Sylvie didn't know what to expect, venturing back to the citadel at the end of time.
She certainly didn't expect this.
Loki's there before her, seated upon a throne as hundreds upon hundred of ropes, strings, timelines cling to him. It's as though they're a part of him, and he's a part of them, like they're one and the same.
He doesn't look at her. His gaze remains straight ahead, his expression blank, as though he's not truly here, and she pleads to whatever higher power may be out there that that's not the case. He has to be here. He has to be him. She won't know what to do if he's not.
She finds herself frozen, feet planted firmly against the cracked stone of the citadel floor. It's nothing like the palace it was when He Who Remains was here. It's worn down, broken. It faced the test of time, and it lost.
It almost looks as though the same can be said of Loki.
But that can't be true. This is Loki – her Loki, the Loki who would have done anything for her. I just want you to be happy, he'd said. How can she be happy when he's like this?
Then he speaks, his voice lifeless, monotonous. "You shouldn't have come."
She swallows hard against the lump in her throat. "You shouldn't have left."
Loki doesn't move, doesn't even look, and she can't even tell if he heard her, never mind what he's thinking. It's infuriating. It's heartbreaking. It's confusing. She doesn't know what to think, what to say, what to do.
She'd known when she made the choice to seek him out that she would be woefully unprepared for what that entailed, but this is worse than anything she could have conjured in her mind. Physically, he's alive. To a point, he must be present in the moment. But mentally, emotionally? It's as though there's nothing there. It's as though he's someone else entirely. It's as though her Loki is gone.
But he can't be.
She takes a step toward him, slowly, cautiously. If he notices, he doesn't show it. He's still as she approaches him. There was a time not long ago where it felt as though he would do anything for her, be anything for her. Whatever she wanted, he would give it. Now, he won't even meet her eye.
"Loki," she says quietly. She doesn't trust herself to speak any louder.
He does nothing. Even as she stands before him, no more than an arms length away, he does nothing. She feels invisible. He's never made her feel invisible before. But here he is, staring straight ahead as though he's looking through her, and she feels invisible.
This isn't the Loki she knows.
This isn't the Loki she fell in love with.
But she's going to find him.
She holds out a hand, fingers pausing just before they touch his cheek, and still, he doesn't react. She hates it. She hates everything about this. She hates that this is what he's become; that this is what he's been forced to become. And for what? To watch the timelines? That's what the TVA is for. They're still there, hard at work monitoring the He Who Remains Variants. Loki's done his part. The TVA can take it from here.
She reaches up to grab one of the timelines–
"Don't."
Sylvie freezes where she stands, and when his gaze meets hers, there's a coldness behind his eyes that she's never seen before. She's never been one to take orders, but under the weight of his stare, she feels herself shrinking back, bringing her hand back down by her side.
Even as she backs away from the timelines, Loki's gaze doesn't leave her. She has his attention now. This is a good start. It's a bit terrifying, but then, when it comes to them, everything seems to terrify her.
There's so much she wants to say to him. She's spent days just thinking of him, thinking of this, and now that she's finally worked up the courage to do it, her mind goes blank. She opens her mouth, but all that comes out is his name, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Why are you here?" Loki asks. His face, his voice, they're emotionless. She'd rather he be angry with her. She knows she'd deserve it. She'd rather he yell at her, tell her off for pushing him away, as long as she got something, some hint that he's still in there.
Sylvie scoffs. "What do you mean, why am I here?" she asks. She doesn't know whether to be hurt or just incredulous that he'd even ask that. "You left us! You didn't say anything. You didn't tell us where you were going or what you were doing. What was I supposed to do, just let you go?"
"Isn't that what you wanted?"
Still, his voice is flat, monotonous, but there's something more this time. There's a bite to it, a deprecating undertone in his words. She deserves it, she knows, but it still hurts to hear.
"I never wanted this," she tells him. "For you, for us."
"There is no 'us.'"
She can feel the very moment her heart shatters in her chest.
There is an 'us.' There's always been an 'us.' From the very moment they met, it was always going to end with them. Even when she hated him, even when she thought him nothing but a drunken nuisance, it was always supposed to end with them.
And he knew that once, too, which may be the worst part. He knew it. There was a time not long ago where he would have fought his way through anything to get back to her. Even when she ran from him, ran from them, ran from what they had, he always went after her.
She's finally done running. It's not because she's not scared. She is. But the thought of losing him scares her more.
"Go home, Sylvie," he says.
She shakes her head helplessly. "What home?"
Loki raises his gaze to the timelines floating above him, and slowly, one timeline descends in front of him. It's almost as though it's reaching out to her, and for some reason she can't place, she longs to do the same to it.
"Your home," Loki says again. "Here, on the timeline. He lowers her gaze to meet hers once more. "Your friends are waiting for you. The young one, Jack, he worries for you. He wants to see you again. You shouldn't keep him waiting."
She knows she shouldn't. Even if Loki hadn't told her, she'd know it's a bad idea. But she finds herself reaching for the timeline regardless. Her hand stops just short, so close that she can feel the power emanating from it. She could touch it; grab it in her hand...
