barely-control anger, breathing hard. His eyes, only inches from mine, are filled with torment. My heart constricts painfully at the stale-mate of perception; unable to see the new until the old is gone. I grab his head and kiss him with all the desperate fire raging in his soul. He stumbles back, completely disorientate, and I slam the heel of my hand into his solar plexus. Time slows; the force of my intention ripples through Loki, separating his spirit from physical reality. His body begins to fall backward, a look of astonishment on his face as the apparition pulls free, a ghostly double. The patterns of belief and consequence lay before him, the simple genius of the system, its efficient simplicity, elastic and adaptable and totally confining. For a perfect second, everything falls into place, then the curtains of reality close and he lands heavily to the floor. After a second, he scrambles up and bolts from the room. The back door slams.

My composure bursts like a soap bubble and I bend over, hands braced on my knees, fighting back tears from both the sting in my cheek and the black hole that seems to have opened in my chest. I walk slowly to the back door and step out onto the patio, squinting in the mid-afternoon sun. An empty garden, leaves flipping across the grass on the breeze, birds chirping. So peaceful and tranquil. I retreat to the cool shade of the kitchen and lean on the counter, resting my head on my arms, breathing slowly, I try to calm the disquiet inside. A strange mix of resignation and apprehension make my palms itch.

A late lunch does nothing to fill the void inside, I eat even though I can't taste the food. I wonder listlessly through the empty house, settling every now and then on the couch or bed, ears pricked for any sound. Hours crawl by. Occasionally tears run down my cheeks. The unbalanced feeling in my chest shifts, the gnawing headache of the past few days slowly recedes, as though something is settling into place.

I’m sitting on the back porch, watching the sunset stain bleeding from the clouds when the phone buzzes, starling me from a reverie. I scuttle inside and grab it off the counter, "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. How are you?"

"Hello Wanda."

" Y ou don't sound so good. Are you okay ?"

"Not really."

"Oh, honey," Wanda gives a sympathetic sigh, "What happened?"

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, "New Asgard is gone."

" Oh, no.. "

"Everyone is dead, even Thor."

"Oh, that's horrible. How did you fin out?"

“Stephen portalled Loki there and back again, and I saw what happened in a dream. It wasn’t pretty.”

“Oh, poor thing. How’d Loki take it?”

“I don’t think I’d be exaggerating to say his world has collapsed. He lost his magic, too.”

Her tone changes to confusion, "What – How?"

"Because he thinks the people are the source of his power."

"O hh h."

"Yeah." I pull myself together, "I told him it didn't work like that, that there are other ways."

"Bet that went down well."

I chuckle, "Like a lead balloon, yeah. The events are too fresh. He doesn't have perspective, but that can take years to acquire, especially for something as earth-shattering as losing your entire culture and a huge chunk of your identity in one day. And then there's the readjustment period, which can also take a long time. But with everything that’s happened, and with my magic misbehaving, we can't afford not to face this head-on and deal with it now!" I take a calming breath, "But he wouldn’t listen. He got really mad, even hit me – “

“What! Did he hurt you?!”

“No, no, it was just a slap. I mean, yeah it bloody hurt, but we’ve sparred before, I’m used to that, but this was the first time he’s ever hit me in anger. But I know he didn’t mean it for me. That’s the confusing part of this for him, because I’m am the voice of an inconvenient truth. With a mind like that he would have worked that out way before I did. He just doesn't want to admit that no matter how he goes on about being adopted and that Asgard is not his real home, deep down he is absolutely shattered that it’s gone, and will clings to anything, any last hope for it's survival. And the crazy part is, by desperatly scrabling for its salvation, he's ensuring it's dissapearance.”

“Poor thing, that’s a hard place to be,” Wanda tut-tuts sadly, “I take it he’s not with you right now?”

“No.”

" Where is he ?"

My composure crumbles and I sob into my hands, "I don’t know!"

"He'll come back, honey, don't you worry."

"How can you be so sure? The things I said, I know I pushed him."

"Well, what is it you say? Strong steel is made in the hottest fire?"

"I know," I wipe my cheeks, “I just hope with all my heart that he can see that.”

Wanda sighs, "He'll come back. Where else is there to go?"

I let out a harsh laugh, "Anywhere. Literally anywhere."

" But you’re not anywhere ."

"Come on, Wanda - "

"No, I'm serious! Trust me on this, okay?"

I sigh heavily. "Okay." After a few seconds of silence, I change the subject, "How're you doing?"

"We're safe. Actually why I called, Clint has lined up some ID's for you. You’ll have to collect them the day after tomorrow. Got a pen?"

