Chapter Eleven - Do You Want Me to Look?

Chapter Eleven

Do You Want Me to Look?

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"Explain yourself," Thor growled, pressing the sides of his white-knuckled fists against the enchanted window. "You cannot spout off your cryptic nonsense, say things like that about my fallen comrade, impugn his honor, and expect to get away with such slander."

Loki's knife-thin black brow rose in mocking inquiry. "Slander, is it? That is gratitude for you; you demand the truth, I give it to you against my will, and you rail at me for doing so." Despite the light tone, there was an edge to Loki's words that helped Thor curb the sharp retort sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Instead, he asked in a carefully neutral voice, "Are you saying that you and Coulson were working together?"

"Is　that　what I'm saying?"

When the crown prince said nothing, refusing to be baited, Loki went back to his cot. Closing his eyes, he lay down; the canvas rustled and the frame creaked a little beneath Loki's slight weight. The long fingers laced together and came to rest on Loki's stomach. Something black as a tendril of ink peeked out from beneath Loki's sleeve, but Thor couldn't see what it was.

"It is late, Thor. Go to bed."

"And are　you　going to bed?" Thor asked. "Or will the dark hours of this night fill up with the screams of the woman you loved?"

Faint lines creased the spot between Loki's brows. There was the smallest twitch of his black lashes, then his expression smoothed out, becoming a bored mask. He didn't respond, merely turned his back to Thor once more and by all appearances fell asleep. The Asgardian waited a few more minutes, to see if his brother could be coaxed into sharing anything else…but nothing more came, so Thor left at last.

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Late that night, the moon shone through the windows of the banquet hall to find the crown prince of Asgard sipping contemplatively from a mug of ale and biting off the occasional chunk from a hunk of bread. Somehow it didn't surprise him when a shadow detached itself from the wall and approached.

"What do you want, Tyr?" Thor hadn't forgotten how his older brother had taunted Loki, threatening to use Thea as a whore just to upset their foster brother.

Tyr sighed and slumped onto the bench beside Thor. Without asking, he took a swig from Thor's mug. A muscle flexed in Thor's jaw and his brows drew sharply together. Tyr muffled a belch. "Still sore at me, little brother?"

Voice nearly a growl, Thor said, "You had no right to speak to Loki that way, Tyr."

"Why do you care, Thor?" Tyr grumbled, snatching up Thor's bread and tearing off a piece with his teeth. Chewing and swallowing, the elder prince added, "He isn't even our brother. He is no kin to us."

"We were raised together," he rumbled like an irate bear, bidding his bread a silent goodbye. His fingers drummed on the table as he eyed his elder brother. "We played together, fought together—all of us: you, me, Loki, Víðarr, Hermod and Balder. We have been brothers in all things. Discovering that Loki is a foundling changes none of that. It should not erase the centuries of love and friendship we have known, all of us together."

Tyr shook his head. "I'm starting to wonder if Balder's the one who'll end up on the throne."

Golden brows drew together as Thor stared at his brother. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I've been passed over, Loki is a traitor, you're an idiot, and Víðarr doesn't want to rule," Tyr murmured, bitter as wormwood. Thor clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. His fingers tangled into a fist that he hid beneath the shadows of the table. "One must hope nothing happens to either of the twins, or Father will be out of viable heirs." Until recently, everyone had thought Loki and Thor to be twins; nevertheless, they had always been called Thor and Loki. "The Twins" had always been Balder and Hermod.

Thor rose to his feet. He was done with his late meal and his feckless brother. He wanted his bed. "My love for my twin doesn't make me a fool, Tyr. Perhaps it is your inability to see the value in our wayward brother that makes you the fool."

"He's not your twin, Thor. He's not your brother. Everyone else has accepted it—why can't you?"

Turning away, he tossed back at his older brother, "Mother hasn't given up yet."

"That's different; that's Mother. You've no excuse for such foolishness. Loki tried to wrest control of the kingdom from Father, tried to kill you and Sif and the Three—people the　both　of you had always considered friends—and then invaded Midgard in an attempt to conquer its people. There's nothing left of the man we thought we knew, Thor." The grief twisting in Tyr's voice had Thor turning back to his brother. Tyr gazed into his commandeered mug of ale, melancholy written across his features. "Our little brother is gone. Why pour salt in the wounds? What good does it do?"

He opened his mouth to tell Tyr that all hope wasn't lost, that Loki could still come back to them…but then he thought of why Loki was even telling him the story of Thea to begin with: to convince Thor to help him seek his vengeance. And after Thanos was dead, if the fostered prince survived, he would want Thor's blood. He hadn't wanted it before, not truly. He thirsted for it now.

So Thor merely sighed and left the empty banquet hall, leaving his eldest brother to mourn someone he'd loved dearly once.

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And so it continued, Thor visiting his younger brother each day to receive a new piece of the story. Sometimes, as before, Loki would refuse to speak. Knowing what he knew now of the younger prince's tortured, sleepless nights, Thor didn't let his temper slip its leash. He would merely coax and cajole. Sometimes he was even rewarded with a few new words.

