Chapter Text
Loki crashed on his ass yet again in the Time Theater. The momentary pleasure of having eluded Hunter B-15 again quickly faded like smoke in a breeze. The Tesseract he held in his hand was worthless. Infinity Stones and duplicates of Infinity Stones were piled in Casey’s desk like ancient forgotten chewing gum wrappers. Loki had seen at least five Time Stones in his drawer alone. Two other office lackeys were using Soul Stones as paper weights. His mission, his destiny, he’d once believed, given him by Thanos, was tantamount to a buzzing fly in the ear of the TVA.
He rose to his feet, leaving the Tesseract, an object he had killed and maimed for, discarded on the floor. The theater still displayed the likenesses of the Avengers. They were his enemies, his captors. They had defeated him, and according to Agent Mobius, he was fated to assemble them and give them purpose. He was not a god-king. He wasn’t even someone else’s glorious purpose. He was a pedestal on which others stood to claim their status as heroes.
Loki sat in Mobius’s chair by the time projector. If what Agent Mobius said was true, not only was he the stepping stone of the Avengers, he was also a villain… a matricide. The future him would be responsible for the death of Frigga, his mother, the person who’d loved him unconditionally, beyond any measure of love that Thor or Odin could have offered. And he’d killed her. He’d let the Kursed kill her. But wasn’t the Kursed just the javelin he’d aimed in her direction?
Loki reached for the projector, turning the dial forward to see Frigga’s body again. She was beautiful in her gown and her armor, and Loki found himself remembering so many things at once. He remembered her patience, training in him in magic and illusion after he’d first shown a talent for it. He remembered the scent of her hair as she’d rocked him to sleep. He remembered her healing his wounds after scrapes with Thor. He remembered her unwavering belief in his goodness, as they watched over his father in the Odin-sleep. When he’d learned the truth of his parentage, it was not only the pain of knowing what he was, a monster from bedtime stories, it was the horror of knowing the Frigga was not his blood. He’d believed that all the talent, and any compassion he possessed had come from her genes. And still she’d professed her motherly love for him after the truth was revealed. He didn’t deserve her. Or perhaps she didn’t deserve to have him for a son.
Loki’s vision blurred with tears. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was, for what he’d done, for what he was.
What more did his future hold?
Loki turned the dial again, moved forward through un-lived time. He stopped, at the image of Odin. He saw Odin looking diminished somehow. In the image, Odin sat on a rock on Midguard between Loki and Thor, a miracle of an image if ever there was one.
“I love you, my sons,” Odin said. The Loki in the image looked shocked and moved. The Loki in the TVA theater drew in a shaking breath. He’d said “sons.” There was no distinction between Thor and himself. It was the deepest desire of Loki’s heart.
I never wanted the throne. I only ever wanted to be your equal.
“Remember this place,” the image-Odin continued. “Home.”
And Odin became light, his physical life ending, his soul bound for Valhalla. Loki watched the image of himself and Thor standing together on a Midguardian cliff, watching their father fade from sight. Loki found himself sobbing, wishing so many things hadn’t been left unsaid and undone. He bit his lips, trying to hold back more sobs that were aching to come. A hot tear slipped down his cheek.
Forward again.
Thor (what happened to his hair?) speaking to him in a new place. “Loki, I thought the world of you.” Again, the image-Loki gave of look of surprise and something like longing. Thor’s voice continued. “I thought we were going to fight side-by-side forever…”
Loki saw himself, armed and ready for battle, standing with Thor, (missing an eyed, looking too much like their father) and with a Valkyrie. How long had it been since they’d fought together as brothers, on equal ground with an equal goal? Loki remembered the adrenaline of it, the fun, the comradery. He was of Asgard, after all, and battle was the song of the warrior’s heart. Perhaps he’d become the hero, the savior of Asgard he’d always dreamed of being.
Forward again.
Thor, wearing an eyepatch (again, like the Allfather). “You know, maybe you’re not so bad after all, Brother.”
The image-Loki was smirking and playful, but there was no jealousy in his eyes, no calculation. “Maybe not.”
“Thank you,” Thor said. “If you were here, I might even give you a hug.” And Loki chuckled. He’d tried to be a god-king. He’d tried to smash and grab for power and glory. And in the end, in his future, he’d been content to gain the love and respect of his big brother.
Thor, Loki thought. I never thought I’d miss you, but I do.
“I’m here,” the image-Loki said.