"Uh," I look around blankly in the growing dark. "Hang on." I get up, flicking a flame onto the wick of the kitchen candle, to look for a pen, "Okay, shoot."

Wanda reels off an address in a nearby city.

"Thanks."

"Okay. Look, I have to go, but you stay strong, okay? Don't lose hope."

"Thanks, Wanda."

" Stay strong ."

The connection ends with a beep. I put the phone back on the coffee table and go out onto the back patio, curling up in the hammock chair. The sky slowly changes to dusky hues, washed through with oranges, purples and pinks, finally fading to black. A chill creeps into the air, and I retreat to the bleak comfort of an empty bed. On the way through the kitchen, I glance at the lit candle, and do a double take: I had lit that candle? I couldn’t even light a match yesterday. The flame gutters in the breeze from the open door, burning a bright yellow-white. I climb the stairs slowly, curl up under the blanket fully dressed, hold my hand out like I’m supporting a tray and close my eyes. A warm fuzzy tingle curls around my heart, the barely tangible warmth of magic trickling up my spine, up my arm and filling my hand with tingles as I focus on the heat in my palm. Through closed eyelids I see the light blossom; a golden-green flame dances lazily in my palm. The warm glow tints my skin as it turns and wavers, transparent yet solid. After a moment I let it recede under my skin and shiver as the last vestidges spark and flutter in my viens.

Loki's voice from a memory plays in my head, "You've come a long way, little bird. I'm so proud of you."

Sadness crashes through me, whole-hearted sorrow. I roll over to stare out the window as stars wheel across the sky behind wisps of high cloud, tears soaking into the pillow, lost between reality and dreams as times loses meaning.

The click of the door latch pulls me back with a jolt of adrenaline. A familiar presence approaches on soundless feet and the mattress dips as Loki sits on the edge behind me. I turn, but all I can see of him is slumped silhouette.

"I'm so sorry, Quill." His voice is rough, "I never meant to hurt you."

"It's alright, darlin'."

He shakes his head, "That is no excuse for my reaction. Have I no more restraint than my brother in a drunken rage? Please…” I push myself up to sit against the headboard as he continues, "You were right. I knew you were, but I didn’t want you to be. Can you blame me? I am the last of a race of noble warriors and mages, and I’m not even native-born.” He snorts derisively, and drops his head into his hands, “I feel as though I am falling down an endless hole, clutching at roots, trying to grab anything, but the more I fight it, that faster I fall.”

I nod in the darkness, “That’s pretty accurate.”

“What do I do, Quill?”

“Reassign value.”

“What does that mean?”

I roll over to face him, and lay my hand on his back, “You do not want to change the way you access magic because to do so would be to turn your back on your history and culture, yes?”

“Correct.”

“Meaning, you value your dedication to that idea more than you value your own ability to wield magic. It’s as simple as that.”

“I can’t abandon it, though. I can’t just – “

“I never said you had to abandon it. Gods, no.” I shake my head with a smile, “You should never abandon your past. It’ll just come back to bite you. No, recognise it, learn from it, keep it in a special place in your heart. It can be your wings to soar the winds of change, or it can drag you down into the depths of self-doubt and guilt.”

Loki takes a deep breath, “How, though?”

I sigh, “I know the teachings say it's the collective spirit, the power of many, that creates a field of potential, which you access as magic. And while that is technically correct, the specific problem with that idea is the externalisation of power. You don't need all those people to make you a powerful mage. You can find that within yourself."

Loki lets out a shaky sigh, resting his head in one hand.

I chuckle in the dark, "Remember the reaction I had to you telling me that you think I'm beautiful? Well, here's the counterpart: I see so much potential in you, so much experience and ingenuity. So much knowledge. If only you could only see it for yourself, if only you would believe in yourself..."

He starts to weep silently, face in hands.

“Hey,” I shuffle over and wrap my arms around him, “Hey, hey, hey, darlin’, it's okay. Come here.”

He turns toward me then, and rests his head against my stomach. I sway him gently.

"I'm sorry," he whispers thickly, "I'm so sorry..."

"It's okay, love."

He flinches at my words. I scramble up and stand directly in front of him, lifting his chin to look into his eyes. He blinks up at me slowly, tears staining his hollow cheeks, completely vulnerable. A sad, desperate, lost man.

"You are forgiven, Loki."

He rests his head gently on my stomach. I run my fingers through his hair and down his back, swaying gently as soft hiccoughing sobs shake his very soul. After a moment he puts his arms around me, hands on my lower back, hugging me to him with a fierce longing that sparks something deep inside me.