"Where would you go on Midgard?" Thor asked in the middle of the sixth week of this new regime. Loki sat at the table, staring at a blank sheet of paper with a furrowed brow. His eyes were a distant, pale jade. His fingers drummed softly on the tabletop.

"Anywhere we wished," Loki murmured. "Hiking through pine forests in the mountains, swimming in the warm salt of the ocean. Did you know Midgardians have a sport called 'hang-gliding?' It is almost like flying. And of course we skated and went skiing. Even cliff-diving, a Midgardian form of entertainment Thea taught me. We did that often enough; it was good to feel the wind against my face…"

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"It'll be fun," Thea cried, pulling Loki toward the sheer edge of the bluff. The ocean crashed against the side of the cliffs, roaring with wind and surf, far below. "Haven't you ever jumped off a cliff before?"

Loki laughed at the sheer exhilaration of the wind against his face, bringing with it a thousand scents of brine, salt wind, misting rain, sun-baked sand. The gulls shrieked overhead and he was reminded of home. Somehow, it didn't hurt quite so much as it had the first time he'd come to Asgard.

"No," he replied. "No, I haven't."

"Don't worry, I've done it lots of times," Thea said. "We'll have a blast. And since it's not real, there's no way we'll get hurt. Great, huh?" She clasped his hand and grinned. The wind whipped strands of hair loose from her braid. Her cheeks were pink with color and her eyes sparkled. "Here, we'll jump together, okay?"

He glanced down at himself, in his black linen shirt and canvas trews. The rocks were sharp and small against his bare feet, but his calluses could deal with the little stones easily. His hair ruffled on the wind. A few ebony strands mingled with wisps of Thea's hair. Glancing at her, he thought that her cropped black pants and red shirt were perfect for what they were about to do. Light and thin, they wouldn't drag her down in the water.

"On three, I suppose?" Loki asked, matching her grin. This was so far beyond the horrors of their respective cages. He wanted to thank her for bringing him to this place, to his home. Wanted to thank her for giving him this impossible experience…but she knew he was grateful. She could see it in his face, as he could see the knowledge of his gratitude in hers.

Thea nodded. "On three. One—two—three! Booyacashah!"

"Booyacashah!"

Two steps for him, three and a half steps for her, and they'd leapt past the edge of the cliff and were falling fast and free and wild towards the ocean. Loki could hear Thea's half-terrified, half-exultant scream. His own adrenaline-fueled cry was snatched from his mouth by the wind.

They hit the bracingly cold water, jackknifing cleanly through it as the dark waves closed overhead. Still clasping hands—he didn't think he　could　let go, not when their hearts must be pounding in unison from the plunge—they kicked their way to the surface.

Thea's head broke the surface of the water with a whooping cry of triumph. Loki came up laughing. Oh, it was good. It was　good　to be here, out amidst the waves, the salt-sea plastering his hair to his skull and filling his nose with the sting of the ocean. His clothes hung heavy from his body and water streamed down his face as he tread water. He turned to Thea in time for her to throw her arms around his neck. His strong, steady kicking faltered for a moment. He stared at her, stunned. She pulled back immediately, smiling a bit sheepishly.

"Sorry. That was just so great though, wasn't it? Let's do it again!"

Chuckling, Loki nodded. "Again, then. Shall I race you to the shore?"

"Psht. You know I'll win."

"Well aren't we confident? Come on, then." And of course, the prince of Asgard won.

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"'…Should hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?'" Thea read aloud from a large book bound in green leather, its pages gilt with silver. She lay on her stomach on the grass, slowly kicking her feet in the air behind her head, while Loki lay on the grass at an angle to her, listening. The sun shone through the leafy boughs overhead. Loki closed his eyes and smelled honeysuckle.

She was reading a Midgardian poem called a sonnet, by one of their greatest poets—a man called Shakespeare. Since even the Midgardians remembered him more than four centuries after his death, Loki was mildly impressed. And the way Thea read…it reminded him in a way of Frigga, when she'd told her sons bedtime stories centuries past. But it was different somehow, though Loki couldn't have explained that difference, even to himself.

"'Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another self, for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.'"

There came the rustle of grass and cloth as Thea laid her head upon the pages of the book; Loki couldn't see her, but he'd watched her do that enough to know. She sighed in contentment. Here, in these illusions, the two of them felt neither pain nor hunger nor thirst. It was almost as if they weren't prisoners at all.

Almost.

"Another," Loki requested softly. "Please."

Thea laughed. "Okay, I got one. I know it by heart. You'll probably laugh, since it makes no sense. It's not Shakespeare," she added, and he could hear the grin in her voice. "It's called 'Jabberwocky.'"

Loki peeled open one eye. "Is that one of your 'heavenly' desserts you're always going on about? Like…what was it? Caramel lasigni?"

She laughed. "You mean chocolate lasagna? No, this isn't about chocolate lasagna. Even Lewis Carroll wasn't that cool. Only　my　brain overflows with such genius. It's like…like my brain is filled with radioactive amazingness. It marches through my veins like rabbits in waistcoats. I'm sure Carroll is crying out of pure jealousy in his afterlife. Oh, well. Here we go.

