For the Love of a Princess -- Chapter 3/5
Chapter 3 of 5. Two chapters to go :)
Three
Jane returns the following day, sees Loki’s eyes widen, light flicker across his face before he can hide it and fills her with a warmth she has not felt in so long.
It frightens her, this darkness mingled with - something else - that lives in her. It frightens her that Loki of all people is the one to bring it about. It frightens her that he is the one who awakens her mind, that he is the one who understands her.
The bastard.
She looks again and his face is shuttered. Or - almost. She can see the cracks in the porcelain.
“You return,” he says. He is sitting on the floor with his back to the wall and she sees Thor’s satchel tied to his waist. As she sits down by the glass she notices his hands have been cleaned.
“Yes,” she replies, drawing her knees up under her dress.
“Why? Do you tire of Thor so soon?”
She glares at him. “We’ve had this conversation and it’s boring.”
“I do not find it so.”
“Well I do.”
“Then it seems we are at an impasse, Jane Foster.”
It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him just what she thinks of his impasse, but then she remembers the brokenness she has seen, the wild, tiny flame of hope he is trying so hard to fight; she has learned how to read him in the past weeks, though he would hate her for saying it, for being able to do it. Loki is many things, not all of them good, but she remembers what she saw on Svartalheim, remembers some of the things Thor and Frigga said to her. We aren’t so different, are we?
“Is it so hard to believe that I am here by my own choice?”
“Yes.” He avoids her gaze and she is surprised he answered her truthfully.
“Well, believe it - because you’re the only one who thinks no one else cares.”
His head snaps up and his eyes flash. “Do not presume to know my family better than I.”
“I don’t,” she says, realizing that she doesn’t even know Thor - not in the way she knows Loki. “But I can tell you what I’ve seen. Thor - hell, even Heimdall and Fandral - have been with Odin since you, um, returned trying to get him to free you.”
Loki frowns. “Fandral.”
Jane feels her lips twitch. “He seems less mistrustful of you than the others. Something about you saving Thor’s life.”
He looks away again and when he speaks his voice is flat. “They will not succeed. And if they do, what then? I have no home, Jane Foster.”
“Neither do I.” The words are out before she can stop them and suddenly she cannot breathe for the weight of loss pressing down on her, squeezing the air from her lungs. Oh Erik, Darcy…Damn you to hell Malekith.
Then Loki is there, in front of her, one hand held to the glass. He says nothing but his emerald eyes hold hers, so wide, so open. So strange and yet so familiar.
Without thinking she raises her hand and places it opposite his, suddenly, desperately wishing that there were no glass between them, that their fingers could curl around each other and not let go.
As she watches, his eyes change and she sees her own longing mirrored in his gaze. She has never felt so exposed. Nor has she ever seen him so naked before.
That is when she knows that she will get him out or die trying.
How long they stay there she doesn’t know, doesn’t care (should she?). But then she blinks and Loki has recoiled; he is sitting on the floor, his pale hands folded together too tightly, face blank. Off-kilter, Jane scowls at him (he almost smirks, she can tell) and settles herself on the ledge by the glass wall. If it is glass - it hums like something alive and if it’s only glass than there’s no way it could hold Loki. Is it an electrical barrier of some kind? But-
“What have you brought?”
Jane twitches, startled out of her thoughts, and looks down at the book in her lap. She starts to blush but manages to stop. Let him mock if he will.
“Fairy tales.”
He raises an eyebrow in a mixture of indignation and condescension. “You seek to distract me with children’s stories?”
“I really wouldn’t call them children’s stories. And anyway, no one said they were for you.” She opens the book and starts to read. Silently. She isn’t sure how much arrogance is genuine and how much is for show, but she’ll be damned if she’s going to read to him when he’s in that kind of a mood no matter how she feels about him. If - when - he gets out their arguments will be spectacular, she is certain. And if she weren’t ready to slap him (again) she might laugh at the thought.
The silence lasts all of a minute before she hears, quietly and a little sullenly, “Please read.”
She doesn’t look up but turns her eyes back to the top of the page. “Once upon a time there was a wealthy merchant who had three daughters…”
It’s one of her favourites she tries to do the voices the way her father used to (though he was a much better Beast than she’ll ever be). At last she finishes, her mouth dry from speaking.
“She married the monster.” Loki’s voice sounds odd.
“Yes.”
“After all he did - tearing her away from her family, lying - why would she do that?”
The guard is approaching. Is it that time already?
Jane looks back at Loki, holding the book tightly to her chest. “Because she saw that he wasn’t the monster everyone said. The monster he believed himself to be. And-and she loved him. Goodnight, Loki.”
Loki stares at the place where she had sat long after she is gone. The lights dim, signalling nightfall, but he is not tired. He retreats to a corner and reaches for the small leather satchel that Jane had given him, telling him it was from Thor.
He opens it and turns it upside down. The object that falls out is the last thing he expected to see and forces him to admit (grudgingly) that Thor is more perceptive than he gives him credit for.
He slips it back into the purse and his fingers close convulsively over it. A terrible band tightens around his chest so that he cannot breathe. That damned, treacherous thing called hope that does not matter because he will never get out and Jane-
Damn you Thor.