When his breathing slows and his fingers starts to caress my back through my shirt, I slip around him back onto the bed. He follows, encircling me in a firm embrace. I snuggle up against his chest, savouring the comforting warmth, knowing that he wants to hold me, needs to have me in his arms tonight. He tucks his nose into the hollow beneath my ear and sighs, and I shiver.

"Go to sleep, darling," I murmur, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, "I'll still be here in the morning." 

"I love you, Quill." His hot breath caresses my neck.

"I know, Loki. I love you, too."

A shakey sigh ruffles my hair, and his arms tighten around me briefly.

"Would you like to drift?"

He nods slowly, almost cautious, and I take his face in my hands. "Relax, darlin', I'll be there too. Now..."

I step back from myself and into the comforting emptiness of the drift, reaching back for him, pulling his with me.

Let go.

His eyes roll up and his body goes limp as the world fades and the interstellar void, pricked with a million points of light, envelops us in its velvety silence. Loki floats among the specks of light, hair fanned out and head back, arms open wide. Strings of light slip beneath his skin, travelling up his arms and pooling around his heart. I smile as more strings approach me, soaking into my hands with a buzzing tingle, running up my arms and into my chest like warm water. Gold flecks leak from my fingertips and fizzle with energy, zipping lazily across the space to fade into Loki's palms, just as green sparks glitter in his hair and wash across to me, seeping into my heart. I close my eyes as the specks start to spiral and swirl between us, swarming like bees, silent as the breeze, bright as stardust.

Chapter Text

Hello lovely readers :) There will be more of the story in this time gap, but I only just got the idea, so... Keep reading, it'll still make sense, but yeah. There's more coming ;)

Chapter Text

Jeff’s house in suburbia is dark and quiet. I slip in through the unlocked back door. A black cat rounds the corner, stares at me with vivid green eyes, and wanders off, looking bored. The living room is empty, as is the kitchen. There’s a paper bag on the counter. I peer inside and find our newly forged Q-level clearance cards and official personnel ID papers. I take one out, flip it open and grin in delight. Perfect.

A feeling of quiet expectancy makes my hair stand on end. I pad silently down the corridor, avoiding the squeaking floorboards by walking right next to the wall and push open the door to the master bedroom. Jeff’s lying on the bed, mouth open, snoring very softly. I blink hard and change my view, searching his aura. Yes, there it is, the familiar whirl of dark, deep purple, swirling far too slowly. A spoor has finally taken root. Shame, he was a nice guy.

I creep closer and lay my hand on his sweaty forehead. He grumbles in his sleep but doesn’t stir. I let out a deep breath and dive into his mind, searching for memories of me and the work he’s done. It takes quite a while to find anything in the drug-addled mess of memory, but my face is a generic female, and the work is a standard low-grade forgery. Satisfied, I pull away from him slowly, gently, easing out of his dreams.

I open my eyes to find him staring up at me. His eyes are glassy, vacant. His face twists into a snarl and he makes a grab at me, but I jump back and sprint from the room. He blunders after me, disorientated and clumsy. I slam the back door open, right into the face of a Compliance Officer. He reels back, his partner tries to grab me but the kick of adrenaline has me slipping past and vaulting over the 10-foot fence without pause. I run, vaulting fences and hedges until I reach the parked delivery van, two houses away. I pause for a second in the last garden, change my disguise to a lanky blonde male, open the gate and walk calmly to the van, get in, start the engine, drive away.

My heart is pounding. How did they know about Jeff? Did they even know? Was it a random check? Was he working for them? Did he tip them off about us? Are the IDs traceable? I concentrate on the papers in my hand, shifting through all the spectra I’m capable of seeing, looking for traces of energy that would indicate it’s being tracked. There’s nothing. I heave a sigh of relief. And after sifting through Jeff’s mind, I know he won’t be able to identify me. So, was it a set-up or coincidence?

I shove the documents under the seat, cruising at exactly the speed limit as was customary now. After about five minutes, I notice a car following me. We round a corner, and I can make out the GLCT logo on the side. My heart kicks over, but I quell the nerves, projecting cool, calm, and collected to the officials behind me. The last thing I need is a check now before I’ve had time to practice using the IDs.

The car tails me for 10 straight minutes until we’re out of the town and on an open stretch of highway flanked by rolling acres of crops. I flinch when lights begin strobing in my mirrors. I pull over, taking deep, steadying breaths. An officer gets out of the car. I roll down the window as he approaches.

“Good day.” I give him a bland smile that he doesn't return.

“Good day, sir. ID and border clearance?”