"'T'was brillig, and the slithey toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
All mimsy were the borogroves,
And the momerathes outgrabe.'"

"You are making this up," Loki protested, lifting his head from his folded arms.

Thea shook her head, still smiling. "I swear, I'm not. It's a mock-epic. It's not supposed to make sense. Here, lemme finish."

He let her, and when it was done, he had to admit she was absolutely right—it didn't make sense. So why, Loki wondered as she went on to another poem, did the silly thing make him smile so much?

.

"Did you ever try that Midgardian drink she liked?" Thor asked two weeks later. "Pepsi, wasn't it?"

A smile curved Loki's mouth and he shuddered. "Ugh, it was revolting. So sweet it made your teeth curl. I couldn't understand how she could drink it the way she did…but it left a pleasant aftertaste when I would—" Suddenly Loki's eyes widened and he cut off his words, turning quickly away to stare into the fire. His hand shook when he curled it into a fist and pressed it hard to his pale lips.

After a long, tense silence, Thor ventured, "Loki? May I ask you something?"

"You just did," his brother replied without inflection.

Ignoring Loki's attempt at sarcasm, the Asgardian asked cautiously, "That black mark on your wrist…what is it from?" Immediately Loki yanked his sleeve down over the knife-sharp protruding bones. Thor bit back a sigh. Loki glanced at him from the corner of his eye, a quick slice of emerald, before he turned back to the fireplace. "Is it a tattoo?"

There came a minute shake of Loki's head. His thumb brushed over his wrist, across the sleeve that now covered the mark, as if tracing a familiar and well-worn path, but that distant green gaze stayed fixed on the hearth.

Mind racing, the prince tried to think of what the mark could be. Something from Thea? Some sort of scar? But if Loki wouldn't share this now, perhaps they could come back to it later. Thor had the feeling that the mark was important, somehow. Just as important as Loki's refusal to acknowledge that he'd killed Coulson.

Why wouldn't he admit to it? He'd admitted to practically everything else, so why not that one thing? Unless it was guilt for murdering his beloved's husband…but somehow Thor knew that wasn't the reason. Oh, it might have been guilt, but not because of Coulson's connection to Thea. And what had Loki meant, that Coulson had betrayed him? In the first few days after that revelation, Thor had tried in vain to get Loki to explain that remark, but he'd refused time and again. Perhaps now would be a good time to bring it up again.

"What did you mean about Coulson, Brother?" Thor asked into the silence that had fallen between them. He leaned back in his chair, scanning Loki's expression for some telling sign…but his foster brother didn't react to the question at all. Thor fought against grinding his teeth. "How did Coulson betray you?"

The ghost of a smile played about Loki's thin mouth. "You must be dying with curiosity."

"I confess, I am."

Loki settled back in his seat, mimicking his elder brother. Was it conscious, Thor wondered? They'd often imitated each other in their childhood—Loki always acting as his shadow, the prince realized. Just as he'd said before. How long since it had begun to choke Loki, like a bone in his throat, to continue acting as that shadow when he was just as strong, just as quick and clever as Thor?

"Do you remember all those times I would trick you when we were boys?" Loki asked suddenly, breaking Thor's thoughts like glass shattered by a stone. Blue eyes locked with green. Thor nodded. Loki rarely brought up the past without a reason these days. What was it? "Remember I would make an illusion of myself, and you would always fall for it." Another nod from the elder prince. "You fell for it that day, as well," Loki mused. "The day I stabbed your Midgardian friend."

Hurt pricked behind Thor's breastbone and made his eyes sting. Was his little brother trying to mock him again? How could he speak so callously and remotely of cold-blooded murder? "Yes, I did fall for that trick again the day you murdered Coulson."

Loki shot him a vicious look, then rolled his eyes. A surge of temper heated Thor's blood. He swallowed it back. Loki was no doubt being difficult on purpose. He wouldn't give the Frost Giant the satisfaction of losing control.

"It's the interesting thing about　seiðr," Loki said when his expression smoothed out. "So many spells are interconnected. So many magics resemble one another. Illusions, for example…and teleportation. And they combine so easily. Hence why I could cast the illusion and teleport in the same moment," he added, sparing a laconic glance for his brother. "Why you always went through　me—because I was both there and not there at the same time. Did you ever wonder about that?"

Unsure what his brother wished him to make of this revelation, Thor said, "So you can make copies of yourself and teleport. What of it?"

Loki shook his head. "You and Odin…so unimpressed with anything you can't comprehend. Don't you see anything?" He sighed, then closed his eyes, wrinkling his brow and rubbing the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache. "Do you know what a telegram is?"

Thor frowned. "A telegram? No."

"It is a Midgardian invention; clever enough for their species, I suppose. It is a copy of a message, sent through wires by electricity, across vast spaces. Sometimes the message is delayed…but it almost always arrives eventually. Sometimes eventually is too late."

Gooseflesh erupted across Thor's forearms at the emptiness in Loki's voice and the odd, burning blue sparking in his green eyes. Swallowing, forcing down the unease, the prince leaned forward. "What do you mean, Loki? What message?"

