Redemption Songs 5 - Harry/Loki - Avengers/HP

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Chapter 5

March 18th 2014. Miami, Florida.

It was silly of him to be crying, Harry knew. He had brought this on himself after all, and so he didn’t have the right to feel sorry for himself or expect pity or sympathy from anyone else. But he cried anyway, with his hands pressed over his mouth and his knees drawn up to his chest as his shoulders shook. His wedding band, the resurrection stone and the Gaunt ring that once belonged to Voldemort, that once houses a piece of his husband’s soul, was missing from his ring finger. Now, it was clutched tightly between his hands and mouth, an unforgiving bite of cold metal against trembling lips that whispered unheard apologies over and over, and over again.

Loki watched him, leaning casually against the doorframe, though the tight set of his mouth was anything but. Eileifer was sleeping, tucked up warm and safe inside of his cot, in the room Loki had decorated with magic to look like the Bifrost before Thor had destroyed it. Loki stood, half on the roof and half inside of the house, bigger than the small apartment in New York, but still with access to the roof and the stars and the sky because Harry was free when he was flying, and he watched in silence as Harry cried over the dissolution of his marriage.

“I am sorry,” Loki whispered when Harry’s hands moved, finally, to wipe away the tears on his face. “I am sorry that I ruined your marriage. That I made you stay with me.”

“Fear ruined my marriage, Loki,” Harry whispered, without looking at him. His voice was half hoarse, and he had to stop to swallow heavily half way through the sentence, but then he spoke again, surer than before and sadder all the same. “You didn’t make me do anything. I did this. Because I was afraid, when I left him I was afraid, and I stayed away out of fear, for myself and for Eileifer and then for you. And I was too afraid to go back, because he might have been angry, or I would have missed you, and because you were afraid and I didn’t want you to be. I was scared that leaving you, that leaving, would do more harm than good. No matter how much I want to go home, Loki, I don’t want to leave you behind, but I was afraid to bring you with me. I was afraid to leave without you. I did this. I’m to blame for this, not you.”

Harry turned then, looking away from the brightest star in the sky, the one that always held his attention the longest, and he glanced warmly over at Loki, eyes puffy and cheeks red. The breath caught in Loki’s throat when Harry smiled at him, wide and sad, but happy (to see him, to be with him, to know him, even at the expense of his husband). “Fear ruined my marriage, not you. And it’s ruining your life too, you know.”

Loki glanced away, heart jolting up into his throat for a moment before he managed to swallow it back down. He couldn’t argue with that; what Harry had said was true, the end part at least because Loki still believed that he was at least partly at fault for the annulment of Harry’s marriage. Fifteen years, wasted, because Loki had been too selfish to let the other man go, and his selfishness, his greed, was the fault of himself alone regardless of Harry’s fears. But yes, Loki was afraid too. He woke every morning, in his room in their Miami home, and the first thing he did, before dressing, before showering, or eating, or fully waking, was slip into Harry’s room to make sure the man had not left him in the night. And then he would check on Eileifer, the child of his heart who was not his, not really. And it was while watching the baby snuffle against his pillow in sleep, almost hungry enough to wake, but just about content enough to remain dreaming for a few minutes more, that Loki considered the sentiment bursting within his chest, swelling and consuming with every breath the child that was not his took, and he believed that niggling voice at the back of his mind, every morning without fail, that whispered that perhaps Odin had truly loved him as he had claimed.

Loki had not believed him then, after he had first discovered the truth of his parentage, nor later after he had been evicted from the throne of Asgard. Then he had been so unwilling to believe, so unable to comprehend that Odin could have loved an offspring of Laufey of Jötunheimr the same way as he had loved Thor, that Loki had chosen death instead of his continued existence of lies and never-belonging. Even after all of that, after the Chitauri and Midgard, Odin had not abandoned him, had not exiled or disowned him, regardless of what the majority of Asgard’s citizens probably wanted him to do, but Loki had still not believed his not-father. Through the torture and the pain, though all of his old family had been absent those fourteen months, Loki could remember Thor pleading for mercy on his behalf, and his mother’s anger and determination in her attempt to protect him from defilement; almost every word was seared into his brain, and though Odin called him ‘son’ even after everything Loki had done and destroyed, he had not allowed himself to believe, to trust, in the love one could feel for a child who was not their own.

But watching Eileifer until he woke from hunger, Loki understood. Little by little, with each sun that rose to Eileifer’s waking cries, and each one that set as the child slept soundly under Loki’s watch, nestled in Harry’s arms, like ice cracking and falling away, something loosened inside of Loki’s chest. Perhaps he had never been as loved as Thor had been, nor as favoured. And though he was no less insecure, or resentful of having been lied to for so long, or afraid, Loki thought of the depth of what he felt for Harry’s son, and he thought of Odin, and he knew that he had been loved nonetheless.

But this realisation made him no less afraid.

Nor any less hateful or bitter.

Loki had been afraid for those months he had lived in New York, refusing to go outside in case anyone recognized him and attacked him again. Now that they were living across the country, he had yet to walk farther from the house than the front garden, and that was only so that he could bring Eileifer to play outside on Sundays when Harry took it into his head to clean the house from top to bottom and wanted Loki and the baby out of the way. When neighbours stopped to speak to him, Loki flinched at the sounds of their voices, ducking his head down as if to hide himself behind the child he was crouched beside, or if they had already been out for long enough, he would scoop Eileifer up and rush back inside, straight to Harry who would sing softly to them both as he dusted the bookshelves and television stand and windowsills until Loki’s hands stopped trembling. It had been nine months since he had escaped from Asgard, and in those nine months only two people had been allowed to touch him: one was a child, one he loved and cherished as much as he did his own children, and the other was the man who had given up everything to help piece the shattered bits of himself back together again.

