Norsekink prompt: Compassion, Part Two
Prompt is here
Compassion -- Part 2
Loki had been dead for two days when he appeared in Steve's kitchen, wearing the same blue track pants and gray t-shirt he'd died in.
At first, Steve thought he was hallucinating. It would have been understandable, since in the time since Loki's death he'd thought about little else, and he hadn't eaten or slept either. Coulson had sent both him and Tony, who'd actually killed the apparently-escaping prisoner, home, and had appeared later that afternoon to tell Steve he'd explained things to Fury.
Steve had the feeling Coulson knew what had happened, that Steve was the one who let Loki out, let him get away, so he wouldn't have to go back to Asgard in his brother's power. Steve hadn't known exactly how Loki, stripped of his magic, intended to escape, but he realized later that Loki, in manipulating Iron Man into killing him, had chosen the one obvious way out. It hadn't helped Steve to realize that. It hadn't helped to know he had failed Loki because there was no chance of any other outcome.
And now here he was, dead Loki, looking very much alive, black hair matted and green eyes wild as he looked around the room. Steve got up from his seat at the counter and moved hesitantly toward him.
"Loki? Is that really you?" he asked stupidly.
Loki looked at him, his expression scared and defeated. "I thought I could die," he explained. "I thought if I died..."
"But you couldn't," Steve said gently. He'd never been quite sure how much of this Asgardian thing was actual godhood, and how much was simply them being extremely powerful aliens. It still wasn't clear.
What was clear was, Loki had definitely been dead when Steve picked him up and carried him back into the Avengers' compound. He had definitely been dead when Coulson drew back the sheet so Thor could say goodbye. Steve had stayed around for that--he'd told Tony he would explain matters to Thor, and he'd explained them, all right. And if that was the last time he ever spoke to the God of Thunder, well, that was okay, too.
Loki had definitely been dead.
And now here he was, looking more than ever like a stray cat, one that had been starved and had rocks thrown at him and was hiding under the porch of the only person who set out food for him. Like one sudden move would send him streaking in a panic out into traffic.
Loki shook his head, still holding Steve's eyes. "I woke up. I was on a metal table and I was alone. I didn't know... I have nowhere to go. And you had been kind to me and I thought..." He was actually wringing his hands, long skinny fingers twisting around each other, his whole body trembling. In what sounded like a desperate effort to mimic Earthly social niceties, he added meekly, "I know I should not disturb you--"
Steve forgot about not making any sudden moves. He took two steps forward and Loki froze, closing his eyes and hunching his shoulders as though resigning himself to whatever Steve intended to do to him.
Steve hooked one arm around Loki's skinny neck and pulled the Asgardian/ Jotun/ supervillain/whatever he was toward him, laying a hand on the back of the scruffy head, his other arm coming up to wrap around Loki's torso. Loki remained rigid in surprise as Steve hugged him, although after a moment he hooked his chin over Steve's shoulder, as if that was as close as he could come to admitting the touch was welcome. At the same time, he certainly wasn't pulling away. In fact, if anything, he was cautiously leaning closer.
Perhaps it was that, the desperate reserve, the feeling that what Loki actually needed wasn't power or minions or whatever the hell Steve had always thought motivated him, that made Steve do what he did next.
Quietly, in Loki's ear, Steve said, "I am very glad you're not dead. You don't have to go anywhere until you're ready to. I'm glad you're not dead."
And felt the tension very slowly begin to leave the body he was holding. Loki reached up and hesitantly took hold of Steve's shirt, a fold in each hand, as if reluctant to push his luck by touching Steve himself but desperate to maintain the contact.
When the knock came on the door, Loki twisted loose, glanced frantically in the direction of the sound, hit the floor in the shape of a black-and-white cat, and darted under the couch. Steve started to go after him, there was a louder knock, and Steve decided he better deal with that.
"It's okay," he called, hoping Loki could still understand him. "Stay there if you want to, but nobody's going to hurt you here."
When he opened the door he certainly hoped he hadn't lied, because on the other side of the door was Nick Fury.
"Can I come in?" the director of SHIELD asked perfunctorily, already moving forward. Steve stepped out of the way, resigned. He was probably here to formally cashier Steve. What kind of job prospects were there for ex-superheroes?
