moonshadows: (Loki)
[personal profile] moonshadows

Loki watched with amusement as Thor fought his way through the short-lived genetic monstrosities on the third floor and carefully manifested his green-and-gold armor and spear before lounging insolently in the very comfortable armchair placed in the center of the observatory like a throne. Thor pounded his way up the circular stairs, intent on reaching whoever was behind the brutal – but unstable – creations. The look on his face when he saw Loki was priceless.

“You don’t have to do this, brother,” he half-pled, even as his grip on Mjolnir tightened.

Loki shrugged. “It passes the time. Were you going to attack me right away, or do I have time to stretch?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Loki.”

“Did you mean new injuries, brother?” he asked sweetly. “Or are you trying to express regret for your past actions?”

Thor glowered. “What injury have I ever done you, brother?”

Loki sat up straight with an expression of astonishment. “You mean that. You truly think you have never wronged me.”

“Of course not! Why would I? Yes, we fought, but no worse than other siblings.”

The extent to which Thor was missing the point drained the remaining amusement from the situation. With disgusted resignation bordering on sulky, Loki dismissed his armor and spear. “You never learn. It’s a wonder you’ve survived so long without me. Take me in, Thor. I’m done here.”

“No.”

The single, resolute word was like a slap across Loki’s cheek. “No? Why not? Did you want to fight after all? Is that what it will take? Fine.” Armor and spear materialized, and Loki lunged at his brother.

For several minutes they fought, but Thor refused to do more than defend. This, of course, made Loki even angrier and by the time Captain America came pounding up the stairs, Loki swiped at him just to have someone who would fight back. Rogers obliged, and Loki worked out a good portion of his anger with the good Captain until he saw Thor just standing off to the side, watching sadly.

“What is wrong with you?” he half-screamed, throwing his spear to the ground, fight forgotten.

“I do not understand why you are doing this, brother,” Thor answered quietly.

“That’s because you don’t understand me,” he shot back venomously. He didn’t even care that Cap was fitting the Asgardian shackles to his wrists, more interested in the wounded expression of guilt on his brother’s face. “You don’t know me, brother,” he spat. “I don’t know why you persist in calling me that; you couldn’t possibly care about me, or you wouldn’t have gone a thousand years without being able to discern my true intentions in any situation. I’d ask if you hit yourself in the head practicing with Mjolnir, but I was there, and I know you did not. Were you dropped on your head as an infant, brother? Was that why Father went and found another child to raise? To make up for your lack? Or perhaps you were the foundling. It might explain how you managed to not inherit any of Father’s cleverness.”

Face like a thundercloud, Thor swung Mjolnir and shot away through a broken window.

“I don’t know what that was about, and I don’t care,” Rogers said sternly. “Thor will find his own way back, but you’re riding with us.”

Still glaring at the sky, Loki let himself be led off. The ride back to SHIELD was tense and quiet. The usual interrogation with Fury was fruitless, unless sullen silence could be called a fruit, and after a few minutes the director gave up. Loki was lowered into a cell consisting of a cot and a pile of books at the bottom of a steel tube with a bulletproof glass observation window. He didn’t even glance at the books or the observation window, already silently working magic that would get him out of this new cage. Normally he would wait a week or two out of respect for Fury, but the confrontation with Thor rankled too much. He wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere he could ruin things. It took nearly six hours before the magic was complete. An illusion of himself remained in the cell, glaring at the wall as he had been, while he crammed himself into the shape of a glass spider – not a true transparent creature, but something more like a chameleon – and climbed out of the tube and into the ceiling. It was child’s play to make his inverted way to an open window and from there, change to the form of one of the hundreds of birds seen daily around the building. One of the flock now, he vanished into obscurity. It would take another seventeen hours for the illusion to fade, assuming nothing interrupted it first.

Striding angrily through his penthouse, Loki contemplated his usual hotspots of violence, but none of them appealed to him. It was only as he found his eyes restlessly tracing the lines of the painting that had pride of place on his living-room wall – a mortal’s depiction of Sleipnir in mid-gallop – that he realized he didn’t want violence, he wanted solitude. He wanted comfort. He wanted someone to see his pain and reassure him.