It was pathetic, somewhat, though Loki knew Harry understood his fear and his reasoning, but Loki was sick of being afraid. Sick of knowing that he was holding Harry back, his fear of other people stopped him from attending the garden parties and tea parties and book readings and bingo nights they had been invited to regularly for the past six months. Harry wouldn’t go without him, and Loki wouldn’t go at all, and so neither of them had anyone but each other for company. Harry still worked, researching and typing away on his computer, or interviewing by phone, or occasionally leaving Eileifer and Loki alone for a day so that he could fly out to interview the important people in person, and Loki watched him sometimes on TV or read his pieces in the paper and his heart ached because Harry was a people-person, and it was unfair of Loki to confine him to such a lonely existence. Harry was a person who had spent his childhood alone because everyone was too afraid to befriend him, and then when he had finally made friends he had outgrown them (or rather they had out-aged him), and now when he had the chance to start all over Loki was holding him back, keeping him caged with jealousy and fear and need.

“I am sorry,” Loki whispered again, swallowing back the guilt that threatened to choke him, and the fear that Harry might grow weary of him and leave. “Let’s move again?” He suggested, stepping forward without hesitance to grab Harry by the shoulders. Harry’s arms stayed by his sides, his ring clutched tightly in one fist and the other pressed to his pants leg to stop himself from touching Loki back. “We can start over, and I’ll try harder, I’ll make an effort. I can get a job, maybe, and make friends? Like you said before, step by step, right, and there must be colleagues if I am to experience accidental brushes and bumps from colleagues.”

“That sounds nice,” Harry said softly, a small smile pulling up the corners of his lips. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to move, and selling property through magical agents was a lot faster than doing it the Muggle way, and he didn’t really want to stay here anyway. While the house was lovely and the people were friendly, and the weather was beautiful (though uncomfortably warm in Loki’s opinion), this was the place where his old life had died and his marriage had ended and a piece of his heart had broken. But he could build a new life, and make a new home, and one day, someday, Harry would go back to Voldemort and apologise and beg for forgiveness but until then he could have this new family, because Loki appeared to be more than happy with their current arrangement.

So they moved west to New Orleans, into a nice little house near the Bayou with a garden out back and a wooden porch complete with a swing that none of them could get near. Loki’s first friend was actually an alligator that had appeared once morning stretched across the swing’s seat with its tail beating against the floorboards of the porch with every movement like a dog wagging its tail. It snapped its teeth at them if they came too close, the same way Loki flinched still when Harry moved too fast, but other than that the creature was content enough to commandeer the swing and left Harry alone to set up two rocking chairs on the other end of the porch for Loki and him. There were spells that kept the animal out of the house, and dissuaded others of its kind from following this one’s lead, but Loki rather enjoyed the idea of having a man-eating reptile as a pet, especially one that reminded him of himself: wary and volatile, but content in Harry’s presence, but no less dangerous if one forgot with what they were dealing.

After a month of trying to leave the house alone without panicking, and eventually succeeding, Loki got a job as a- chef would imply too much -chef in a small café in town that made sandwiches and soup and occasionally gumbo (once he got the recipe down). But he liked to cook, and staying in the kitchen meant he had little contact with anyone other than his boss (a portly man with a moustache and a wide smile who liked to check up on them all at least twice a day) and two of the waiters (both of whom were teenagers and happy enough to spend time together and leave Loki alone). He didn’t make any other friends, but there were the regular customers who greeted him warmly when he was in town with Harry on his days off, and there were acquaintances from Eileifer’s parent and toddler group that he and Harry took turns bringing the child to three times a fortnight. There was one colleague in particular (an older man, who worked the coffee machine the same way a mechanic might put together an engine with one hand tied behind his back, who reminded Loki of the German man who had stood against him in Stuttgart) that went out of his way to include Loki in any out of work gatherings that took place: though he never went, Loki appreciated the invitations all the same. Then there was Harry and Eileifer and their new home, and what more did he need?

XXX

May 23rd 2014. New York.

Harry’s job was a rather strange one. Sometimes he was a journalist; sometimes he was a talk show host. He was a journalist because after the war had ended he had found out he rather had a way with words. In Britain, Harry had gone into politics, proud and sure at the Dark Lord’s side, silvertongued and world weary, and in America Harry wrote articles for the Times newspaper. They started off about every day bits and pieces, the weather or crime reports or speculations regarding the scandals of famous people, and then, after a particularly unexpected run in with Captain America and some photos that had ended up on the internet, Harry got promoted to a job that was more along the lines of a talk show host his second month in the country. He’d interview people in front of cameras when they were available or over the phone when they weren’t, and both types of interviews were always available to online subscribers. Since moving to Miami, and then New Orleans, with Loki, Harry had grown used to the simple printed articles again, the ones he had started out with. Occasionally, the Times would fly him back out to New York, because certain people simply had to be caught on camera.

Tony Stark was one of those people.

Stark was larger than life, bright and brilliant, and in your face, but he had a habit of not actually answering any of your questions but no one ever realised that until they read it on paper. Unfortunately he wasn’t very fond of journalists (unless they were attractive and willing to spread their legs), but he had no problem with getting drunk and bragging the ear off of the first pretty person he met. It was a little underhanded maybe, but if the Daily Bugle could employ the only person in the State capable of catching Spiderman on camera, then the Times could catch more flies with honey- or Harry as the case may be.

They were at a fundraiser, for something or other; Harry hadn’t really paid it much mind. He was only interested in doing his job, meeting an honest to Merlin superhero with no superpowers whatsoever, getting paid and then getting back to his family. It was fortunate for him (and the Times’ lawyers) that the gala was being filmed anyway. Anything that Harry’s undercover cameraman managed to catch on tape would simply be attributed to footage from the charity organisers being leaked before editing. Harry just had to be careful and convincing, he couldn’t slip up, couldn’t ask the usual interview questions because they’d be a dead giveaway.

Instead, he ordered a scotch and asked the girl behind the bar to bring it over to the looker at the other end of the bar. “With compliments,” she giggled to Tony, handing him the drink. Tony glanced up, his eyes following her gaze back the way she had come, and he took in the dark haired man with eyes that reminded him of someone.