Fury made directly for the living room and, without invitation, sat in the one armchair. Steve decided he didn't have to wait to be invited to sit, not in his own apartment, and walked over to the couch.
"So," said Fury. "I understand you let our prisoner go."
"Yes," Steve replied, deciding he would not give the SHIELD boss the satisfaction of hearing him make excuses.
"Want to tell me why?" Fury asked casually.
Well, as long as he was asking...
"Geneva Convention," Steve replied grimly. "He was powerless and helpless, and we were not only treating him inhumanely, we were going to hand him over to be tortured."
"What makes you think he was going to be tortured?" Fury asked.
"I saw him being tortured, okay? I participated in some of it. I joined the Army in '42 to stop that kind of thing, not to be part of it."
Fury shrugged. "Some people would say the end justifies the means," he suggested.
"I know. Hitler, for one." The two men stared at each other for a moment and then Steve asked, "So what happens now? Do I hand over my shield, or do you rip the star off my chest, or--"
"You take a little time to get your head together, and then you come back," Fury said calmly. "You're going to have to work with Thor, no way around that. There are threats to this planet that only this group can handle, and we need all of you to work together."
"I can't do that," Steve muttered.
"You think Churchill and FDR wanted to work with Joe Stalin?" Fury asked. "You don't have to like him. You don't have to be pals with him. Hell, I don't feel much like being pals with him, myself. I know what he did, and I don't like it either, but we need him, and we need you. I know why you were chosen for that super-soldier program, Rogers. You were chosen because someone knew power wouldn't corrupt you. We need that."
"And you're just going to forget I tried to let Loki go?" Steve asked.
Fury shrugged. "Might have done it myself. We had to promise him to Asgard, for diplomatic reasons, but you're absolutely right, we'd have been sending him directly into hell. That Odin guy is merciless. When I made the deal, before we actually caught Loki, I figured Thor would make sure nothing happened that would keep me awake at night. Didn't quite work out the way I expected it to." Fury shook his head, then looked down at Steve's left ankle. "When did you get a cat?" he asked.
Steve looked down and saw the head peeking out from under the couch, half-hidden behind Steve.
"Oh. He's, he's a stray I picked up. It... seemed like the thing to do."
Fury had already surprised Steve several times during this interview, and apparently he wasn't through yet. He leaned down and wiggled his fingers, saying, "Hey, kitty."
Steve felt the slightest pressure on his ankle as the skinny cat leaned into him for cover. Then the cat leaped up on the couch next to Steve and pressed into his thigh. Steve found himself rubbing the cat's head and dragging his fingers down the creature's fragile, ribby body. The cat leaned into him.
Fury sat up. "Probably a good thing for you to do. Lotta bullshit gets talked about cats, all that 'aloof, unfriendly' stuff. When I was a kid, my brothers and I picked up a few stray cats. They were always the friendliest pets we had. Cats are... grateful, or something. They know when they've been rescued." Fury looked sharply at Steve. "Don't call him 'Loki.'"
"Why would I call him that?" Steve spluttered.
"Because he's on your mind and you wish you'd been able to rescue him, too. Won't do you any good to torment yourself. Give him a normal cat name, like Socks, or maybe Sneakers. Yeah, Sneakers is a good name." Fury nodded to himself. "If you tell anyone about this conversation, I'll deny it and people will think you've lost it. Call me when you're ready to come back, and try not to brood about it." Fury rose to his feet, said, "Goodbye, kitty," and let himself out of the apartment.
The cat moved away from Steve. After an interval that probably represented him waiting for the coast to be clear, Loki reappeared next to Steve on the couch. He looked very slightly less panicky than he had when he first arrived, and when Steve reached over to touch his shoulder, he froze but didn't flinch away.
"Are you hungry?" Steve asked gently. "I'm pretty hungry. Let's go see what I have for us to eat."
****
It wasn't that Steve missed the maniacal supervillain he'd fought so many times, not exactly. But dying, even thought it hadn't taken, had done something to Loki, had stripped away all the complicated layers of anger and jealousy and hatred and more anger and lust for power and yet more anger, all the defensive structures that had seemed to make up the foundation of his personality.