“Certainly.”Sir? Oh yeah, I still look like a man. I hand him the papers. He stares at it, then at me, that at them again, then steps back from the car, “Please exit the vehicle, sir.”

“Sure,” I unbuckle the seatbelt and get out.

“Please place your hands on the side,” I step up to the side of the car and lean on the hood, palms on the smooth metal.

“Is there a problem?”

“Please place your hands behind your back.” There is a clink of cuffs.

I don’t move, “Why am I being detained, sir?”

“Place your hands – “ the man speaks with exaggerated slowness, “behind your back. Now!”

“Why am I being detained?”

“Hands behind your back! Now!” He steps back and draws his gun.

“Look, sir, I – “

Adrenaline pours through my body, the disguise melting away to reveal white hair and scar-strewn skin.

The officer gasps, “What the – “ He cocks the gun, “What the fuck are you?!”

From somewhere deep inside me, a growling, hissing hatred rises up like a wave, “I am the first.” Shards of pressure slide between me and the world, pulling me back, pushing forward, reaching into my body to –

- grab the gun barrel, slam the edge of my hand into his wrist, shocking his grip open. I strike his throat, breaking his trachea. The other officer shouts and raises his gun. I dive behind the cruiser, slip around behind him as he edges down the side of the vehicle, and use the butt of the gun to knock him unconscious.

A blow to the back of my head sends me to the ground. A third man stands over me, fist raised. I roll away as he raises a baton and stagger to my feet, pretending to be disorientated. He steps in to clout me again, but I duck under his swing and drive my shoulder into his stomach. He crashes backward onto the ground, and I let the momentum of the fall carry me forward, slamming my knee into his groin. He screams and spasms, curling away from me. I grab his head in both hands and snap it sharply to one side, breaking his neck. His body flails briefly, then goes limp.

I stare down at him, my hands shaking slightly. He looks surprised, sightless eyes staring into the distance. I kneel down and close his eyelids.

The discarded gun is lying in the road. I holster it on the owners' belt and check the cruiser. Bottles of water, trail bars, an apple, a cigarette light, maps of the area, a few miscellaneous items. I transfer the useful stuff to the van, then I drag the bodies to the cruiser and heave them in the front seat, strapped in so they don’t fall over. The automatic transmission is a bonus, I put it in drive and lean the driver forward to brace the steering wheel, prop his foot on the accelerator and jump clear. The car trundles off, ungracefully clonking through the gears, accelerating toward a bend in the road and a small bridge. Metal screams as the cruiser plows into the guard rail, the front end collapsing in on itself and the rear lifting in a gracefully tumble over the edge. Crumpling metal and breaking glass serenade the car’s brief descent.

I wait a few minutes, but nothing else happens. I trot the few hundred meters to the bridge and scramble down the incline. The cruiser is laying on its side. I grab the thicker of the two fuel lines where it meets the rubber tubing, pull, and twist until the connection breaks. Petrol dribbles along the stone-guard, the tank gurgles as air runs up the line. I take the lighter from my pocket and duck down behind a bridge pylon. I strike the flame, take a steadying breath, and hurl the lighter across the gap to the car. A clatter of plastic on metal, followed by a ‘whoomp’ as the petrol ignites. The explosion makes my ears ring and debris rains down for a few seconds, then everything is quiet but for the sputtering flames. I peer around the pylon cautiously, then scamper up the bank to the tarmac and run.

I turn the van around carefully, not letting wheels off the tarmac to avoid tracks. Going back the way I came for 5 minutes takes me to a back road that leads more or less in the direction I need. It will take longer, but it’s the best option. Loki will just have to wait.

Chapter Text

I pace around the small house like a caged animal. Aquilla should have been back an hour ago. I spin around at the end of my route, retracing my well-worn path from the door to kitchen and back. What if she was caught? - she’d link with me, ask for help. What if she was knocked out or injured? I spin around again with a frustrated sigh. Why can’t I feel her whereabouts? Where the Hel -

There is a knock on the door. I cross the room in two strides and wrench it open. Aquilla brushes past, her back ramrod straight, shoulders tense. There’s dirt on her clothes, and the clingy smell of petrol and soot wafts in her wake.

I close the door and bolt it, turning to her, “What happened?”

She ignores me, places a bag on the kitchen table, and starts unpacking the items, lining them up with worrying precision: bottled water, protein bars, folded maps, a pack of napkins. A strange collection, the sort of things one might find in the back seat of a car. Finally, two sets of IDs and official-looking booklets. Well, at least something seemed to be going according to plan. But what else happened? Why the reek of petrol? Why the silence?