Tony nodded in thanks, sipping at the drink slowly. Harry raised his own glass, downed it all in one, and then slid fluidly off of his stool. Tony waited, expecting the man to come over to him, because the stranger had hit on him first and so should be following up any moment now with some cheesy come on line that Tony would scoff at and rebuff. But, no one appeared at his side, and no more drinks appeared in front of him, and when Tony asked the waitress, she didn’t even know his name. And it intrigued Tony. He had Pepper, and he loved Pepper, but a guy just hit on him and then walked away, just like that. Without doing anything, or saying anything, or wanting anything from him, and that wasn’t the way things worked, that wasn’t how his life was. Someone always wanted something from him. People chased after him. But, apparently, not this time. When Pepper came back from the bathroom, Tony’s suit jacket was still hanging over the back of the chair she had left him sitting in, and two empty glasses were on the bar beside some loose change, but Tony was gone.

“Hello Mr Stark,” Harry said softly, glancing coyly at the man from under his eyelashes. Tony had ‘caught’ him on his way to the bathroom, grabbing him by the arm and spinning Harry around until he was pinned between Tony and the wall.

“What’s your name?” Tony asked. He lowered his head, mouth parted slightly, and Tony glanced at Harry’s mouth as if debating whether or not he should kiss him, and behind them a fairly nondescript man in a loose fitting suit streamed them live from his iPhone.

“Harry.” The younger man tilted his head up, getting a better look at Tony. Stark was handsome, in a rugged way, with a goatee and messy dark hair and large soulful brown eyes. There was something on his chest, shining through the fabric of his shirt, and Harry reached out slowly to press his fingers against it. “What is that?” He knew what it was, because he had read about this man shortly after he had moved to New York, but he didn’t know what it did or how it worked or why Stark hadn’t had one of his superhero friends fix him up yet.

“It’s my heart,” Tony told him, with a sly smirk, “would you like a closer look, baby?”

“I don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate that,” Harry grinned as he spoke, looking over Tony’s shoulder at his colleague. “And anyway, if I was on Facebook, my relationship status would read it’s complicated.”

“But there is a relationship?” Stark asked, his eyebrow arching up, though he did back out of Harry’s personal space.

Harry nodded, thinking of Loki whom he had given up his life for. He had known the God for eleven months now, and though neither of them had attempted to start any sort of relationship, they cared for each other, and Harry at least loved the other in a way that he had never felt for Voldemort. Whether it was reciprocated was another matter entirely, but, because Loki was probably watching this as it happened, and he was still insecure and Harry didn’t want him thinking that he was planning to run back to Manhattan with Tony Stark, the Wizard grinned widely, looking at the camera rather than the Muggle as he said: “Well, I left my husband for him.”

Tony looked him up and down, taking in the sharp cheekbones and the brilliant green eyes that made his breath catch in his chest, and the expensive well-cut suit and the barely there curl of his hair just around his ears. “I must say, whoever he is, he’s a lucky man.” Tony clapped him lightly on the back, carefully as he does every time he makes that motion since meeting Thor (who still almost knocks him off of his feet with every pat on the shoulder). “I believe, Harry, it’s my turn to buy you a drink. That is, if you don’t mind a little flirting?”

“A little flirting never hurt anyone,” Harry agreed lightly, offering a half-smile in return for Tony’s 100-watt grin. “I’ll have a vodka if you’re buying.”

“Ice or mixer?” Tony questioned. He led Harry back to the bar with one hand on the small of the other man’s back. They took seats beside Tony’s earlier position, though his old chair was taken and his jacket was now folded up behind the bar.

“Neither, thanks,” Harry said.

“Oh it’s like that then, is it? Goody.” Tony waved over the pretty blonde girl who had given him Harry’s drink earlier. “One scotch on the rocks, and one vodka, neat. Actually, make it two of each, thanks.”

Pepper found them two hours later, Harry half-drunk and Tony nearly out of his mind. She chided them both, and Harry helped her half drag Tony to his car outside. He didn’t tell her he was a journalist, or that everything they had spoken about had been streamed online and would later be picked apart by someone else in editing and remade into a story about how fortunate it was that Harry, who had been ‘doing a piece on the fundraiser’ happened to run into Tony Stark. Harry allowed her to thank him for keeping Tony out of trouble, and feeling bad for letting Tony drink so much, he handed over a small vial of hangover remedy, figuring it would be ok to test the boundaries of the Statute of Secrecy this time because the guy hung around with Gods and science experiments on legs and legalised assassins who fought magic on a daily basis.

There hadn’t been anything in particular Harry was meant to interview Tony about; they were just supposed to talk, about anything and everything, because everyone wanted to pick apart Stark’s brain and no one ever could. So Harry talked, and Tony listened at first, and then when he was drunker, Harry couldn’t get the man to shut up. But within those two hours, the Wizard found himself growing fond of the Muggle, prideful and arrogant though he was, and beneath that as lonely and broken as Loki had been when Harry found him first, and Harry didn’t want to cause him unnecessary pain because it seemed like the man had lived through more than his fair shares worth already. So whenever the conversation took a turn for the maudlin, Harry took great pains to steer it away, avoiding topics that would surely embarrass the billionaire once he sobered up, but he laughed along with the horror stories of bad dates and failed experiments and of supervillians out of control, like Doctor Doom and the Green Goblin and Adam Warlock, and when Loki’s name was mentioned Harry sat up straighter and narrowed his eyes.

In New Orleans, with Eileifer on his lap happily sucking on his own fingers, Loki watched Harry flirt with the Man of Iron who had defeated him and the army of Chitauri. He wasn’t angry, even though he gripped the edge of the laptop with his free hand so hard his knuckles turned white, because neither of them knew each other, so it was not as if they were being friendly to punish him specifically. And Harry was working. Loki had seen Harry work before, of course, smiling and laughing with people on live television, shaking hands and hugging and kissing on cheeks, but this was different because it was Anthony fucking Stark pressing his Harry against a wall with their mouths millimetres from touching, and Iron fucking Man nuzzling drunkenly against Harry’s neck as his Harry helped him into a car, and his Harry listening attentively with narrowed eyes as Stark’s liquored tongue spewed venom against him, detailing his invasion and defeat and shame.