"Do you want more of the story, or no?"

"Loki, what message?" He couldn't get his brother's words out of his head.　The message always arrives eventually. Sometimes eventually is too late. It couldn't be too late for his brother. He would　not　give up on Loki yet, no matter how his foster brother tried making him do so. Once he had the whole story, Thor could go to Odin with the truth. They could begin to heal the wounds festering between Loki and his family.

But Loki shook his head. "I will tell you later. I do not wish to speak of fruitless endeavors now. I tried, and I failed, and my love is dead because I trusted the wrong man. What more needs to be said?" He closed his eyes. "She spoke often of her precious school."

The abrupt change in topic threw Thor for a moment, but then he realized Loki was effectively shutting the door on the previous subject. He would not speak of this "message of hope" again until he chose. If the crown prince continued to pester him, he might never explain his meaning. Thor needed to drop it for now. So he only asked, "What did she say?"

"She spoke of her life there, the things she'd seen, the people she'd met. What it meant to live in a place where she wasn't shunned for her abilities, for the stigma of being what she could not help but be…"

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"I was terrified the first time I came here," Thea told Loki.

They sat on the creaking wooden bench-swing beneath a towering oak. Before them lay the school, Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters, cozy red brick, golden stone, and rosy wood. The grounds were almost eerily empty for such a sprawling place, but after more than two weeks of walking through the illusions Thea created, where only the two of them tread, Loki was used to it.

"Why were you afraid?" He asked, watching the sun dapple through the leaves across her face.

In all this time, he'd learned a great deal about her. When he asked her questions, she answered without subterfuge. She loved every season for different reasons; loved animals, and wished she could speak to them the way one of her former schoolmates had been able to. Thunderstorms stirred her blood, she loved dancing in the rain, adored books of every sort, despised alcohol, and had done nearly everything that a Midgardian could do at least once: swim with dolphins, jump from the Midgardian invention called an "airplane," slide down a snowy mountain on a flat, hard device called a "snowboard." Her life was an encyclopedia of experiences.

But he was beginning to realize that her bluster and enthusiasm hid something inside her, a sorrow she'd accepted long ago and sought to ignore when possible. Loki had yet to discover just what that sad darkness had come from. Perhaps it was merely a hundred or a thousand shadows fallen across her life at different times. Regrets and hurt and anger. He didn't know…but he wanted to.

"Well, so the story is, Austin was thirteen when his powers appeared. I idolized him. Theo and I both did, actually. Until Joie was born, it had just been the three of us for almost three whole years. Well, and my mom and her husband, but you know what I mean. Then Austin started getting his powers. He was so scared, we couldn't figure out why, but he begged us not to tell our…parents. We would've done anything for him, so we promised not to."

"What could he do?"

A soft smile flitted across Thea's face. "He made the most wonderful things—sand sculptures and waterspouts and pictures out of flower petals. Sometimes he'd make a tornado of petals from our mom's garden and I would spin and spin and spin in a circle, laughing…but we only did that when no one was home but us. He made a kitten out of fire once. It was so beautiful. I tried to pet it when he wasn't paying attention, and I burned myself." She held up her hand, palm up, and Loki was startled to see the shiny, melted-wax scar of a serious burn across her palm. "Austin freaked, of course. He felt horrible. So did I."

Loki frowned. "Why should you feel badly?"

"Because me getting burned was how our mom and her husband found out about Austin's powers. My mom cried. She didn't care about Austin being a mutant, but he was in tears because I was hurt and I was hysterical because my hand hurt and my mom was crying and so was my big brother. Mom was just stressed out about the whole thing. She knew things would get difficult once it came out that Austin was a mutant.

"Her husband, though…he started shoving Austin around. Calling him a freak, saying he'd hurt me on purpose. Everything started going crazy because Austin was scared. The stove flared up. The water in the sink started splashing everywhere. Theo and I were both crying at that point, and Joie was screaming—she was just a baby, so she was more freaking out about everyone else freaking out.

"Then my mom's husband hit Austin. Smacked him across the face and knocked him down. So naturally, Theo and I attacked him to protect our brother. That's when the very first hint of mine and Theo's powers showed. Usually they don't hit until puberty, but the professor told my mom later that the stress…anyway, Super Douche was whaling on my brother, shoving us back, saying it was for our own good. He did the same thing to our mom. She's kind of tiny, and he was huge, so…anyway, he broke my brother's arm, six ribs, and his nose. So I…"

She trailed off, glancing furtively at Loki before dropping her gaze to her hands. Loki didn't speak, slightly shaken by the toneless way she could recount such a horrible thing. For all of Odin's faults, he'd never　beaten　Loki or any of the other boys. They'd been strapped occasionally for misbehavior, but nothing that would send them to the healers. Nothing like what Thea was saying.

Thea seemed uncomfortable, as if she were wishing she hadn't spoken. Loki murmured gently, "So you what?"