I step closer, place my hand on her shoulder. She flinches away, pulling her body in on itself to avoid my touch. There is a bloodstain on the fabric of her shirt, just above her right scapula. Soot and dirt smear her blouse and her jeans are scuffed in several places as well. I move around her, but she turns, keeping her back to me.

“You’re hurt. What happened?”

She shrugs.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

She goes absolutely still.

“Look at me,” I command.

She turns slowly. Dread pools heavy in my stomach when I see her eyes, blank, unfocused like I’m not even there.

“Quill?” I murmur, searching her face for any sign of recognition. There is none. Then her golden gaze focuses on me with such intensity that the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and my heart skips a beat. In a wild, predatory way, she is captivating. Fierce, primal, and so very beautiful… I stop that train of thought firmly in its tracks, "Tell me what happened.”

She opens her mouth, and I notice that there is dried blood on her lips, “Compliance officers were at Jeff’s. He’s been compromised. They trailed her out of town, then detained her. I neutralized them, salvaged foodstuffs from their vehicle, fabricated an alibi for their situation. Detoured to the south to avoid associational suspicion.”

I shake my head, stunned. “When did this happen?”

“One hour, fifty-four minutes ago.”

Her eyes defocus again. Suddenly I am struck with an absurd curiosity, “What is my name?”

“I do not know.”

“But you know me?”

“Yes.”

“Who am I?”

She puts her head on one side, eyes focused about two inches beyond the back of my head, “You are the lighthouse.”

“’The lighthouse’? What is that?”

She gives me a disparaging look but says nothing, so I file that under ‘intriguing’ and move on, “Is Aquilla with you?”

“Yes.” Her mouth twitches down at the corners.

“May I speak with her?” I search her face, but it is carefully blank once again.

“No.”

I let out a frustrated breath. “What’s the actual difference between you two? Are you two parts of the same person?

“She lives, I exist. No.”

“You’ve said that before... What do you mean?”

“What I said.”

“Explain.”

She blinks slowly, “She lives, I exist. Explanation complete.”

I turn away from her disconcertingly blank gaze, lost in thought. “You said no, you’re not part of the same person?”

“Correct.”

“What do you mean?”

She gives me another look, “What I – “

“What you said, right. You’re not part of the same person. So you’re two different entities living in one body. How is that possible?”

“It’s not.”

“Then wha-?!” I throw my hands up in frustration, spinning on my heel and stalking away. Worry kindles into anger, my fists clench. Why must she be so uncooperative?! “If it’s not possible, why did you say it was correct?”

A chuckle makes me turn. Her blank stare is even more creepy above a twisted smile, humorless laughter now bubbling up, shaking her shoulders. It makes me even angrier.

“What’s so funny?” I hiss at her.

“Nothing.” Her mirth is gone, replaced by cold disgust. “It’s not funny, it’s pathetic! You’re all pathetic! Everything laid out plain as day, yet you're all blind as fools! Fools playing with things they don’t understand, opening doors without knowing what’s on the other side! You cannot mess with the fabric of reality without it messing right back. For all your privileges, you were no better off than us - ”

A tremor shakes her body. Her eyes roll up, her back arches, throwing her off balance. I grab her around the waist as she topples and lower her to the floor where she twitches, then goes limp.

Suddenly her chest heaves and she coughs, gasping for air. “Loki…?” She mumbles, putting one hand to her head. “What – ?”

Her eyes widen, pale lips forming a perfect O of shock. She stares through me, and I watch as her face changes from bewildered to stunned, aghast, then finally to horrified. “Oh… gods…” she whispers through her fingers. Her eyebrows draw together and lift, that characteristic twitch that means she’s close to tears. Her gaze is still locked on something beyond this room. I lean forward and gently place my hand on her forehead, silently asking permission. She closes her eyes and the barriers lower. In a flash I see everything. She pushes my hand away and curls into a ball, breathing ragged, muttering under her breath. I put my her on shoulder gingerly, unsure how she will react to my proximity, still struggling to control my own anger and frustration.

“Aquilla?”

She curls up tighter, shaking, “I’m sorry, ’m sorry, ’m sorry, ’m sorry – ”

“Quill – ”

She raises a tear-stained face, “I killed them! They were just doing their job and – “ A sob distorts her voice.

My rage disappears as I realize the enormity of what she’d just been through. I desperately want to comfort her but I don’t dare make a move when she’s in such a fragile state. “They would have taken you back to – ”

“I know!” She’s struggling to talk through the tears, “I know that, but – ” She turns a tear-streaked face to me, “I killed them, Loki. I killed those men, and I didn’t even feel it.”