Loki wasn’t angry.

He was jealous, yes, because though he had no entitlements to Harry, no one else could have him either and he hated watching Stark’s hands travel across Harry’s back and he hated the way Stark’s eyes stripped Harry of his clothes, but, as always, he was also afraid. Because though he had once told Harry he was a murdered and a monster Loki had never detailed as to how and Harry had never asked. Now, there Stark was, miles away from Loki who could not stop this from happening no matter how he wished he could, and Loki feared that with every word that dripped from Stark’s tongue that Harry slipped a little further and further away from him.

XXX

May 24th 2014. New Orleans, Louisiana.

Harry was barely back in the State for two minutes before Loki appeared before him with his arms crossed angrily over his chest. Harry had apparated onto his front porch, with a small duffle-bag in one hand and copy of the footage in the other. He walked passed Leatherhead,1 stretching out one hand warily to pet the alligator’s tail before opening his front door and heading inside. Harry closed and locked the door, throwing his keys down on the table beside the umbrella stand (that he had sort of stolen from Grimmauld Place at one point because it reminded him of Tonks).

“Honey, I’m home,” Harry called, drawing out the last word until it sounded like he was singing.

Loki appeared then, in a flash of green light, wearing nothing but a tracksuit and a scowl. “There is nothing complicated about our relationship,” he informed Harry promptly, with his arms still folded across his naked chest. His hair was wet from the shower and curled at the nape of his neck, and Harry followed the water droplets with his eyes as they disappeared beneath the waist band of the trousers Loki wore.

“What relationship?” He asked stupidly, trying to think what Loki might be talking about. He glanced up at Loki’s face then, taking in the scowl and the drawn brow, and then tried desperately not to watch another droplet of water caress the distance between Loki’s left eyebrow and his jaw.

“Our relationship, of course,” Loki told him with an eye-roll. He took three steps forward, so that they mirrored the position Tony Stark had been in with him the night before; Harry backed against the wall and Loki leaning down over him, arms beside his head and eyes pinning him in place with their intensity. “This ‘Facebook’, what is it? And why does it complicate our relationship?”

Harry smiled then, warm and amused, and there was a fondness in his eyes as they met Loki’s that made the God’s heart thump heavily in his chest. “Oh,” Harry softly whispered, trying not to laugh and upset the trickster, “that relationship.”

“I do not approve of any relations with that man. He is not someone who, he, I do not wish-” Loki trailed off. He licked his lips nervously, glancing away from Harry at the sound of a baby cooing. Eileifer cooed again, and then fell silent, content to wait for his mother to come to visit in his own time. In the silence, Loki closed his eyes tightly and pulled away. “What he told you of me… it… I can explain.”

“What he told me of you was a one sided story, Loki. No one makes opinions based on one set of facts, well, no one with common sense anyway. Yeah, what he told me worried me, and I was frightened of you, for you, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Everyone makes mistakes, and everyone does bad things at some point in their life. And while whatever happened to you was horrific and should never have happened, it happened. You were punished. Not one person has the right to say you deserve to be punished further, not one person gets to stand up and say you didn’t get what you deserved, except I will, because honestly? You didn’t get what you deserved. You didn’t deserve that, you deserve so much more, so much better than that, but only you can let yourself have it. I’m here, and I’m willing to give you that, Loki. But you’ve gotta be willing to accept it, or you let them win; you let them be right about you. They bring you down to their level and they make you the monster. You gotta rise about your past, heal from it, let it guide you. Every time they pull you down, because they will, they’ll keep trying again and again to pull you down into the muck and the dirt with their kind, you gotta keep rising up.” Harry offered him a half-smirk; a quirk at one corner of his mouth.

Loki watched him speak in silence. They still stood in front of one another, Harry with his back pressed against the wall still, but Loki had moved away from him, though he kept his arms out as if to stop Harry from trying to leave. But Harry didn’t move at all. He kept his hands by his sides, arms flush to the wall, fingers gripping the edges of his suit pants to keep from reaching out touch, because Loki still didn’t like being touched.

“What goes up must come down, is that not the saying?”

Harry chuckled softly, tilting his chin up so he could look straight into Loki’s eyes. “But who says when you come down, you have to fall?”

Loki thought about it. He thought of falling from the Bifrost, and he compared himself to a dog: when dogs fell, they fell hard, as did giants because the bigger you are the harder you fall. And then he thought of cats, who always landed on their feet, twisting in mid-air and landing shocked and afraid but uninjured, and they always seemed to strut away as if they were better than you, because you had thrown them or pushed them and tried to make them fall, and they had, fallen, but they had got right back onto their feet and left you behind without retaliation because you simply hadn’t been worth it. And maybe that was what Loki should have done from the very beginning? Not retaliate. If he had let Thor’s insults and Odin’s favouritism and the Asgardian’s insults slide like water from a ducks back, he would not have tried to destroy Jötunheimr. He would not have chosen to fall from the Bifrost if he had not taken Odin’s disappointment in his actions as disappointment in himself and sought to hurt him in return. He would not have met Thanos, nor been tortured by him after his failure to overthrow the earth if he hadn’t been so willing to hurt others as he had been hurt, to destroy and burn and crumble just to prove himself better than those who cowered at his feet. And he had fallen so very far, into the abyss and the muck, brought so low by the actions of others because he was a dog, feeling too much and snapping at the jaws and pulling at his leash until he was chastised and then he stewed, snapping and biting and barking, before being put down like an animal without mercy.

But if he had been a cat, which was actually one of his other forms though he obviously shared little characteristics with the animal in particular, he could have done things different. Without the falling and the hurting.