But she doesn't.
She gives him a sad smile. "And what about what I want?"
Loki just looks at her for a few moments, and then the timeline between them begins to float away, returning to its rightful place amongst the others. His brows draw together, just the slightest of movements. "What do you want?"
There's a lot that she wants.
Peace.
Safety.
Belonging.
Everything she's never had before, everything that's finally within her grasp; everything she's gotten a taste of in her few months of freedom.
But when she opens her mouth, all that comes out is a whispered, "I just want you."
Loki's face almost seems to soften at that. There's no joy in his eyes. There's no relief. He doesn't look happy. But something's changed, and she truly feels it's changed for the better.
"I'm sorry," she says, almost pleading with him to listen, to understand, to come back to her. "I shouldn't have pushed you away, and I'm sorry. I was just scared. I've been alone all my life, and then you showed up and everything changed and I didn't know what to do so I did what I always do and I ran and I'm sorry." She can feel the tears welling up in her eyes, and she does her best to blink them away. "You can't leave me now. Please. Don't do this."
Loki raises his gaze, staring straight ahead once more as though she's not even here, and she finds herself biting her lip as she looks up at him, willing him to look back. She feels as though she's lost him, but it can't be. Not after that. She didn't bear her soul just for him to slip away again.
But then he speaks again. "It's too late," he says quietly, and there's an air of sorrow to it, of hopelessness. "I've made my choice.
"Then make another choice!" she pleads. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to be alone. Come with me. We can go back together."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
His gaze flickers to meet hers, and behind them, there's such a profound pain. He's drowning in it, suffocating in it. She doesn't know how she didn't see it before.
"See for yourself."
Sylvie takes one more step toward him, closing what little distance exists between them, and she raises her arms, her hands hovering just above his skin. There's a question in her eyes, and his single nod is all the answer she needs.
She gently places her hands against his neck, resting their forehead together, and closes her eyes.
And she sees everything.
They failed the first time. They lost Timely, and then they lost each other. Everything was gone – the TVA, the multiverse, their friends. Everything they'd once had, gone in the blink of an eye.
So Loki assembled a team – their team, or a team of their Variants? She can't tell. She's not sure she cares. He assembled a team, and they failed again.
So he went back.
And he went back.
And he went back and back and back and back, over and over again, so many times that it begins to hurt her head. It must be centuries, the time he spent in the TVA, just trying to learn, to absorb, to plan. And he did it. They succeeded with their plan. And yet, they failed nonetheless.
And then it's the citadel.
If you want me to stop, you'll have to kill me.
If you want me to stop, you'll have to kill me.
If you want me to stop, you'll have to kill me.
If you want me to stop, you'll have to kill me.
No wonder he's grown to hate her. She'd hate herself if she had to put up with this as many times as she did. (She hates herself regardless. She's handled this all wrong. She sees that now.)
But... he doesn't.
He doesn't hate her.
His patience begins to wear thin toward the end, but not with her. He's upset, but not with her. She can feel it in him, the love he still has for her – had for her, however long ago this was to him. It feels like a lifetime ago to her. She can only imagine how it feels for him. And yet, after centuries of repetition, of fighting when all he wanted to do was stop, he still loved her.
The first time He Who Remains pauses time, Loki is terrified, not for himself, but for her. She's fighting against everything he believes in, has been fighting against him for years and years and years, and yet, when he sees her frozen, blade held high as she prepares to bring it down upon him, he's worried for her.
His worry for her wanes as the conversation repeats itself, but his discomfort is still there. She can hear his thoughts, his desires. He wants her with him. He doesn't think it's right, silencing her, getting rid of her. But there's nothing he can do.
"Kill her," He Who Remains says, not for the first time or the second or the third, but for the thousandth, the millionth. "Kill her, and we protect what we can."
He thinks about it.
He really does.
It may be the right thing to do, he tells himself; take one life, save trillions of others.
He asks her, even. He talks to her about it. She doesn't remember that. It's strange, how many times she's seen herself in situations she doesn't remember. It's uncomfortable to her. It's worse for him.
"I'm not giving you my blessing, if that's what you're asking."
But it's not what he was asking.
He doesn't need her permission. He doesn't even have his own. He was never going to kill her. Even when his head was screaming at him to do it, to kill her and be done with it, he was never going to kill her.
I just want you to be okay, he'd said.
And he kept his word. Through everything, he kept his word. And that's why he's here, keeping the multiverse alive from his citadel at the end of time. He's here for her. He's here because he made a promise.
And somehow, he's convinced himself that he's kept it.
She opens her eyes, but she doesn't move, doesn't take her hands back, doesn't pull her head away. When he meets her gaze, she can see the desperation in his eyes, the hopelessness, and her heart aches for him.
"I don't want to be here," he whispers. "But I have to." He gives her a small, tearful smile. "You were right," he says. "The multiverse has a right to exist, and this is the only way it can."
"And you have the right to exist, too." Tears begin to well up in her own eyes, but she doesn't care. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except that she's here, that they're here, together, like they always should have been.