It turned out that the actual foundation of Loki's personality was more like a gaping hole, a desperate need for... whatever it was that you needed when you had been abandoned as a baby, and taken in by custodians who figured you might come in handy one day but felt no need to get attached to you, and the only people who offered you any contact at all demanded every scrap of your self-respect in return and made you afraid of the consequences of asking for companionship.
Whatever it was you needed when you spent a thousand years watching other people love each other, and nobody ever, ever loved you.
Steve had always remembered Bucky, his childhood friend and protector, with affection and gratitude, but until now he hadn't realized just how much gratitude he should feel. Nobody should be as broken as this, no matter what he had done. It certainly changed Steve's perspective on why Loki had done some of the things he had.
The worst part wasn't the raw need, which made Loki shadow Steve's every step either as himself or as a cat. The worst part was how scared he was to admit to it. Steve started to wish he'd spend all his time in cat form, because you could pet a cat, rub it behind the ears and under the chin and massage its spine, and the cat didn't think you wanted to touch it any other way.
Because of course that had come up, it had to, as if despite Steve's sympathy and outrage there could only be one reason for Steve putting up with Loki's presence, and Loki felt it was best to get the payment out of the way as quickly as possible.
"No, you don't understand," Steve found himself saying that first night, clutching the bedclothes like a damsel in some stupid old movie, thinking, This is what it was like when he was too little to take it out on anyone else. They used to make him volunteer. "You don't have to... do anything. It's okay."
Loki looked at Steve like he really didn't understand what his host was saying, and Steve realized that of course he didn't, all he knew was that he was being rejected again, even though he had humbled himself completely, even though he'd offered instead of making Steve take him by force.
And, Jesus, maybe he was thinking now that force was how Steve preferred it, because he was looking scared again. Or maybe he thought this was going to end with him out on the streets alone, in no condition to look after himself at all.
Steve pushed back the bedclothes and got up, putting an arm around Loki and walking him gently down the hall to the foldout couch he was supposed to be sleeping on. Steve wished he had a guest room, something with a door. He supposed, though, that Loki knew Steve could break open a door any time he wanted to. Maybe locking doors was something he'd tried before this and that hadn't protected him, either.
"Okay. Listen to me," he said, keeping his voice gentle, keeping the anger out of it, because the shape he was in you'd never convince Loki the anger wasn't directed at him. "I don't want anything from you. Nothing. I like you--" because that was suddenly true, or at least he felt so much sympathy for him it might as well have been affection--"and I want to help you. You don't need to worry I'm going to make you... do anything... in return. Okay?"
"It is not shameful on this realm, for men to lie together," Loki said, as if that was the problem, as if that was all that was holding Steve back, as if he still thought there would be consequences for not letting Steve do what he assumed Steve wanted. Steve took a deep breath and reminded himself he was dealing with a thousand-year-old abused child.
"You're right, it's not," he said. At least, it wasn't now, although when Steve was growing up he'd certainly been taught differently. The world had not changed entirely for the better since he was a kid, but Steve was definitely in favour of the kinds of changes that made people safer when they were acting harmlessly like themselves. "It's not at all shameful, when the men want to be together and love each other." Because, okay, there were things Steve had believed, growing up, that had stuck. He went on, "But not all men want that from other men. I don't. All I want to do is be your friend, okay? I've had good friends who helped me when I needed them, and now it's my turn to help you. Okay?"
Loki chewed his lower lip and looked doubtful, but he nodded. Steve patted his shoulder reassuringly.
"Nobody is going to hurt you here," he said firmly. "I promise. Go to sleep." He felt less ridiculous than he would have expected, practically tucking his guest in and then ruffling his hair the way Steve's own mom used to do when he was at the stage where he found kisses embarrassing.
And then he looked down at Loki, lying rigid and still scared under the blankets, as if he knew there were nightmares waiting for him. Steve sighed again.
"Scoot over," he said quietly. Loki cast a glance at him that was a complicated mixture of fear and relief and resignation, one that turned to surprise when Steve simply lay down beside him, on top of the covers, slid an arm under and around him, and pulled the trickster against him the way he would a scared little kid. Loki moved closer without comment, and eventually fell asleep. After a little longer, Steve did, too.
He woke up the next morning with a black-and-white cat snuggled into the crook of his neck. It was purring in its sleep.