He could have landed on his feet.

But he still could, Loki thought as he continued to watch Harry in silence. This man had picked him up off of the floor, healed him and sheltered him and asked for nothing in return. Loki gave nothing of worth back to him, not that he knew of at least and yet Harry continued to give selflessly: his husband, his son, his home and life, all shared or scarified for Loki’s happiness. Harry had heard all of the misdeeds that the Iron Man knew of, and some of those that Thor had shared with the Avengers, and he had come back with an open mind and an open heart and waited patiently without asking for Loki to share his side of the story.

So Loki told him: of Asgard and what he had done to Thor, of the Destroyer in New Mexico, and then of Jötunheimr and the Bifrost. He spoke of falling and being taken apart piece by piece by Thanos and put back together in the wrong order so that nothing made sense to him anymore except the need within him, and he hadn’t even known what he needed, but Thanos had told him it was revenge and so Loki had believed him because why shouldn’t he have? That man had saved him too. But Harry wasn’t like Thanos, and Loki made sure to say that, say it twice and then three times, because that couldn’t happen to him again, not with Harry, not now that he felt like this and was finally brave enough to admit it. And Harry agreed, told Loki that Thanos was cruel and evil and a monster, and that he was nothing like Thanos, and neither was Loki, no matter what he had wrought upon the earth or the Avengers or the people of New York. When they were finished speaking, Loki left the tear tracks on his cheeks, and he swallowed heavily, thinking of begging Sigyn to continue carrying his child and begging Odin not to send Fenrir away and feeling as desperate now as he had been then, as helpless.

“I love you,” Loki whispered, voice hoarse and shaking. He didn’t ask for anything out loud, but Harry knew. Harry heard the unspoken question, the unsaid plea. Do you love me too, Loki asked with teary green eyes, will you love me also, his jaw said with every nervous clench.

“I love you,” Harry whispered back as he brought one hand up slowly to cup Loki’s cheek. Their mouths met then, Loki darting forward fast as a viper to capture the willing mouth with his own, and they kissed as if the world was ending, with all of the desperation and need and passion that one pours into their last ever action. No more words were said, but Harry could hear the desperation in the movements of Loki’s body; wanting to press closer but afraid to touch, and Loki could hear Harry’s laughter against his mouth, happy and breathless and kissed right out of his body with tongue and teeth and mouth that took and gave and took some more. They stayed like that, kissing furiously, until Harry’s resistance slipped, and then his other hand was in Loki’s hair, not gripping, but touching and Loki jerked backwards as if he had been burned.

“Do not touch me!” He hissed, momentarily forgetting who he was with or where he was.

Harry held his hands up before him, unassuming and unthreatening and Loki took a deep breath as he tried to slow his racing heart. The warmth of Harry’s lips was searing into his own, a new sensory memory that he would never forget and that almost cancelled out the feeling of a cock forcefully pushing its way inside, sliding over his tongue, and seed down his throat. It wasn’t enough, not to forget, not completely, but it was something. It was the start of something new and beautiful, the first physical step on the road to recovery, and as Harry said, it was a matter of step by step. So Loki took another step, moving forward again and this time holding Harry’s hands against the wall with his own.

When they kissed again it was slower, calmer, but no less wonderful. Loki could taste Harry, toothpaste and coffee and magic all intermingled, and all welcomed. Loki could smell him, the comforting familiar scent slipping through his senses and through his system and he exhaled with pleasure and relief because this was no different to resting his head on Harry’s lap, or pressing both hands to the swell of Eileifer when he was still within the womb, or lying side by side on the bed after one of Loki’s nightmares while Harry sang him back to sleep. This was Harry and him, Loki and Harry, and though they were kissing, nothing had changed. He did not wish to be touched, not yet, not like this in the body he had been so badly abused in, but he knew Harry had no real need to touch him to make them happy, because they had been happy together (safe and comfortable and loved) since their first meeting eleven months ago and a little kissing would not change that.

They would remain safe and happy together, comfortable lying side by side as Harry sang and Loki drifted back to sleep, and they would curl up on the sofa together shoulders touching but no more than that until Loki reached over to brush the hair from Eileifer’s face and ended up with his cheek against Harry’s shoulder, and Loki would work in the little kitchen of the little café and occasionally talk to other people, and sometime in the months between May and October Loki forgets to flinch when Harry’s hands close over his waist while they kiss and he stops jerking away if Harry fists his hair or presses a thigh against Loki’s neglected erection. And when they have sex for the first time it is Loki’s idea, and Loki’s desire, and Harry needs no convincing because he knows Loki and understands him, and asking the God if he is sure he wants to do this would only have offended him and hurt his feelings and made him second guess himself. Falling naked onto the bed and telling Loki to do with him as she wills was the more pleasurable option, the one that made Loki feel in control and made her heart race with the thought of dominating from such a vulnerable position; of being full and used but still in charge because Harry writhed beneath her begging for more and for nothing and everything all at once until he was coming inside of her and she was screaming above him, shaking with the force of her own release, heavy chest heaving and thighs trembling. They would lay side by side afterwards, Loki turning into himself and towards Harry’s embrace, as he took down the silencing charm that kept their son from hearing them.

They were comfortable and happy and safe with one another and their relationship had only strengthened as a result of the changes within it. But that was still many months from now: though it would happen, it hadn’t happened yet.

For now, they only kissed.

XXX

August 2nd 2014. Upon the ship, ‘Ravage’, in space.

It had been some time since He had visited Asgard. With Loki’s escape, there was no reason for him to remain upon the worthless planet. But, He found in time, that it was difficult to find those who could teleport themselves at will. Loki had been the exception rather than the rule, and though he was a weakened waste of flesh, the trickster God had come in handy: his attempt to rule Midgard had been pitiful, his baser weaknesses and the sentiment he buried deep within himself was amusing and foolish in equal parts, but he had been one of the only ones who could have gotten him the Tesseract and the Infinity Gauntlet without actually needing to invade Asgard. If not for the fact that Loki had demanded the earth as payment for his ‘help’, Thanos would not have bothered sending the Chitauri there at all. Loki could have taken the Tesseract and left, activating it with his magic if he needed to, or instead using his own magic to bring himself back to Thanos’ side and then into Asgard alone.