"So I made him go blind," she confessed in a whisper. Loki's brows rose. "Not real blindness," she hastened to add, "and it wasn't permanent. I just lashed out. I was scared. We were all scared. I got a headache, and then suddenly the ex-husband was yelling that he couldn't see. Then Theo made this noise, and the ex started yelling that there were bees stinging him. My mom shoved him out of the way, got Austin. Theo grabbed Joie and I grabbed the first-aid kit and we all piled in the car and left before the ex could recover and come after us.

"We knew we'd done something bad—Theo and I, I mean. That we'd hurt him somehow. And Austin had hurt me. We went to the hospital, and my mom explained what had happened to the head nurse while they took care of us. Then she called Professor Xavier, this doctor had recommended it, and the professor sent Ms. Munroe and Dr. McCoy to meet with us. They were nice, and Dr. McCoy was fuzzy which made me about as happy—"

"Fuzzy?" Loki interrupted.

Thea grinned. "Yeah. Blue fur, it was everywhere. He even let me pet his arm. My mom was mortified that I'd asked, but he just laughed. He could tell we were nervous. And they talked to us about coming to the school, all three of us, and my mom and Joie too so Mom could see what it was all about. Dr. McCoy said Austin definitely needed to go so he could learn to control his powers better, and he said the professor could look at Theo and I too, to make sure we weren't going to have any issues.

"My mom ended up working as a music teacher at the school," Thea added. "For a while, anyway. The first several years. We all stayed, because it was safe and the professor said we could. That was why I was scared to be here," she explained. "Because when I arrived, this man　looked　at me…and I knew he could tell everything I was thinking and feeling, and I thought he would know how I'd done something bad and hurt somebody. They were always talking about mutants hurting people on the news and stuff, you know? I was scared he'd call the police and they'd put me in jail or shoot me.

"But then he smiled and said in my head, 'You don't have to be scared. I'm like you.' He was a telepath, and he talked to me in my head for a few minutes while my mom talked to his friend, Mr. Lenscher. Mr. Lenscher was nice, too. He gave me this stuffed tiger my very first day, and a book of funny comics about a little boy and his stuffed tiger that came to life. Said it would 'encourage my imagination.'

"Then I got to meet a few mutants my age who were born mutants, kids I could talk to so I knew they weren't going to sell me into child slavery or anything. And some kids who got their powers a bit early, like Mij'nari, Ms. Munroe's son. He was nine, but he was nice to me even though I was younger. He could run like the wind—literally."

Loki studied her for a long moment. The longing on her face, a shadow across her features, was obviously to him. She spoke often of her life before her capture, but never as if she feared losing it. Why? How did she maintain such optimism? Or did she only mask her fear?

"You miss your life on Midgard," Loki murmured. Thea shrugged.

"I'll see them again. Phil will be here soon. Or someone will. You know, SHIELD guys or whatever. Or Professor Logan." For some reason, this made her laugh. The pseudo-Æsir raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Logan's just…he's the self-defense teacher at the school, for those of us who want to become fighters. I took his classes when I was in high school and college; Phil insisted. But of course most parents can't know we've got an experienced war veteran with foot-long razor-sharp claws popping out of his knuckles teaching us how to fight bad guys, so he always says he's an art teacher."

"An art teacher," Loki repeated.

Thea's grin took on an edge of mischief. "Uh-huh. We tell all the stupid parents that, the ones who get offended when Logan tells them they should just love their kids, no matter whether they can freeze things or set stuff on fire or move objects with their minds.

"Imagine that," she added with just a touch of bitterness. "What kinds of parents love their kids no matter what? What a bizarre concept." Hopping to her feet, she headed for the stone courtyard with the nets on metal poles. "You know, we never did get around to playing basketball."

He watched her stride toward the courtyard, but it took him a moment to get up and follow her. His longer stride allowed him to fall into step with her quickly. She kept her gaze fixed on the basketball court. Loki looked forward as well, but asked, "Do you ever think that perhaps…just perhaps…Phil won't be able to find you? Or your professor?"

Thea stopped short. She simply stood there, as if rooted to the ground, for several long moments while she stared at the bright orange sphere of the ball resting against the silvery pole.

"No," she said at last. "No, I don't."

Yes,　Loki thought with a sharp, poisonous mix of sympathy and unease. Yes, she does. She's afraid, but she hides it. Why hide it?　Perhaps for the same reason he hid his darker, deeper emotions from her—because to share them was too raw, too difficult, too intimate when they already shared so much in the darkness of their cells. After that moment where he'd fallen to his knees, overwhelmed to be back in Asgard, he'd tried to keep up his guard. He couldn't let weakness in. It already gnawed at him in the darkness whenever Thea slept, unable to wrap him in her illusions.

"Now come on!" She cried, turning to him with that bright, happy grin that was still one-hundred percent sincere. "Come on, come on! No chickening out, Loki—we are playing some basketball today. And you will probably whup my very adorable butt, but you're cute enough, I don't mind losing."

Letting her change the subject, he followed her to the court. She explained dribbling, traveling, slam-dunking. Biting her lip, she sized him up, then glanced at the towering basketball hoop overhead.

