HIS LOVE

THE START

Loki's heard it once, he's heard it a thousand times.

"You! You conniving, craven, pathetic worm. You did this."

His utterance is now laced with irritation — the sort that bleeds into you and nibbles at your composure. He throws his hands, tosses his head back, and leans forward onto his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

Pain, however, hinders this. He winces, swallows down a roll of nausea, and inhales again. Odin's beard, that woman could lay a hit. As if the memory hadn't been painful enough. Now, he's sure he won't be walking right for days, at least.

And yet, matter how hard and fast Lady Sif strikes him down again ad again, it does little to wound him in comparison to the all-consuming worry that you're back there, somewhere, alone. At best, sitting in a cell like this. At worst, pruned — and frankly, Loki doesn't prefer either.

He's sick of being the villain. Or... Some outcasted projection of one, always battling for attention to fend off loneliness. But, the attention of many hardly compares to the attention of you.

The thing playing over and over in the back of his head is you and him on Lamentis-1, and how gently you'd held his face. You'd looked at him as if he held the hope of a future together. He saw promise. Understanding. Affection.

And as he tries to grit his teeth through another wave of pain, he cannot help but feel wholly undeserving of it.

He exhales, pushes away his desperate anxiety and angst, and tries to prepare for another bought of Sif's anger.

But, when he turns on his heel, it's not Sif standing in the doorway.

It's you.

Mobius, too, but frankly Loki isn't exactly thrilled with the TVA Agent — besides, you're here and you're running and you're throwing yourself into his arms.

Loki's breath is stolen when you connect with him; your arms lop around his neck and your knees knock his and you're up, up, up on your tippy toes as you cling to him. He feels you grip the back of his shirt. You face finds the crook of his neck, and you say his name, and all he can do is sag with relief.

Then, he winds himself around you.

The touch is... Hel, he can't remember the last time he was touched like this. Perhaps by his mother many, many, many moons ago. It's a touch that brings no threat of violence, or of bargaining, or of faux-interest in gains. No, it's gentle and kind and genuine and desperate.

"Loki."

"Loki."

Loki exhales and winds his fingers into the back of your blouse. He grips you tightly. His other hand holds the back of your head, and he exhales again. Shaky, slow, and deliberate.

"Hello, my little witch," he mutters into your hair, voice as soft as velvet.

His anger towards Mobius melts away in this moment — if only for this moment. And it's one he wants to remember. You fit nicely in his arms, and Loki wonders if perhaps he could get used to this. He could, actually. He doesn't even need to ruminate on it for more than a flash.

Your hands circle his ribs, and you pull away all too soon.

In a desperate attempt to keep you close, the God's hands find your face. Long, delicate fingers cradle your cheeks as he looks down at you — and he can see the traces of manifested emotions hanging on your lashes, still damp. His heart beats wildly in his chest at the thought that you could have been worried over him.

"stay with me" loki ask her 

"i am not leaving" you answer

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly, leaning a bit lower to look you over; and when you nod, he doesn't pull away. He pushes at your lash-line with his thumb. A tear runs down the pad of his finger.

"Are you?" you ask, voice a bit hoarse. Your hands move to find his, and you hold onto him as if he's a beacon of light, of safety, on the rough sea.

"I've, uh," Loki clears his throat and ignores the tender twang of pain between his legs, "I've been better. I am better, now, actually. I was... I was worried."

You have a thousand things you want to say, but none of them will come out — so instead, you squeeze his fingers and look him over.

You reach. Loki's heart stills. Your fingertips trace his cheekbone.

"You're pale," you mutter, "Are you sure you're alright?"

It's Mobius who chimes in. "Seeing as his unmentionables have just been beaten in by Lady Sif about 87 times in the last hour, I'm guessing that's a no."

Your eyes widen. Loki offers an incredibly pained, sarcastic smile. You hand flies to cover your open mouth. You gasp.

"Oh."

"Oh, yes," Loki chimes in, "So, lovely. Really."

"I'd make a joke but," you mumble, "Now's not the time."

"Yea, no one is kissing those things better," Mobius chirps over you, moving to point at Loki, "We've got bigger fish to fry. Now listen to me, both of you—"

The two of you pull apart, facing the agent — and when your hand drifts from Loki, he finds himself immediately reaching for it. Though you pay him no mind as he watches you shift closer, nearly tucked to his chest, you do squeeze his hand.

"Do you two swear Sylvie didn't implant those memories in Hunter C-20?"

"Mobius, please," you speak up as you step forward, tugging Loki along as you do, "She's not lying."

"I believe her," Loki insists firmly, "I do."

Mobius holds his breath as he looks between the two of you. Then, he exhales. His hands find his hips.

"So, what?" he asks, "I have to trust the word of two Loki's and their soulmate?"

Loki waits, then presses his lips together. "How about the word of friends?"

Mobius swallows, then nods to both of you.

"You were both right," he says, "About the TVA. From the very beginning. A-And if you wanna save Sylvie, you need to trust me. Can you both do that?"

"You two..." Mobius starts, eyes glimmering with something warm, "You're good. Both of you. You can be anything, even heroes. I promise that. Y'know, in case anyone ever told you different."

Be it TVA, or Lady Sif.

Suddenly, the end seems in sight. The curtain has lifted, Mobius knows, you're back with Loki and he's back with you. All you need to do is save Sylvie, and take down the Time-Keepers.

But, when the three of you step from that Time Door back into the theater?

Ravonna Renslayer is waiting.