But the God had been vain and prideful and so full of anger and deep seeded worthlessness, the need for revenge and acceptance (though he hadn’t known the meaning of it then, and he had been made to see it since, because his parents loved him and his brother loved him and a Midgardian loved him, and he was so much more than he had always believed himself to be; he could have been so much more if he had not have fallen first) and it had driven him to the point of desperation. He had demanded the earth, a planet to rule of his own, one better than Asgard or Jötunheimr, and coincidentally there was one almost on level with the Gods that contained the Tesseract. And so Thanos had sent in his army, and watched them, while seething in anger, felled by the hands of a bunch of freaks. And Loki, so worthless, so useless, that he could not even do this one thing correctly, had escaped to Asgard and escaped from Him. Or so he thought.

Loki had been useless and so, rightfully punished, and his body had proved somewhat diverting as well, He thought with a cruel chuckle. He would have kept the child Loki would have borne him, if not for the guard that lost control of himself, because it would have had claim to the Æsir throne and Loki’s powers of teleportation, all under His control. He had waited eons, risen from the ashes of his last defeat by the Guardians’ hands, and the one before that at the hands of Death herself (a lovers tiff, He remembered sometimes with fondness), patiently awaiting the chance to try again; a handful of years for a child to grow would not have upset his plans overly much. He had patience in spades, but he had detected the use of the Soul Gem upon Midgard, and with its powers in the hands of someone other than him, Thanos had found his patience waning. The Power Gem was in the hands of some Mutant, having been taken by force from one under his control already, and Thanos raged against its loss, his hand squeezing tightly around the Reality Gem, knuckles white and nails biting into his palm until blood ran the colour of his skin.

He had no more time to waste, no more patience to hold to, and it was- as they say -time to shake a leg. Thanos had plans that needed to be implemented yesterday, but it had taken him longer than expected to replace Loki. Now that he had, it was time to unleash her upon Asgard, and she should pray that she prove more useful than her predecessor did.

XXX

August 2nd 2014. Asgard.

Sigyn had spent the time since Loki’s escape living in fear of discovery. Though Frigga had taken the blame before Odin and the Council, Sigyn knew that eventually the woman would have confided in her husband, told her the truth of all things, and damned Sigyn. But no guards came for her, no one threatened her or threw dirty looks her way when she dared venture out of her rooms, but that did not help her relax any.

She spent her nights, instead of sleeping, standing beside Hela in Helheimr. The little boy that used to be at her daughter’s side had disappeared some months ago, growing, she was told, as a human upon Midgard with his new parents. Now, Hela walked with the body of a baby girl in her arms, and though she was alive she did not move or make noise or grow, but Hela had said the baby spoke to her on occasion, whispered in her mind and would continue to do so until she was reborn (because children did not belong in Hell and should never enter Valhalla before their time for that was simple cruelty).

Sigyn took her daughter at her word, uncomfortable with the planet Loki had won for her to rule, and unnerved by the dead that passed by them unseeing, and frightened by those that did see and stared and approached until Hela frightened them off. She was afraid of her daughter too, she always had been, even when she was just a babe; different and strange and so unlike anything else in Asgard that Sigyn hadn’t known what to do with her, but Loki had made good on his promise, had cared for the child alone but never stopped Sigyn from visiting when she chose to, had never forced her upon Sigyn as other husbands did their wives on Asgard. But they had been united by Loki’s suffering, and Sigyn came to her daughter nightly to ask her how he was, because she could not ask Heimdallr (who knew she had been treasonous and who knew where Loki was but committed treason himself by not saying so).

And Hela, unresentful in a way her father never could be, happy with her life and the distance between herself and her mother not affecting her in the least for she had always had her father, did not deny Sigyn the knowledge and Sigyn was thankful for that. So they spoke, and bonded a little, and Loki’s miscarried child lay silent in her sister’s arms, even after Sigyn woke and continued on with her daily routine.

It was that day, after her night spent with Hela where Sigyn was told that Loki had taken a lover (because though they had kissed multiple times, that night was the first that Loki would lie naked beside Harry and simply let him touch) fourteen months almost since his escape, that Sigyn let her guard down. She had been so happy for Loki, so pleased that he was able to move on and find happiness after the horrors he had been forced to suffer through. She had smiled at everyone, even those she was not fond of, and spoke to those who greeted her, even those she knew despised her for being Loki’s ex-wife and friend and anything at all because some people believed you were tainted by association. Sigyn hugged Amora when the woman greeted her happily, another of Loki’s exes, and a teacher of his, and a woman infatuated now with Thor, which had hurt Loki’s feeling terribly and made Sigyn hate her.

But now, she had asked after Loki, had greeted her warmly and whispered, “I know you helped him escape, but I must thank you for that, for freeing him.”

Though afraid of discovery, Sigyn had taken the thanks to heart and hugged the other woman, and it was while in her arms that Sigyn had glanced down over Amora’s shoulders and seen the knife held tightly in one hand behind her back. The knife was at her throat in the next instant and unnatural blue eyes glanced coldly at Sigyn as the woman trembled between the enchantress and the door.

“I know you know where he escaped to.” Amora continued. The steel was biting into the pale flesh of Sigyn’s throat as she fought to swallow down her fear and remember how to scream. “You will tell me where he escaped to, or I will cut the secrets from your flesh. Tell me who he went to, woman! I know he is upon Midgard, but it is such an awfully large planet with far too many of those vermin running around upon its surface. This way is faster, and,” Amora grinned, pressing the knife down harder until two drops of blood slipped from its pointed tip and drew streaks down her neck, “if you are uncooperative, this way is more fun.”