"Yeah, you're the only one who can dunk a basketball on this court. Why are you so freaking tall, anyway? Is that like, an alien thing? Or is it just you?"

"All my people are tall," he said, then hid a wince. He'd meant the Asgardians, forgetting for a moment that he　wasn't　Asgardian. He was a Frost Giant…and they were a tall, towering race as well. But they weren't his people. Could　never　be his people.

Thea cocked her head, still looking him up and down. "Huh. After you kick my butt, can I have a piggyback ride?"

He blinked, certain he hadn't heard properly. "Beg pardon?"

"What? I'm short, you're tall, two plus two equals fish, that's how it goes. I want a piggyback ride. You're a guy, you're strong enough. Please, can I have one?" She bounced for him again, beaming. "Please, please, please?"

"Why?"

"Because I deserve a reward for making the hole bigger," she replied promptly. Rolling the ball between her hands and grinning, she added, "Good question, teacher. Ask me another one."

In truth, she'd made remarkable progress on the little window between their cells. In the past however-many days since she'd arrived—she was keeping track with a device called a cellular phone, though Loki was not—she'd widened out the hole until she could actually stick her head through it. It was how she occupied herself when too tired to form illusions, or those rare occasions when Loki slept (somehow he'd slept through the racket she always made; he was weary enough).

The first thing she'd done after widening the hole that far was to shove through a soft, plush thing she'd informed him was a stuffed tiger—the same one given to her by Mr. Lenscher—named Hobbes, large enough to serve as a pillow. His sleep after that had been more restful than he'd known in six months.

"How is that a reward?" Loki persisted.

"Um…well, I gain about two feet in height, which is cool. And I don't have to walk around, you　get to carry me. Plus we'll look like a mutant with six arms and two heads, which will make all of our invisible friends jealous. Where's the downside to this situation? I don't see one." When he just looked at her, she sighed. Her smile slipped just a touch. "If you don't want to, you don't have to."

"I do not understand why　you　want to."

She frowned at him, obviously confused. "You…don't?" She eyed him. "Are there women on your planet?"

"Yes, of course."

"And they…don't do piggyback rides?"

"Well, little girls do, but you're hardly a little girl."

Thea just stared at him. "That is…weird. Huh. Okay, never mind. We can just play, I don't mind. Whatever you want." She tossed him the ball. "First, you gotta change clothes. Think of something a little more comfortable than all that metal and leather and whatnot." Puzzled, he pictured one of the outfits he wore for weapons' practice in his mind—loose, green-dyed linen shirt and black canvas trousers, soft leather boots. There was the by-now familiar tingle at the nape of his neck as Thea's powers began to work on him, and the next moment, he wore his practice clothes instead of his kingly garb. Thea smiled. "Nice. Love the collar. Shall we?"

Loki's hand stole up to touch the open collar of the loose shirt. His fingers found the smooth silkiness of the simple golden embroidery his mother had stitched into the collar, before his fingertips slid to the sharpness of collarbone and the hollows of his throat. What was Thea seeing that made her "love" the collar of his shirt? The embroidery?

"My…my mother did it," he said softly. Thea frowned and stepped up to him.

"Did what?" One hand, quick as a bird, came up to alight on the collar of his shirt. Her fingertips moved carefully over the ridges of thread, like a blind woman reading the raised letters of a book. "This?"

"Was that not what you were admiring?" Loki asked, feeling an odd tightness in his chest. Thea's fingers hovered just above the sensitive flesh of his throat. One twitch of her fingers and she would be touching his skin.

Blue eyes flicked to his face. Soft color spread through her cheeks, complimenting her freckles. "To be honest…no. It's beautiful, though. Your mom did it?"

"She did," he murmured. If not the design, then what?

"You never talk about your family," she said. "You wanna postpone our game and maybe tell me about—"

Loki said quickly, sharply, "No."

She nodded, quietly accepting. "Okay. No pressure. Let's play, huh?"

There was a strange exhilaration in physical exertion after being cramped up in that horrendous little box of a prison cell. That was one reason he always chose to do something strenuous in these illusions—swim at high tide, climb jagged peaks, trek through rough woods. This game, so new to him, was another such trial. By the time he'd managed to snatch the ball away from her and get it through the hoop enough times that there was no hope whatsoever of Thea ever catching up to his score, he was panting for breath.

"You're (pant) so (pant) good at this!" Thea slumped against the pole attached to the hoop, sliding down to sprawl on the ground. Her smile was tired and happy, like a child at the end of an exciting day. "You sure you've never played this before?"

"I promise you, I have not," he said, seating himself tailor-fashion beside her. She smiled up at him. "I confess, I'm not very good at such sports."

She snorted. "Whatever. You just walloped me. I just got schooled. At least I've got a hot teacher, though."

Ignoring her comment on his attractiveness—it still left him unsure what to say—he replied, "No, it's true. My brothers are much better at such things."

At this, she simply shrugged, which surprised him. It didn't bother her that she'd been beaten, didn't bother her that he'd picked up the game so quickly…and didn't bother her that Thor and his other brothers were far more athletic than he. Why not?