Compassion -- Part 2
Loki had been dead for two days when he appeared in Steve's kitchen, wearing the same blue track pants and gray t-shirt he'd died in.
At first, Steve thought he was hallucinating. It would have been understandable, since in the time since Loki's death he'd thought about little else, and he hadn't eaten or slept either. Coulson had sent both him and Tony, who'd actually killed the apparently-escaping prisoner, home, and had appeared later that afternoon to tell Steve he'd explained things to Fury.
Steve had the feeling Coulson knew what had happened, that Steve was the one who let Loki out, let him get away, so he wouldn't have to go back to Asgard in his brother's power. Steve hadn't known exactly how Loki, stripped of his magic, intended to escape, but he realized later that Loki, in manipulating Iron Man into killing him, had chosen the one obvious way out. It hadn't helped Steve to realize that. It hadn't helped to know he had failed Loki because there was no chance of any other outcome.
And now here he was, dead Loki, looking very much alive, black hair matted and green eyes wild as he looked around the room. Steve got up from his seat at the counter and moved hesitantly toward him.
"Loki? Is that really you?" he asked stupidly.
Loki looked at him, his expression scared and defeated. "I thought I could die," he explained. "I thought if I died..."
"But you couldn't," Steve said gently. He'd never been quite sure how much of this Asgardian thing was actual godhood, and how much was simply them being extremely powerful aliens. It still wasn't clear.
What was clear was, Loki had definitely been dead when Steve picked him up and carried him back into the Avengers' compound. He had definitely been dead when Coulson drew back the sheet so Thor could say goodbye. Steve had stayed around for that--he'd told Tony he would explain matters to Thor, and he'd explained them, all right. And if that was the last time he ever spoke to the God of Thunder, well, that was okay, too.
Loki had definitely been dead.
And now here he was, looking more than ever like a stray cat, one that had been starved and had rocks thrown at him and was hiding under the porch of the only person who set out food for him. Like one sudden move would send him streaking in a panic out into traffic.
Loki shook his head, still holding Steve's eyes. "I woke up. I was on a metal table and I was alone. I didn't know... I have nowhere to go. And you had been kind to me and I thought..." He was actually wringing his hands, long skinny fingers twisting around each other, his whole body trembling. In what sounded like a desperate effort to mimic Earthly social niceties, he added meekly, "I know I should not disturb you--"
Steve forgot about not making any sudden moves. He took two steps forward and Loki froze, closing his eyes and hunching his shoulders as though resigning himself to whatever Steve intended to do to him.
Steve hooked one arm around Loki's skinny neck and pulled the Asgardian/ Jotun/ supervillain/whatever he was toward him, laying a hand on the back of the scruffy head, his other arm coming up to wrap around Loki's torso. Loki remained rigid in surprise as Steve hugged him, although after a moment he hooked his chin over Steve's shoulder, as if that was as close as he could come to admitting the touch was welcome. At the same time, he certainly wasn't pulling away. In fact, if anything, he was cautiously leaning closer.
Perhaps it was that, the desperate reserve, the feeling that what Loki actually needed wasn't power or minions or whatever the hell Steve had always thought motivated him, that made Steve do what he did next.
Quietly, in Loki's ear, Steve said, "I am very glad you're not dead. You don't have to go anywhere until you're ready to. I'm glad you're not dead."
And felt the tension very slowly begin to leave the body he was holding. Loki reached up and hesitantly took hold of Steve's shirt, a fold in each hand, as if reluctant to push his luck by touching Steve himself but desperate to maintain the contact.
When the knock came on the door, Loki twisted loose, glanced frantically in the direction of the sound, hit the floor in the shape of a black-and-white cat, and darted under the couch. Steve started to go after him, there was a louder knock, and Steve decided he better deal with that.
"It's okay," he called, hoping Loki could still understand him. "Stay there if you want to, but nobody's going to hurt you here."
When he opened the door he certainly hoped he hadn't lied, because on the other side of the door was Nick Fury.
"Can I come in?" the director of SHIELD asked perfunctorily, already moving forward. Steve stepped out of the way, resigned. He was probably here to formally cashier Steve. What kind of job prospects were there for ex-superheroes?