Amora was tackled from behind, thick arms around her shoulders, wrenching her away from Sigyn who screamed as the knife slipped and cut a little deeper into her skin. It wasn’t fatal, and so she sobbed lightly, with one hand pressed down hard to stem the bleeding, and she watched with wide eyes as Thor wrestled Amora onto her back with her arms pinned above her head. Frigga was at her side suddenly, a handkerchief held out hesitantly, and Sigyn took it and pressed it to her neck. But in the time it took the nymph to thank the Queen, Amora had kicked Thor away from her, fingers glowing green and eyes bright with blue and madness. Thor hit the wall hard, groaning as he slid down it onto the floor. Frigga hovered over him next, calling for the guards at the same time, and Sigyn pointed a shaking finger in the direction Amora had run off in.

The guards chased her. Later, Sigyn was told, as she huddled beside Frigga in the throne room with Odin and Thor and Heimdallr, Amora had been chased to the weapons vault. She had escaped the guards, but she had also escaped without her target.

“What was she trying to steal, All Father?” Sigyn whispered, throat bruised and bloody still though the wound had been covered in gauze and a poultice.

Odin had sighed heavily, wondering at how much he should tell her. By his side, Thor played with a ring with the dark red stone set into it. It sat upon his middle finger on his right hand, and he wore it proudly to declare himself a son of Odin, but now he twisted it as if debating whether he should pull it off and throw it away or not, and Sigyn narrowed her eyes at the sight of it. Loki had a similar one that he had worn on the same finger, though his gem had been a beautiful purple colour (the colour of royalty, Sigyn had used to tell him on the days where he was feeling lesser than Thor). She had not seen him wearing it when he was sentenced, nor when she had rescued him. She wondered if it was important, because Odin pulled a third, matching, ring from his finger, with a large white stone like an opal in it, and held it out for her to see.

“This is the ego gem,2 created by the Mad Titan the last time he had combined the six Infinity Gems with their Gauntlet. The Gauntlet and two of its original Gems used to be protected in Asgard. The other three were scattered through the nine realms, though Heimdallr has seen two of them being used upon Midgard recently, and the Titan had retained the one that was of the least use to him without the others.”

“Loki took the second with him, did he not?” Sigyn asked again, frowning when Odin nodded. “Does the Mad Titan have it?”

“No. Amora was questioning Thor about its whereabouts earlier. She would not have asked if He had been in possession of it already. Loki is safe from Thanos where he is, if they have to search here for his whereabouts; he should be left where he is, safe. But the Mad Titan is a dangerous foe, and it took a number of us to defeat him the last time he tried to raze the Yggdrasil. Asgard alone will not be able to defeat him should he manage to find the remaining Gems before we do. We do not have much hope as it is, but should he unite the Gems with their Gauntlet he will destroy all of the nine realms and we will be helpless in the face of his desires.”

Odin was not one to readily admit mistake or weakness, and for him to say this (though it was only in the company of family, despite Sigyn’s divorce and Heimdallr not being blood related) meant that he was truly afraid. Sigyn felt sick at the thought of facing something that Odin All Father was afraid of, because she was not half as brave or half as strong or half as sure as him, and if he was scared she should rightly be terrified, but she forced down the bile at the back of her throat and through the lack of air in her lungs she asked, “how can I help?”

“We must find allies. We must join together to defeat this foe before he can rise up to take any more from us.”

He had invaded Midgard, using Loki like a puppet on strings, and He had come into Asgard and overthrown the minds of the guard and the Council, and He had taken Amora and tried to steal from them, and He had tortured and defiled his brother, and Thor was sick of all of these insults against him. He was sick of being helpless and useless; sick and tired in general and he missed the easy way things used to be.

“I will ask mother to go to Alfheimr,” Sigyn offered, “they are friendly with her still, and they might offer her aid.”

Thor looked over at her, the woman who had married his brother and borne his child and left them both. But also the woman who had helped Loki when no one else had, who had gone to check on him despite Odin’s decree when no one else would dare, and who still kept her mouth shut about Loki’s escape unwilling to spill his secrets. Thor smiled at her, full and warm, his whole mouth stretching across his face, because she was the best woman (aside from his mother) that he had had the pleasure of knowing upon Asgard. “You will get on very well with the Lady Natasha,” Thor told her, “she is brave and true as well.”

Sigyn thought of protesting, claiming that she was not brave because she wasn’t. But she was offering her help despite her fear and she was willing to help because she cared for Loki still and he was happy at last and he deserved to remain as such. She didn’t think that made her brave: just a decent human being, but Thor had already turned away from her, addressing the All Father with his hammer raised as if he were making a vow to another God.

Perhaps he was, she thought, as he promised to find them help.

“I will go to Midgard,” Thor declared, “and enlist the aid of my brothers in arms there. The Avengers would surely appreciate such a challenge as this! The Mad Titan will rue the day he ever crossed us, father.”

“Go, my son, and return to us with glad tidings. I will attempt to make peace with Býleistr.”

Thor made no protest of his father’s desire to deal with the Jotnar. He had outgrown that childish hatred, and though the Jötuns were the enemies of Asgard, they were a race that could still be swept away beneath the Mad Titan’s rage, destroyed and annihilated as Loki had once attempted. Thor had stopped his brother then, and he would stop Thanos now, but the Jotnar deserved the opportunity to defend themselves, as Asgard planned to defend itself, as Midgard would too. Thor turned to Heimdallr, who had brought the Tesseract with him in its plastic and glass cage that Tony Stark had created to hold it, and he held it out towards Thor in silence.

They watched, together as one big family, though there was a member missing, as Heimdallr turned the handle at the top and pointed the Tesseract at Thor. He disappeared in a flash of blue light.

“Good luck,” Heimdallr whispered, pressing the fingers of his free hand to his lips. Sigyn copied the motion, and kept her other hand against her heart, praying for Loki.