Forward again.
Fire. Bodies of Asgardians strewn about the floor of a ship. Loki saw himself, beaten subdued. Thor was bound in iron. The image-Loki brought up his blade to the throat of Thanos himself, but was stopped by magic. Cold fear settled in Loki’s stomach as he watched the images.
Thanos. Thanos had found them. Thanos who’d had the power to put two Infinity Stones into his hands to conquer Midguard.
“Undying,” Thanos taunted. “You should choose your words more carefully.”
Loki stood from his chair with rising dread. He stepped toward the image as Thanos, seized the image-Loki’s throat and lifted him from the ground. The image-Loki kicked futily, as he gasped for air. Loki slinked closer, as dread turned to horror. He watched his own face turning purple, the blood vessels in his eyes bursting. He own voice grated. “You… will never be… a god…”
And then the crack.
Ice (like the Jotunns) flooded his veins. Loki sucked in breath and then closed his eyes against the image of his own body, limp and lifeless, being tossed to the ground like a useless husk.
And then a screaming voice. But not Thor’s. A woman’s scream.
Loki looked up to see Thor, free of his bonds, and sitting next to his body. Draped over his body was a woman, her long coffee-colored hair cascading over his arms where her head rested against his chest. He watched as Thor, his face wracked with sorrow, put one reassuring hand on her shoulders, which shook with sobs.
What was this? Who was this?
Loki had no time to wonder. The image disappeared from the projector and the screen displayed the words: “End Of File”.
Thanos ended him. This was his fate. He had no triumph, no accolades, no adoration. His death was mourned by two people. His adversarial brother, and a woman he didn’t know. There was no purpose, and there was no glory. His achievements were betrayals, his monuments destruction, his martyrdom unsung. He was no more than a shade, like the ones he’d cast so many times before.
It was the stupidest thing he’d ever seen, and he’d seen Thor trying to learn the mysteries of the cosmos.
Loki began to laugh uncontrollably, bitterly.
“What’s so funny?”
So Hunter B-15 had arrived to collect him. And she wanted to know what was so funny? As if she didn’t see the farce in all of it?
“Glorious purpose,” he seethed.
He turned and approached her. If it was a fight she wanted, she’d picked the perfect time. He literally had nothing to lose.
Loki swung at B-15. She blocked his fist and landed a right jab to the center of his chest. She twisted his right arm, sending him to his knees in pain. She twisted that same arm behind his back in the opposite direction, yanking him to his feet, and throwing him face-first over the table. He snatched the Time Twister with his free hand, and slithered backward from under her grasp, a move he’d used with Thor countless times. He twisted B-15’s arms behind her back, and pressed the release on the twister. He yanked the collar from his throat and immediately wrapped it around hers. He released her, and swirled the time twister just as she took a swing at him. She disappeared.
Loki took a breath and tossed the black hair from eyes. He turned back to the door, back to where she’d come into the room.
So the Time Twister moved back along your path. Time for a test.
He gave it a twist, and B-15 appeared back by the door, falling toward him. He twisted it again, and she disappeared.
Interesting.
He twisted, and she was falling toward him again. “Stop…,” she croaked. Just before she reached him, he twisted her from the room again. He twisted. She appeared. “…it,” she finished. Again. “Stop it,” she tried to command. Again. It felt good to return the favor. His ass was aching. His heart was aching. He twisted and twisted and twisted. He hoped it made her vomit. He swirled the twister until she was a blur. And then he made her disappear again.
He tossed the twister on the table, and returned to the projector. He pulled the film back onto the reels and turned the dial in the opposite direction. Rewind. Going back. The projector displayed the image of his lifeless body once more. He saw the blood trickling from his eyes. He saw Thor’s face marred with grief, and again he saw the blanket of dark hair over his torso.
Who? Sif? Surely not.
Loki turned the dial backward again and stopped.
There was an image of him dancing with a woman with that same long dark hair.
Beautiful hair.
They were somewhere he didn’t recognize, like a cocktail party with guests from multiple worlds. She was lovely, alabaster skin, full red lips like a dream. She wore a red draped dress cut deliciously low in the front, showing off her buxom figure in the most wicked ways. They moved together to strange music, played by a man in a gold robe with a blue stripe over his lower lip and chin. They were smiling. The smiles were mischievous, but also easy, as if they had no secrets. He bent to whisper in her ear, and she threw her head back and laughed. Loki found himself bemused. Her laugh was lovely too.