“That wasn’t you, Quill. It’s not – “

“This was different!” She gasps, “I was there too.”

Her gut-wrenching despair and self-hatred makes my own chest tighten. She’s crying so hard she almost retches. I scoot closer on my knees and place a hand on her shoulder. She hunches up, pulling away from me, “Why don't you hate me?”

My heart constricts painfully. How could she think that? She raises her head and stares at me with such a desperate hope that moisture clouds my vision.

I blink fast and clear my throat, “I could never hate you.”

Her face crumples, but her eyes remain locked on mine. I hold out my hands to her hesitantly. She uncurls in a rush and practically throws herself into my embrace. I close my arms around her, tucking her head under my chin, wishing I could somehow whisk her away to a better place. I place a kiss on her hair. Her thin shoulders shake and she keens softly, face pressed into my chest. I hold her, swaying gently from side to side. My legs start to ache from lack of circulation under our combined weight, but I don’t care. I will gladly stay like this until the end of time if that’s what she needs.

Eventually, she pulls away, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She gives an embarrassed little huff, “I’ve ruined your shirt.”

I flick my fingers and magic away the dampness. She puts a hand over her eyes, “I’m sorry I was late, I’m sorry I didn’t call to you – ” she taps her head, “but Asset can’t do that. Oh gods, I’m such a failure.”

“No, Quill,” I grab her hands, “How could you think that? You’re – “ Strong and beautiful, powerful, magnificent. She tilts her head as she notices my stumble. I force myself to meet her enquiring gaze.

“I just – “ My voice trembles and I clear my throat.

“Say it, Loki.” Her voice is tender, soft. It reaches inside and caresses my heart.

I clear my throat and side-step the original thought, “Do you remember what Asset said?”

Aquilla looks down in shame, “Yeah – sorry 'bout that.“

“Don't be sorry. That was some vital information. Not two parts of the same being, not two different beings either? That's fascinating.

Aquilla is looking at me with open skepticism, “Fascinating, is it? You don’t think that it’s maybe not the healthiest way to live?”

I stare at her calmly. “Perhaps. But at least it’s a life. More importantly, it is your life. And there is a balance, is there not? Are there not good things in your life?”

Fresh tears leak from her golden eyes. She leans in and wraps one arm around my neck, the other around my ribs, and rests her chin on my shoulder.

“You’re a good thing, Loki,” she whispers next to my ear. Her words bring my emotion up with unstoppable momentum. I desperately trying to control my breathing. Her chest is pressed against mine, and one hand finds its way into my hair.

“Loki,” she murmurs knowingly, “You’re fighting it.”

I stiffen, shame washing through me. Of course, as I feel her, so she feels me. A shiver runs up my spine unbidden as she tightens her grip in the hair at the nape of my neck, preventing me from pulling away.

“Many people might be impressed with your invulnerability,” she continues, her other hand gently rubbing my back, “But I’m not one of them. Please don’t think you always have to put on the brave face.”

I try to protest her statement but a small, stained noise escapes my throat instead and I snap my mouth shut on it.

“Oh, babe,” she croons softly, nuzzling her head against mine, “We’re a fucked up pair, are we not?”

A bubble of laughter breaks my composure, clearing the way for the worry that had been building since I realized she was running late. My hands clutch her lithe body desperately as I weep silent tears of relief into her shoulder. She hums, soothing her fingers through my hair. '

I pull back and meet her damp gaze. She smiles at me and my heart skips a beat painfully. She searches my face, eyes flicking from eyes to lips, brows, cheeks, never resting too long anywhere. She bites her lower lip unconsciously.

I smooth my hands up her arms, watching her reaction closely and when she doesn’t flinch, I cup one hand around her elegant neck, stroking my thumb across the corner of her jaw. She leans into the touch, eyes drifting closed for a second, then she gives a little shake and pulls back. I rise from our spot on the floor somewhat stiffly and pull her up with me. She steps away; my heart aches at the loss. She looks down at herself and raises her hands in horror.

“Oh, yuk.” She glares at me reproachfully. “I look like something the cat dragged in!” She sniffs gingerly at her fingers, scrunching up her nose, “And I reek of petrol. You let me hug you like this?!”

I chuckle at her chagrin. She continues muttering, “This shirt is ruined. If we’re going to work together, I need to tell Asset to take better care of our clothes! It’s not like I get a new wardrobe every time I’m in a fight.”

She shudders in theatrical disgust. I’m so happy to hear her laughter, her banter, her light-hearted self-deprecating humor, I can’t stop myself. I pull her into a tight hug and spin her around. She squeals in delighted surprise, laughing as I set her back on her feet. Her slender hands come to rest on my shoulders.