It wasn’t easy wending his way through the branches of the World Tree, but it wasn’t the first time he’d done it, either. If the royal stablemasters were surprised to see a fine ivory mare with ebony mane and tail among the herds, none dared approach him. The grass was just as sweet as he remembered it being, and Sleipnir was as thrilled as always to see him. They ran together for a while, then found a quiet corner and sat quietly, flanks touching. Sleipnir laid his head on Loki’s withers like he used to do with Cloud as a foal. The wordless and unconditional love eased the ache of Thor’s willful ignorance, and although he regretted leaving Asgard again when the herd was brought in for the night, he felt much better for having visited his son.

It was a few hours before dawn when Loki returned to his penthouse, and the red light flashing in the darkness proclaiming that someone had left him a message drew him like a moth to flame. He pressed the button.

“Mister O’Kee. Your early departure greatly distressed us.” Director Fury’s even, measured tone would have sounded stilted to anyone who didn’t know him; Loki heard the concern. “If there is anything you wish to discuss, you know where to find me.”

The machine shut off with a whirr and click.

Loki stood in the darkened penthouse, thinking. He’d just come back from Asgard and he was tired, but Fury’d come perilously close to breaking the silence of their unspoken agreement, which means he was worried, and hadn’t he been yearning for someone to understand? He strode into the master bedroom and touched three places on the frame of the ornate full-length mirror. The scene it displayed was now Fury’s office, as seen from the mirrored back of a set of shelves. When he stepped through the glass, his reflection stayed on the surface while his image emerged into Director Fury’s office. He wasn’t really there; the magic gave his reflection a physical presence while his physical presence was reduced to a reflection, but a thought and he would back out of the mirror and into his bedroom again.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” he asked curiously, taking a seat without being invited.

Behind the desk, Fury didn’t so much as flinch. “Do you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Well, we won’t be sticking you in that one again, since you seemed to dislike it so much.” Although not phrased as a question or really meant as one, it was an invitation to correct mistaken assumptions.

“I actually didn’t mind it,” Loki said, surprising himself. “I had other things on my mind, though.”

“So I heard.” Fury folded his hands calmly. “I thought you’d be glad your brother wasn’t trying to take you in just for existing anymore.”

Loki stood abruptly and began pacing. “It’s not that I’m upset you managed to pound some kind of sense into his skull.”

“Then what?”

Four steps; turn. Four steps; turn. “He doesn’t stop to think about why.” Long fingers raked through his dark hair. “He’s taken you at your word, but he doesn’t grasp my intentions. The underlying reasons for my actions. He doesn’t think. That’s why-” Loki swallowed the rest of the sentence.

“I see,” Fury said slowly. “Is there a reason that explaining yourself to him is not an option?”

Loki shot him a dark look. “A thousand years I have been his companion. He rushes headlong into trouble; I get us out of it. I have been his silver tongue and his cunning for centuries. No more. He will figure this out on his own, or not at all.”

“He cares about you, you know.”

Swallowing a strangled sound of frustration, Loki turned away and resumed his pacing. “If he truly cares, he will use the wits he was born with and solve my riddle. If he does not…” He stopped, hands fisted at his sides, eyes closed. “I will no longer suffer him taking me for granted.”

“Fair enough. What changes can we make to that last room that will make it more tolerable for you next time?”

Pale eyes opened in surprise. “I liked the observation window,” he said. “Eyes on me without it being a public display. The solid walls were very nice, as was the shape. No way to corner someone if there is no corner, hmm?”

“And the cot?”

Loki waved one hand dismissively. “As long as I have someplace to sit and read, it’s fine. Maybe keep the blanket, though. I assume the walls get very cold if they’re metal.”

Fury jotted down a few notes. “Anything else you want to bring up while you’re here?”

“Barton’s blood pressure.”

The minute hesitation was victory enough; with a laugh, Loki released the projection and stepped back out of the mirror.

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