Fury made directly for the living room and, without invitation, sat in the one armchair. Steve decided he didn't have to wait to be invited to sit, not in his own apartment, and walked over to the couch.
"So," said Fury. "I understand you let our prisoner go."
"Yes," Steve replied, deciding he would not give the SHIELD boss the satisfaction of hearing him make excuses.
"Want to tell me why?" Fury asked casually.
Well, as long as he was asking...
"Geneva Convention," Steve replied grimly. "He was powerless and helpless, and we were not only treating him inhumanely, we were going to hand him over to be tortured."
"What makes you think he was going to be tortured?" Fury asked.
"I saw him being tortured, okay? I participated in some of it. I joined the Army in '42 to stop that kind of thing, not to be part of it."
Fury shrugged. "Some people would say the end justifies the means," he suggested.
"I know. Hitler, for one." The two men stared at each other for a moment and then Steve asked, "So what happens now? Do I hand over my shield, or do you rip the star off my chest, or--"
"You take a little time to get your head together, and then you come back," Fury said calmly. "You're going to have to work with Thor, no way around that. There are threats to this planet that only this group can handle, and we need all of you to work together."
"I can't do that," Steve muttered.
"You think Churchill and FDR wanted to work with Joe Stalin?" Fury asked. "You don't have to like him. You don't have to be pals with him. Hell, I don't feel much like being pals with him, myself. I know what he did, and I don't like it either, but we need him, and we need you. I know why you were chosen for that super-soldier program, Rogers. You were chosen because someone knew power wouldn't corrupt you. We need that."
"And you're just going to forget I tried to let Loki go?" Steve asked.
Fury shrugged. "Might have done it myself. We had to promise him to Asgard, for diplomatic reasons, but you're absolutely right, we'd have been sending him directly into hell. That Odin guy is merciless. When I made the deal, before we actually caught Loki, I figured Thor would make sure nothing happened that would keep me awake at night. Didn't quite work out the way I expected it to." Fury shook his head, then looked down at Steve's left ankle. "When did you get a cat?" he asked.
Steve looked down and saw the head peeking out from under the couch, half-hidden behind Steve.
"Oh. He's, he's a stray I picked up. It... seemed like the thing to do."
Fury had already surprised Steve several times during this interview, and apparently he wasn't through yet. He leaned down and wiggled his fingers, saying, "Hey, kitty."
Steve felt the slightest pressure on his ankle as the skinny cat leaned into him for cover. Then the cat leaped up on the couch next to Steve and pressed into his thigh. Steve found himself rubbing the cat's head and dragging his fingers down the creature's fragile, ribby body. The cat leaned into him.
Fury sat up. "Probably a good thing for you to do. Lotta bullshit gets talked about cats, all that 'aloof, unfriendly' stuff. When I was a kid, my brothers and I picked up a few stray cats. They were always the friendliest pets we had. Cats are... grateful, or something. They know when they've been rescued." Fury looked sharply at Steve. "Don't call him 'Loki.'"
"Why would I call him that?" Steve spluttered.
"Because he's on your mind and you wish you'd been able to rescue him, too. Won't do you any good to torment yourself. Give him a normal cat name, like Socks, or maybe Sneakers. Yeah, Sneakers is a good name." Fury nodded to himself. "If you tell anyone about this conversation, I'll deny it and people will think you've lost it. Call me when you're ready to come back, and try not to brood about it." Fury rose to his feet, said, "Goodbye, kitty," and let himself out of the apartment.
The cat moved away from Steve. After an interval that probably represented him waiting for the coast to be clear, Loki reappeared next to Steve on the couch. He looked very slightly less panicky than he had when he first arrived, and when Steve reached over to touch his shoulder, he froze but didn't flinch away.
"Are you hungry?" Steve asked gently. "I'm pretty hungry. Let's go see what I have for us to eat."
****
It wasn't that Steve missed the maniacal supervillain he'd fought so many times, not exactly. But dying, even thought it hadn't taken, had done something to Loki, had stripped away all the complicated layers of anger and jealousy and hatred and more anger and lust for power and yet more anger, all the defensive structures that had seemed to make up the foundation of his personality.