“What on Earth…?” Her laughing face is upturned, eyes bright, sparkling with life. I grin down at her like a love-struck idiot. “You. You’re what’s on Earth.”

I am overwhelmed with the desire to kiss her smiling lips, but I stop myself, pushing past her toward the kitchen before my resolve cracks. I feel her eyes on my back.

“Hungry?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Starving.”

I look back at her, standing with her head on one side, watching me with a calculating expression. “I’ll make us something while you wash up. You do, after, smell rather strongly of fuel.”

She rolls her eyes at my jibe and trips silently across the carpet and tile to where I stand by the sink, stretches up on tiptoe, and places a delicate kiss on my cheek.

Heat rises unbidden in my cheeks. When I look around, she’s gone.

Chapter Text

A hot shower soothes my aching muscles. When I emerge from the bedroom a few minutes later, dressed and feeling somewhat human again, Loki’s leaning on the bench-top, staring at his new ID.

As I approach he takes a breath, “There’s something very wrong with these – “ He looks up and a worried frown clouds his face. “You’ve been in the wars.”

“It’s just the pale skin, makes ‘em look worse than they are.” I give him a reassuring smile.

“I wish I could help,” he murmurs, also to himself.

I put my hand over his reassuringly. His piercing gaze roots me to the floor, and I am suddenly hyper-aware of his hand beneath mine. Then he looks back at the papers, and the moment is gone.

I chuckle, “Got you fooled, hey?”

“To put it mildly…”

I pick up one of the bowls of reheated chicken and veggie stir-fry. “Tell me what you see.” I push his bowl toward him, and he absently spears a piece of chicken and takes a bite.

“It changes. All the details change. Constantly.”

“Ah, yes, well, ahem,” I close my eyes and concentrate, “How about now?”

His intake of breath is my answer, “Alexandra Hayle, 15th October 1981, brown hair, hazzel eyes.”

He looks up at me, aghast. “How – ?”

I giggle, “Look again.”

“May Birch, 27th January 1994, blonde hair, blue eyes.”

“Yep.” I shovel in a mouth full of rice and chicken.

Loki just stares at me open-mouthed. I giggle, “It’s psychic paper.”

"Psychic... paper?”

“Yes.“ I saunter over to the couch and plop down on one end, tucking up my feet. “I used to watch Doctor Who as a kid, and then again as a teenager.”

Loki takes a seat beside me, “I have no idea who that is.”

“He’s a character in a TV series. Has a time machine, goes around having adventures and saving people. It’s a great series, both old and new. But, the point is, The Doctor has this ID that allowed him into wherever he needed to be, no matter where. He called it psychic paper. And that’s what gave me the idea.”

I gesture to the blank card with my fork, “I got Jeff to show me the exact materials out of which it would be made, and I spent some time and effort playing with the molecular and energetic structure of it until it responded to my intention. So, when I hand this to someone, I can either concentrate on what I want them to see, or let them dictate it; depending on the situation, either could have its advantages.

“The reason it cycles like that is it’s showing the potential identities that have yet to be chosen. Sort of like a quantum instability, you might say. When someone puts their attention on the document, it collapses the field into a reality, whichever that person chooses.”

I scrape up the last of my dinner and take the bowls to the sink. When I return to the couch, Loki is staring at me with something like awe.

I curl up next to him, “So, what do you think?”

“I think you’re brilliant.”

“Funny – that’s what the Tenth Doctor used to say all the time!”

“Really?” His mouth quirks in a thoughtful smile. “Tenth?”

“Yeah, you see, the Doctor wasn’t human, he was of a species known as Time Lords, and they have a strange life cycle. Basically, when they get badly injured, or possibly just really, really tired, they regenerate into a completely new person.”

Loki nods slowly, “That sounds highly impractical…”

I snort, “Well, I think it may have had something to do with the studio wanting to keep the franchise alive with fresh faces on a regular basis. Though sometimes, if a particular actor was a big hit, they stayed on for quite a few seasons. The Tenth and Twelfth Doctors were my favorites. One was bright-eyed and inquisitive, the other was more jaded and wise.”

"Well, regardless of what fantastical character you got the idea from, these will certainly be useful." Loki flips the little booklet open again, the page shimmers for a second then the text coalesces into a Global Living Standards Compliance Taskforce managerial security clearance. "Hmm, impressive." He tosses the booklet into the coffee table. "Why is there no little image? "Isn't that required for governmental identification?"