He throws up an illusion and buries his head in his knees, weeping for all he has lost and all he will never have.
Three
Jane returns the following day, sees Loki’s eyes widen, light flicker across his face before he can hide it and fills her with a warmth she has not felt in so long.
It frightens her, this darkness mingled with - something else - that lives in her. It frightens her that Loki of all people is the one to bring it about. It frightens her that he is the one who awakens her mind, that he is the one who understands her.
The bastard.
She looks again and his face is shuttered. Or - almost. She can see the cracks in the porcelain.
“You return,” he says. He is sitting on the floor with his back to the wall and she sees Thor’s satchel tied to his waist. As she sits down by the glass she notices his hands have been cleaned.
“Yes,” she replies, drawing her knees up under her dress.
“Why? Do you tire of Thor so soon?”
She glares at him. “We’ve had this conversation and it’s boring.”
“I do not find it so.”
“Well I do.”
“Then it seems we are at an impasse, Jane Foster.”
It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him just what she thinks of his impasse, but then she remembers the brokenness she has seen, the wild, tiny flame of hope he is trying so hard to fight; she has learned how to read him in the past weeks, though he would hate her for saying it, for being able to do it. Loki is many things, not all of them good, but she remembers what she saw on Svartalheim, remembers some of the things Thor and Frigga said to her. We aren’t so different, are we?
“Is it so hard to believe that I am here by my own choice?”
“Yes.” He avoids her gaze and she is surprised he answered her truthfully.
“Well, believe it - because you’re the only one who thinks no one else cares.”
His head snaps up and his eyes flash. “Do not presume to know my family better than I.”
“I don’t,” she says, realizing that she doesn’t even know Thor - not in the way she knows Loki. “But I can tell you what I’ve seen. Thor - hell, even Heimdall and Fandral - have been with Odin since you, um, returned trying to get him to free you.”
Loki frowns. “Fandral.”
Jane feels her lips twitch. “He seems less mistrustful of you than the others. Something about you saving Thor’s life.”
He looks away again and when he speaks his voice is flat. “They will not succeed. And if they do, what then? I have no home, Jane Foster.”
“Neither do I.” The words are out before she can stop them and suddenly she cannot breathe for the weight of loss pressing down on her, squeezing the air from her lungs. Oh Erik, Darcy…Damn you to hell Malekith.
Then Loki is there, in front of her, one hand held to the glass. He says nothing but his emerald eyes hold hers, so wide, so open. So strange and yet so familiar.
Without thinking she raises her hand and places it opposite his, suddenly, desperately wishing that there were no glass between them, that their fingers could curl around each other and not let go.
As she watches, his eyes change and she sees her own longing mirrored in his gaze. She has never felt so exposed. Nor has she ever seen him so naked before.
That is when she knows that she will get him out or die trying.
How long they stay there she doesn’t know, doesn’t care (should she?). But then she blinks and Loki has recoiled; he is sitting on the floor, his pale hands folded together too tightly, face blank. Off-kilter, Jane scowls at him (he almost smirks, she can tell) and settles herself on the ledge by the glass wall. If it is glass - it hums like something alive and if it’s only glass than there’s no way it could hold Loki. Is it an electrical barrier of some kind? But-
“What have you brought?”
Jane twitches, startled out of her thoughts, and looks down at the book in her lap. She starts to blush but manages to stop. Let him mock if he will.
“Fairy tales.”
He raises an eyebrow in a mixture of indignation and condescension. “You seek to distract me with children’s stories?”
“I really wouldn’t call them children’s stories. And anyway, no one said they were for you.” She opens the book and starts to read. Silently. She isn’t sure how much arrogance is genuine and how much is for show, but she’ll be damned if she’s going to read to him when he’s in that kind of a mood no matter how she feels about him. If - when - he gets out their arguments will be spectacular, she is certain. And if she weren’t ready to slap him (again) she might laugh at the thought.
The silence lasts all of a minute before she hears, quietly and a little sullenly, “Please read.”
She doesn’t look up but turns her eyes back to the top of the page. “Once upon a time there was a wealthy merchant who had three daughters…”
It’s one of her favourites she tries to do the voices the way her father used to (though he was a much better Beast than she’ll ever be). At last she finishes, her mouth dry from speaking.
“She married the monster.” Loki’s voice sounds odd.
“Yes.”
“After all he did - tearing her away from her family, lying - why would she do that?”
The guard is approaching. Is it that time already?
Jane looks back at Loki, holding the book tightly to her chest. “Because she saw that he wasn’t the monster everyone said. The monster he believed himself to be. And-and she loved him. Goodnight, Loki.”
Loki stares at the place where she had sat long after she is gone. The lights dim, signalling nightfall, but he is not tired. He retreats to a corner and reaches for the small leather satchel that Jane had given him, telling him it was from Thor.
He opens it and turns it upside down. The object that falls out is the last thing he expected to see and forces him to admit (grudgingly) that Thor is more perceptive than he gives him credit for.
He slips it back into the purse and his fingers close convulsively over it. A terrible band tightens around his chest so that he cannot breathe. That damned, treacherous thing called hope that does not matter because he will never get out and Jane-
Damn you Thor.
He throws up an illusion and buries his head in his knees, weeping for all he has lost and all he will never have.