He turned the dial back further.
The image-Loki was making love to her in Odin’s bed. Loki’s eyebrows hit his hairline. How in name of Valhalla had that happened?
In the image, they were nude, her legs wrapped high over his back. And she was marble skin and curves and pink nipples that made his mouth water. She arched off the bed and gasped as he moved inside her. “Please,” she whimpered.
“I love it when you beg me,” the image-Loki grated as he fucked her harder.
Loki looked around the theater, making sure no TVA agents walked in. But what was the point of modesty, if this was all in their files. Gods, who else had seen this?
He turned the dial back again.
The image-Loki stood with the woman and Frigga. The woman was dressed in dark jeans, boots, and a light gray sweater.
She was Midguardian? He’d taken up with a Midguardian? He would never!
“Loki, we need you,” Frigga pleaded. “She needs you.”
“Is that right?” Loki replied, he voice simultaneously sarcastic and threatening.
“Yes,” the woman said. Her voice was confident, defiant. “I need your help. But I won’t kneel, and I won’t beg.” She didn’t shrink from him as he approached the force-wall of the cell, but there was a flicker of fear in her eyes for a moment. “But I will say ‘please.’”
The image-Loki smirked, darkly. “I’ll count that as begging.”
And the Midguardian had the audacity to roll her eyes. “Whatever butters your roll, man.”
Loki turned the dial forward and stopped again.
Image-Loki, in wrist shackles, stood next to Thor. Down the corridor of the palace, came Sif, and the Midguardian woman, dressed this time in a blue Asgardian dress and armor. Her eyes fell on Loki. “You’re really here?” she breathed, worry and longing in her eyes.
“I’m here,” the image-Loki replied.
And the woman launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shackled ones, and kissing his mouth in a bruising crush, almost knocking him from his feet. When the kiss ended, she slapped him, hard. His head rocked sideways. “You bastard!” she seethed. “I wish I hated you.”
The image-Loki smiled at her. It was playful and affectionate at once. “But you love me all the same.”
Loki stopped the projector.
Love me? Love?
He’d wanted to love, had hoped beyond hope for it. And it had come for him from a woman from Midguard? The place he’d burned and subjugated? What sense did that make? What sense did any of this make?
Now Loki was alone, separated in this limbo from both his past and his future. He slumped on the steps at the edge of the theater next to the useless Tesseract. Perhaps he was as powerless and meaningless as those Infinity Stones. At last, Agent Mobius arrived.
“Loki,” he said. “Nowhere left to run.”
Loki looked up at him. “Who was she?”
“Who was who?”
“The woman, the Midguardian.” He saw the realization in Mobius’s eyes. “The one who loved me.”
“Her name is Darcy Lewis. You never met her.”
“I died in front of her,” Loki said.
“Yes, you did,” Mobius said, softly.
“I can’t go back, can I?” Loki said. “Back to my timeline?” It wasn’t a question.
Mobius said nothing, but it was all the answer he needed.
“I don’t enjoy hurting people,” Loki said, at last. “I don’t enjoy it. I do it because… I have to… because I’ve had to,” he corrected himself.
“Okay, explain that to me,” said Mobius.
“Because it’s part of the illusion,” Loki said. “It’s the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak,” he said, gesturing to himself, “to inspire fear.”
“A desperate play for control,” Mobius said. “You do know yourself.”
“A villain,” Loki replied. And all the other things he didn’t say. A monster. A murderer. A betrayer. A matricide. A dead man. A man alone. A man unloved.
“That’s not how I see it,” Mobius said.
Loki picked up the Tesseract, now a fancy paperweight.
“Did you try to use that?” Mobius asked.
“Oh, several times,” Loki replied. “Even an Infinity Stone is useless here.” He tossed it carelessly. “The TVA is formidable.”
“That’s been my experience,” Mobius said. “Listen, I can’t offer you salvation, but maybe I can offer you something better.”
“I don’t suppose you have a Darcy Lewis stashed up your sleeve somewhere,” Loki chuckled, bitterly.
“Unfortunately, no,” Mobius said. “But a fugitive Variant’s been killing our Minute Men.”
“And you need the God of Mischief to help you stop them,” Loki quipped.
“That’s right.”
“Why me?” Loki asked.
“The Variant we’re hunting is… you,” Mobius replied.
Loki was aghast. “I beg your pardon?”