"What?" I stare at him blankly for a second, "Oh, you mean photo ID? I don't know, that's just the way they are now. No photos just names and numbers. You'll need to practice using it, make sure you can keep the information stable in the face of questioning, but it shouldn't be too difficult." I yawn hugely and stretch, my joints clicking and popping.

“Careful there, you might come apart at the seams,” Loki murmurs.

“Been there, done that, got the scars to prove it.”

After a long silence, he takes a deep breath, “I’ve been thinking…”

“Careful. Too much of that can get you in trouble.”

Loki gives me a dark look, “About what Asset said.”

I cross my ankles on the coffee table. “What do you make of it?”

Loki speaks slowly, “I'm not sure. One lives, one exists – she seems to believe that’s the difference between you, but how can you exist without living? Or vice versa? Not parts of the same person, not two different beings either… That’s just a riddle. Everything laid out… Fools playing with things they don’t understand, blundering where they shouldn’t be – that reminds me of their meddling with the tesseract and what happened because of it. Maybe this is something similar?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh and I giggle, “You know, for someone who enjoys weaving layers of intrigue for others to puzzle over, you sound awfully frustrated.”

He huffs indignantly, “I am not frustrated. I merely seek – “

I grab his arm suddenly, making him jump, “What if…?” I trail off, lost in thought.

Loki shakes his head incredulously, “You nearly gave me a heart attack for a ‘what if’ and a pregnant pause? Are you serious?”

“Sorry,” I giggle at his reaction, “But I had a thought.”

“Glad to hear it. Wait, scratch that – I haven’t heard it yet.”

I laugh, “What if – “ Loki gives me a pained look and I dissolve into giggles again. He puts one hand over his eyes in mock dismay, glaring balefully from between his long fingers. A smile twitches the corners of his frowning mouth. My heart constricts and heat floods my face. I look away, suddenly lost for words.

“Well?”

I glance up to meet his gaze, now soft and filled with fondness. “Something you said got me thinking, what if Asset and I are the same person?”

“But she said you weren’t.”

“Yeah, but she also said we’re not two different people, either. So... I think we actually are the same, only from a different time or place…”

“Or reality.” Loki’s eyes widen, “What if she’s from a parallel dimension?”

I take a breath to speak but something pushes at me, slides between me and the world. My lips purse gently, the tip of my tongue touches the roof of my mouth –

“Took you long enough.”

Loki recoils in surprise, “What the – ?”

I clutch at my throat, nearly gagging. Loki grabs my shoulders, holding me up. We stare at each other in shocked silence before he whispers, “I think that was her.”

The muscles of my lips and tongue move of their own accord, “Bravo, give him a gold star.”

Dizziness spins the world slowly around me, and I collapse into him, taking deep, steadying breaths. Adrenaline races through my veins, my heart pounds. I've never been inside while she's in control. It feels so wrong, so... squashed.

Loki eases me gently back into the couch, “What do you feel?”

I raise a trembling hand and touch his temple. He flinches and draws a sharp breath between his teeth, "Are sure you're okay?"

I nod.

“May I talk with her?”

I nod again and close my eyes.

He squeezes my hand reassuringly, “So, Asset, you are from an alternate reality?”

“No, you’re the ones from another reality.”

He huffs in amusement. “Why are you here?”

“ Didn’t have a choice.”

I swallow desperately, trying to calm my racing heart, “Sorry, is there a better way to do this? It feels so… unnatural.”

“ Welcome to my world .” My diaphragm spasm s with mirthless laughter. “ But yes, we can take it in turns, if you like . You can sleep, or exit. Up to you. ”

“Well,” I glance at Loki, who just looks confused, “I want to be part of this, so – wait, why can’t you exit?”

“ Haven’t had the practice. ”

“Right. Loki…?”

“Hmm?” He searches my face, a frown on his.

“I’m going to leave this body, and Asset is going to take control. I'll tell you when I'm out.”

Loki squeezes my hand again, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

I counter his worried gaze with a shrug, “We have to.”

His mouth compresses into a thin line.

“Don’t worry – “

“– We'll b e f ine.”

Loki nods slowly. I close my eyes, relaxing my hold on reality. The pressure in my chest expands and slowly I drift upwards, pulling free. When the tingle subsides, I open my eyes. The ceiling a few feet from my face, cracks in the old paint. I roll over and float down to an empty chair facing Loki on the couch. He’s cradling my unconscious body. The care with which he strokes my hair, brushing it off my forehead, the tenderness of his touch on my cheek. My heart swells with love. I reach out to him, brush against his mind, I am here. He lets out a sigh of relief and nods, still staring at the sleeping woman before him.

Her fingers twitch -