XXX

August 2nd 2014. New York.

Tony closed the three tabs that he had open on his tablet and hung up the phone simultaneously. There was a small smirk on his face, and Bruce watched him warily from where he was sitting on the other end of the couch. The television was playing the recording of Harry’s meeting with Tony on repeat, and Natasha was watching it with narrowed eyes.

Nothing damning was said, nothing hurtful, but it was obvious to her as she watched it that the whole thing had been orchestrated. At the time even Tony had believed it to be coincidence, and then when the Time released the newspaper article about Tony Starks accidental meeting with one of their reporters the billionaire had thought nothing of it, because there had been no direct quotes from Harry, nothing but a written down version of a recording someone had taken of their private conversation.

Tony had considered sueing the paper, but Pepper had told him that there wasn’t much point. It had been a breach of privacy, yes, but the gala had been recording everyone themselves, and two news stations had been there recording the events for their networks, and nothing really bad had been shared anyway. And then Jarvis had found the recording on the internet, the entire meeting, from Harry buying him a drink, to Harry carrying him to his car, and the way Tony had pressed his lips to the back of Harry’s neck though Pepper had been standing right there thanking the stranger for his help. It was on the Times’ website, private access only, but Tony had paid for a subscription in Steve’s name and had a snoop around.

And then he had considered sueing Harry instead. But he had made himself watch the recording again, taking note of the way Harry steered the conversation away from anything remotely sentimental or embarrassing, had been kind and attentful when Tony began to feel sorry for himself, and respectful and distant when Tony hit on him again, sloppy and drunk and handsy. Harry hadn’t taken advantage of his inebriated state, and he hadn’t shoved him to the ground and stalked off in disgust either and Harry had listened and really seemed to give two fucks. He had even told Pepper to take care of Tony, while bundling the man into the car, and slipping her something that had cleared his hangover right up; take care of him, Harry had said, as if he didn’t know that that was what Pepper was paid to do anyway, he’s a good man, Harry had added with a small smile uncaring that a camera was pointed directly at his face, he deserves a good woman. Pepper had looked almost offended for a second, until Harry had smiled at her approvingly and she had puffed up in pleasure and pride and slid gracefully into the back of the car and out of the cameras view. The recording cut off, and then began again, with Harry paying for two drinks, and the waitress bringing Tony’s over to his side of the bar with complements from the handsome stranger who was staring at him with intense green eyes that reminded Tony of somebody else.

Tony had called around and searched the internet and found out as much as he could about Harry James Potter, who made no attempt to hide himself from the world (because he was hidden from the Wizards by magic and their inherent inability to adapt to technology). And when Tony set down the tablet, he picked up his private phone, ignoring the one he had been using moments ago, and he typed in a number he had just gotten off of the editor at the Times.

“Hello?” A British accent asked from the other end of the line.

“Hello, Harry. This is Tony Stark speaking.”

“Hello Tony,” Harry said softly. He didn’t sound concerned or worried, merely curious as he asked, “Why are you calling me?”

Tony clenched his bottom jaw as he considered calling Harry out, accusing him of lying and manipulating and breeching his trust. But what trust? Harry hadn’t known him, Harry had only been doing his job, and he had been a good enough person to make sure Tony got home safely and didn’t embarrass himself too much in the process. There weren’t many people like that in the world, especially not in the media or politics, and Tony knew far too many of the other kind of people to know that he was right about that. So, instead of being angry, Tony let out a little chuckle.

“Next time you’re in the State, give me a call on this number.” He winked at Bruce when the man’s mouth dropped open, because all any of the Avengers heard in the last few months was how angry Tony was at Harry, and how Harry would be sorry he had crossed him. But Tony had never really been one to get mad: even yes, but never mad. “I believe it’s your round. And you owe me a hell of a lot of drinks, Harry, for that recording, I hope you know that.”

“Scotch on the rocks, right?” Harry asked after he had finished laughing loudly. In the background a child let out a cry and then started calling for his mother.

“Right,” Tony agreed. He wondered about the child and whether he was adopted with the man Harry had been in a complicated relationship with, and whether he was envious of this or jealous or just curious.

“Then it’s a date gorgeous.” A little flirting never hurt anyone, Harry had said before, and Tony felt the corners of his lips tilt up as he flirted right back.

Thunder boomed outside, and lightning lit up the sky, turning it from bright blue to an angry shade of grey, and Tony hung up the phone feeling uncomfortable and worried. The other Avengers had appeared behind him, and together they gathered at the window that Loki had once thrown Tony out of, and they waited. After a moment, bright blue light, unnatural and blinding, filled the sky, and something landed with a heavy thump on the roof of the Avengers building. The others ran for the stairs, afraid and angry and armed, wondering if it was Loki or a Chitauri or Doom or any other number of enemies they had accumulated in the time since their formation, but it was only Thor standing with his arms outstretched in greeting and his face full of pleasure at seeing them.

“My friends!” He boomed as they walked closer to him and out on to the rooftop. “I have come to beg your aid. The world needs you once more, the universe as you know it is at stake-”

Tony cut him off with a half-grin. “Don’t worry, big guy,” he said, coming closer to bump him on the shoulder in greeting, “if we can’t save it, you can be damn well sure we’ll avenge it.” And that was all Thor needed to hear to know that they would help him. He didn’t need an agreement or an argument and they didn’t need to hear his reasons. They were friends, comrades and colleagues; they were a family, and they took care of their own.

Saving the world in the process was just a bonus.

XXX

1 Leatherhead, an alligator from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It was that, or Wally Gator (kinda like Yoggi Bear but with a man-eating reptile instead of a picnic-stealing bear.
2 Taking liberties here. The Ego Gem was, as far as I’m aware, created by Loki in the comic verse the time HE put all the gems together with the glove. Before, you know, the Avengers defeated him. Again.

Hope you all liked it. I was a bit worried about the Tony scenes, but I think they turned out ok. Let me know what you think