Thea said, "Always someone better at something than you. Besides, sports aren't everything. This boy I went to school with, Lance, he was great at football, but he was an idiot. Brawn doesn't mean you　can't　have brains, but brawn instead of brains isn't exactly a prime deal, you know? Besides, look at me!" She rolled onto her stomach. Propping her elbows on the stone and propping her chin on her fists, she said, "I'm okay at sports, but I'm a genius, and I'm a love goddess. I'm like Athena and Aphrodite smushed together into a totally adorable package. I could be a supermodel if I wanted."

A supermodel, Loki recalled, was a Midgardian woman who posed in things called photographs for advertisements for clothes and such. A woman had to be very beautiful to be a supermodel. They were considered Midgard's finest examples of womanhood. "So why don't you become one?" He asked, smiling.

"I'm camera-shy," she replied, as if it were obvious. "I know I'm depriving the world of its Eighth Wonder by hiding this face, but I can't help myself—I don't like cameras. Or paparazzi. Or starving myself to fit into a pair of skinny-jeans I wouldn't be caught dead wearing in public. Besides, guys like women with actual flesh, not skin on bones. Right?"

"You're asking me?"

"You see any other cute guys around here whose opinions I require in order to go on living? If you've got a roommate in your pocket, please let me know. I'd like to meet him." Holding out one hand, she crossed her eyes. A small, golden-brown object appeared in her hand. "I love creampuffs," she said with obvious longing. "They're like someone killed me in a really happy way and then dipped my heaven in chocolate sauce with sprinkles right before I got there." Popping the little pastry into her mouth, she conjured another. "And like my angel-wings are made out of cotton candy. I could get fat just thinking about them. Want one?" She asked around the mouthful of pastry.

He chuckled. "Thank you." Taking the tiny thing, he took a bite. Flaky pastry and sweet vanilla cream filled his mouth. He made an appreciative sound. "Very good."

"Loki, why don't you talk about your family?" Thea asked suddenly, and everything in him went still. The warm, gentle feeling he'd found in the last hours disappeared like a ghost. She wasn't looking at him. Her gaze fixed on a dandelion puff, so white against the vibrant green grass. "You'll say the odd comment or whatever, but you don't talk about them really. How come?"

He wouldn't tell her. He wouldn't speak of it. Wouldn't think of it. He would say nothing about Thor, about his parents—his　foster　parents—his other brothers, his lost friends. He would say　nothing.

The words came without permission, without any willingness from him. They came, a flood held back by the dam that had finally crumbled asunder beneath too much pressure. "I betrayed them. I hurt them…badly. I lost them. I intended…things got out of hand. I wanted to prove to my father that I…that my brother Thor, that he wasn't…but everything got out of hand. And my friends believed I'd intended it to be so."

Thea sat up, scooting closer. She drew her knees up to her chest. Loki distantly noted that her odd blue trousers had been replaced by cropped green trews that ended just beneath her knees, giving him a view of slim calf and delicate ankle. She had freckles on her legs as well. Folding her arms around her updrawn knees, Thea leaned toward him.

"Tell me," she said gently.

Loki just looked at her. All the words crammed into his throat, trying to fly into his mouth and leap off his tongue, all tangling together until they were just a jumble. Memories of his family throbbed in his skull like an abscessed tooth. He shook his head and looked away.

A slender hand touched his arm, just beneath the shoulder, warm through the thin linen shirt. That warmth spread through his arm, up into his chest like fingers of light. Only a soft touch. He hadn't expected…hadn't even thought she would…was she trying to comfort him? She squeezed his shoulder, a very gentle pressure.

He looked at her. It hurt, for some reason, to look at her. Maybe because of what he saw in her face. It was impossible to describe her expression, but it sent a vicious aching thrill through his body, as if he'd touched a lightning bolt with his bare hands. His breath caught in his throat. He could feel his heart hammering in his breast.

"Do you…" Thea hesitated, nibbling on her lower lip. Her blue eyes seemed more gray at the moment, clouded with silver sadness. She brushed a lock of hair from her face with her free hand. "Do you want me to look?"

Look. To have her see, and experience, and　know…for someone, anyone, to know everything he'd wanted to explain, yet couldn't…for someone to know the truth, that he would never do what everyone no doubt believed he'd done…but would Thea turn away from him for what she would see?

Her hand slid from his shoulder down his arm, a soft caress. He swallowed and met her eyes. He'd never seen her look so serious. The wind swept wisps of her hair across her face, made it dance on the breeze as she met his eyes and refused to look away.

"If…if you wish," he said.

"No. Do　you　wish?"

After an eternity, Loki nodded.

.

"You let her read your memories?" Thor demanded, incredulous. After a moment, Loki nodded. Thor could only stare at him. After only two weeks, Loki had let Thea read his memories of the events leading up to his fall from the Bifröst? What could have prompted him to trust her so quickly?