It turned out that the actual foundation of Loki's personality was more like a gaping hole, a desperate need for... whatever it was that you needed when you had been abandoned as a baby, and taken in by custodians who figured you might come in handy one day but felt no need to get attached to you, and the only people who offered you any contact at all demanded every scrap of your self-respect in return and made you afraid of the consequences of asking for companionship.
Whatever it was you needed when you spent a thousand years watching other people love each other, and nobody ever, ever loved you.
Steve had always remembered Bucky, his childhood friend and protector, with affection and gratitude, but until now he hadn't realized just how much gratitude he should feel. Nobody should be as broken as this, no matter what he had done. It certainly changed Steve's perspective on why Loki had done some of the things he had.
The worst part wasn't the raw need, which made Loki shadow Steve's every step either as himself or as a cat. The worst part was how scared he was to admit to it. Steve started to wish he'd spend all his time in cat form, because you could pet a cat, rub it behind the ears and under the chin and massage its spine, and the cat didn't think you wanted to touch it any other way.
Because of course that had come up, it had to, as if despite Steve's sympathy and outrage there could only be one reason for Steve putting up with Loki's presence, and Loki felt it was best to get the payment out of the way as quickly as possible.
"No, you don't understand," Steve found himself saying that first night, clutching the bedclothes like a damsel in some stupid old movie, thinking, This is what it was like when he was too little to take it out on anyone else. They used to make him volunteer. "You don't have to... do anything. It's okay."
Loki looked at Steve like he really didn't understand what his host was saying, and Steve realized that of course he didn't, all he knew was that he was being rejected again, even though he had humbled himself completely, even though he'd offered instead of making Steve take him by force.
And, Jesus, maybe he was thinking now that force was how Steve preferred it, because he was looking scared again. Or maybe he thought this was going to end with him out on the streets alone, in no condition to look after himself at all.
Steve pushed back the bedclothes and got up, putting an arm around Loki and walking him gently down the hall to the foldout couch he was supposed to be sleeping on. Steve wished he had a guest room, something with a door. He supposed, though, that Loki knew Steve could break open a door any time he wanted to. Maybe locking doors was something he'd tried before this and that hadn't protected him, either.
"Okay. Listen to me," he said, keeping his voice gentle, keeping the anger out of it, because the shape he was in you'd never convince Loki the anger wasn't directed at him. "I don't want anything from you. Nothing. I like you--" because that was suddenly true, or at least he felt so much sympathy for him it might as well have been affection--"and I want to help you. You don't need to worry I'm going to make you... do anything... in return. Okay?"
"It is not shameful on this realm, for men to lie together," Loki said, as if that was the problem, as if that was all that was holding Steve back, as if he still thought there would be consequences for not letting Steve do what he assumed Steve wanted. Steve took a deep breath and reminded himself he was dealing with a thousand-year-old abused child.
"You're right, it's not," he said. At least, it wasn't now, although when Steve was growing up he'd certainly been taught differently. The world had not changed entirely for the better since he was a kid, but Steve was definitely in favour of the kinds of changes that made people safer when they were acting harmlessly like themselves. "It's not at all shameful, when the men want to be together and love each other." Because, okay, there were things Steve had believed, growing up, that had stuck. He went on, "But not all men want that from other men. I don't. All I want to do is be your friend, okay? I've had good friends who helped me when I needed them, and now it's my turn to help you. Okay?"
Loki chewed his lower lip and looked doubtful, but he nodded. Steve patted his shoulder reassuringly.
"Nobody is going to hurt you here," he said firmly. "I promise. Go to sleep." He felt less ridiculous than he would have expected, practically tucking his guest in and then ruffling his hair the way Steve's own mom used to do when he was at the stage where he found kisses embarrassing.
And then he looked down at Loki, lying rigid and still scared under the blankets, as if he knew there were nightmares waiting for him. Steve sighed again.
"Scoot over," he said quietly. Loki cast a glance at him that was a complicated mixture of fear and relief and resignation, one that turned to surprise when Steve simply lay down beside him, on top of the covers, slid an arm under and around him, and pulled the trickster against him the way he would a scared little kid. Loki moved closer without comment, and eventually fell asleep. After a little longer, Steve did, too.
He woke up the next morning with a black-and-white cat snuggled into the crook of his neck. It was purring in its sleep.