Loki lets out a long breath, a sigh of defeat, of helplessness. "Go home," he says. "Go back to your friends. Go live the life you never got to have."
Sylvie brings one hand up to cup his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek. "There is no life for me without you."
A tear slips down his face, and then another, and another until he's sobbing, breaking down in front of her, and all she can do is watch. She's as helpless as he is, and she hates that. She hates feeling helpless. She hates that she can't fix this. Loki's right; he made his choice. What can he do about it now?
She climbs on top of him, wrapping her arms around him in the tightest of hugs, and there's no hesitation in his movement as he buries his face in the crook of her neck. She can feel every shaky breath he takes, every sob that wracks his body, every tear that falls against her skin, and it hurts more than words can say.
So she doesn't say anything at all. She just holds him as he breaks down in her arms, and soon, she finds herself sobbing, too. The relief of seeing him again means nothing when she knows she'll have to lose him again. He's stuck here – really, truly stuck, trapped in this prison of his own making.
"I just want it to stop," he chokes out between sobs. "I don't want to do this anymore."
The pain in his voice, the desperation, it kills her. A knife would hurt less than hearing him suffer. And to know that he was thinking of her when he did it? He chose this because of her, because she wanted to kill Kang, because she wanted the chance to be normal when normal was never an option.
"It hurts," he whispers against her neck. "They're digging into my hands, trying to get free, and it hurts."
Then let go, she wants to tell him. It's not your burden to carry.
But it has to be. Somebody has to do it. She understands now why he has to stay. She saw it through his own eyes. Without his power, the timelines will die. Without his power, everything they fought for will be gone.
But then, he's not the only one with power.
She lets him go, standing up on the stair below him, and he raises his head to look at her. His eyes are rimmed with red, and his cheeks glow with the trails of his tears.
"Sylvie..." His voice is raw, hoarse from his sobs, but she can hear that sense of wariness within it.
She reaches out, her hands clasping the timelines just above his own. "Let go."
He shakes his head. "I can't."
"Yes, you can," she says. She tries to keep her voice gentle, calming. She suspects she sounds no more composed than he does. "You don't have to do this alone."
He doesn't move.
Even as she pleads with him to let her help him, he doesn't move.
Until he does.
As his hold on the timelines loosens, the force fighting against her own only grows. She only grits her teeth and holds on tighter. She needs him to see that she can do this. She needs him to see that she wants to do this. Even if it's hard, even if it hurts, she wants to do this.
She just wants him to be okay.
Loki lets go, and she understands in an instant how this could wear him down. Each timeline digs against her palms, and it takes all her strength to hold them still, to not let go. She doesn't know how he's done it for so long, but she knows he'll never have to do it alone again.
Loki looks at his hands, held out to the side as though still clutching the timelines, and slowly, he brings them in toward himself. He rests the backs of his hands on his lap, and when he opens his fists, they're met with the sight of blood, of gashes up and down all along his palm.
Yet he only looks for a moment before he turns his focus back to her. "Are you okay?"
She forces herself to nod. "Take a break." You've more than earned it.
He's quiet for a moment, and then he reaches out again, hands wrapping around the timelines once more.
"Loki–"
"Turn around," he says, his voice soft, gentle. "It's easier when you sit."
She shakes her head. "You need to rest more than I do." She doesn't mind standing. She'll stand here for centuries to give him the reprieve he so desperately needs.
Loki pauses, then pats his lap. "We can both sit."
Despite the pain in her hands, the strain on her arms and her back, she finds herself smiling, just a little bit. "You want me to sit on your lap?"
He shrugs, a little sheepish, a little timid, but he nods.
She almost refuses, but she's already growing so tired, so weary, and she's only held the timelines for a minute, maybe two. If she's going to let him rest, she's going to need to rest herself.
So she nods once. "I'm going to let go."
He nods once in return.
She's careful as she does it, making sure that he can still hold them before she drops her hold entirely. Loki grimaces, body tensing, face contorting in pain, and her resolve only grows.
She sits down on his lap, and it almost feels as though she was meant for this. She fits so perfectly on top of him, as though he was made for her, as though she was made for him.
She reaches up and takes the timelines back in her hands, and this time, he wastes no time in dropping them. Each rope digs into her palm all at once, and she bites her lip to keep from crying out.
Loki rests his hands on top of hers, helping her reign the timelines in. The pain in her hands grows worse, but the strain against her arms lessens as he joins her.
"I told you to rest," she reminds him.
"I know," is his only reply.
She shakes her head to herself, the corners of her lips twitching upwards in a slight smile.
"Tell me when you want to stop," he says.
"And we'll switch?"
There's a pause.
"I don't want to take you from your life," he says cautiously.
"Loki, I am exactly where I want to be," she tells him. "My life is with you. It's always been with you."
Loki hums softly and presses a kiss against the back of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. "Thank you," he murmurs. "For coming back."
She looks over her shoulder at him, a small smile on her lips. "Where you go, I go, remember?"