But he knew, even though part of him didn't want to acknowledge the similarity between his situation and his brother's. He'd lost his heart to Jane oh so quickly, in only three days' time, and partly because she had been there for him when he'd needed someone. When he'd been grieving for everyone he loved: his mother, whom Loki had made it seem despised him; his father, whom he'd believed had died thinking Thor didn't love him, and his last words to Odin before his exile had only fanned the flames of his guilt; his brothers, who he'd thought believed him responsible for Odin's death, except Loki; and for his friends, whom he'd been sure he would never see again.

In that darkness had been Jane, like the light from a guiding star, listening to his stories of his father and of Asgard long into the night while they talked of the Nine Realms and the stars and all those myriad of peoples who studied them. Had Thea been Loki's guiding star in the darkness of the Chitauri dungeons? By his own admission, he'd spent hours upon hours, day after day, in the world of Thea's memories.

"I wanted someone to know," Loki murmured.

Stung by that—wasn't　he　someone?—Thor said, "Then why not tell me? Why not explain to me instead of throwing yourself off the Bifröst? I would have listened to you, Brother. If you'd explained to everyone, then surely—"

"I wanted someone to　believe," Loki amended. "Thea had no choice but to believe. She could see my past etched into the stone of my memory. She experienced it all: every thought, every emotion, every second of those days leading up to our battle on the Bifröst. Not only that, but later, when we grew closer…she asked the same questions I did."

Thor frowned. "What questions?"

"Why Sif and Three betrayed me, for instance." A small smile tugged at the corner of Loki's mouth. "She hated Sif."

Baffled, the crown prince asked, "Thea? Why? She didn't even know her. And when did Sif and the Three betray you? Our friends would never betray us, Brother. You know that."

Loki shook his head. "Still so blind. They betrayed me, Thor. What sorts of friends suspect you of treason without proof and then run to tell tales in the king's ear, hmmm? What sorts of friends claim that every word you speak is a lie? Because that is basically what Sif said when she told the others that I didn't want you to return home because I was jealous of you. I reminded them all that I loved you, more dearly than they ever could—of course I did; you were my twin brother—but that you needed to learn how to be a king before you came back and got people killed. Sif waited until I'd walked out and then spilled poison in the ears of the rest of my so-called friends. How quickly they forgot that I'd saved their lives."

Pursing his lips, Thor studied Loki for some time in silence. His brother didn't seem to mind; he just stared into the fire, gazing down some unseen, distant road of memory. At last, Thor said, "Is this what you told Thea?"

"She merely saw my memories and drew her own conclusions. She knew, and was surprised you never saw, how much our so-called friends hated me. Don't bother trying to deny it," he snapped when Thor tried to protest. "You may be blind and a fool, but you're not　that　blind or　that　foolish. You know the others only tolerated my presence because I was your brother. You were the one everyone wanted. Our friends wanted to carouse and drink and gamble and brawl with　you; the women always wanted to bed　you; Father always favored　you!　Whereas　I　was the one shunned and despised unless　you　made them accept me.

"I had thought Sif would've been my ally," Loki added. "After all, we both were trying to break the rules, were we not? She was a maiden who wished to be a warrior; I was a man who wished to be a sorcerer. I tried to encourage her. I defended her when the other warriors belittled her for being a woman. 'Little girl,' they called her; other things as well, not worth repeating. I spoke up for her, as you did, but yours was the favor she wanted, and she hated me for giving her mine." Softly now, he said, "To this day I don't know why."

"Loki…Sif and the others were your friends. You cannot believe they would hurt you deliberately. I would never do such a thing, and neither would they. You and Thea are mistaken—"

His little brother held up a finger as if in warning. "Careful, Brother. She had my memories, and knew my thoughts, but she had her own. She knew what she was seeing. She told me they didn't hate me, of course. Thea rarely thought badly of anyone, really. In her mind, she was sure the others didn't realize how much they were…but not Sif. Once my lady learned of the time our little valkyrie slapped my face and called me　ärgr, it was an all-out mental war between her and Lady Sif."

Thor stared at him. "When did Sif call you　that?"

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter? I do not care one way or the other about Sif and the rest. I only care about Thanos. He—must—die. I　will　kill him…eventually. I'll bathe in his blood if I must."

Eventually.　Sometimes the message is delayed…but it almost always arrives eventually. Sometimes eventually is too late. The message, the prince remembered. Loki hadn't explained what he meant. Pushing aside thoughts of Sif's sharp tongue—he would speak to her about Loki's accusation later—the Asgardian said, "Loki, earlier you spoke of a message arriving too late. What message?"

"Does it really matter?" Loki asked wearily.

"Yes," he said. "It matters to me. What message, Brother?"

The breath shuddered in the thin chest and the voice wavered when Loki whispered, "Hope. A message of hope. When I faced your Avengers, your Midgardian heroes, I thought to myself…what if?　I wanted to test their mettle, hoping she'd been wrong about…but she was right. She'd been wrong about a great deal, but not that. And so I had one last chance, one last-ditch plan to make it all right again. If it worked, all would be well. And it all hinged on two men, and they both betrayed me in the end. Two men who are dead…or should be."

"Who were these men?" Thor prompted. "Coulson?"

"Coulson," Loki acknowledged softly. "And the one called Nicholas Fury."