Lazarus Heart (Ship of Nails, Part 11)
Nov. 17th, 2020 01:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coldsongThis, of course, is the real last stand of Asgard. That knowledge is in both Thor’s eyes and Loki’s as they clasp hands, then impulsively, desperately embrace. Because Asgard is not a place, but a people, but a people need somewhere to live, and because the Allfather--once Odin, now his firstborn son--is sworn to protect the Nine. There’s nothing left that Thor hasn’t given as a sacrifice to save the Realms: his kingdom, his brother, his own broken heart.
“You shouldn’t have to do this,” Loki says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“Neither should you,” Thor says.
“We can agree to disagree on that point.” Loki smiles at him weakly. Then, slowly, in a voice almost too low to hear: “If you do see her, tell Mother I’m sorry. For all of it.”
The idea of facing either of their dead parents fills Thor’s heart with ice. For a moment, he struggles to breathe, but his arms are still around Loki and that warmth gives him a small measure of calm.
“I will,” he says, hoping the opportunity doesn’t arise. “If I see her.”
There’s a rumble of thunder overhead. Datta, Dayadhvam, Damyatta.
“It will be all right,” Loki tells him. “We will either do this or die trying.” The last thing he wants to do is to die, when he has lovers and children and friends awaiting him back home (home is not a place, but a people), but for this moment only he accepts that it is a possibility. One that he was willing to risk for the sake of his brother and the remnants of their countrymen.
“Either way,” Thor begins with dark humor, then trails off, thinking better of it.
Loki cups a hand at the nape of his neck and nudges their foreheads together. “Yes. I know.”
“I…”
“Ssh. Do not be ashamed of being in pain.”
There is a lingering look between them, another roll of distant thunder.
“You’re not actually the worst brother,” Thor says thinly, trying to smile.
Loki laughs, a burst of brightness piercing winter clouds. “When all this is over, then, I will have to step up my game.”
That’s a normal exchange between them, and it feels like enough to move forward on. Reluctantly, Thor disengages from the embrace and gives a farewell nod.
Loki watches him go, knowing that the next time they meet will be on the battlefield.
-------
The news that Rogers and Barnes will be the two going to Vormir settles in his chest like a lead weight. He does not know what the price of the Stone they seek will be; that is not something he was fully informed of, but he does know that when two sought it before, only one returned. It’s probably his fault for being here, he concludes grimly. The two who are, aside from Thor, the most warmly inclined toward him are bound to be the ones entering the worst danger.
“Stay close,” he tells them. “And be careful.” Beyond that, he is helpless to advise them.
He needs to be in space, not to retrieve a Stone, but to retrieve a friend. The transport via space-pod to Morag will only get him partway there, but he anticipates being able to complete his own journey after that. After Star-Lord, by all accounts, there will be Ravager ships and others, and Loki is perfectly capable of commandeering one.
The only trouble is a familiar face. He gives the slightest of nods to War Machine, who looks as unhappy to see him as the other Avengers did, but when his gaze meets Nebula’s, they both go still. There is history here, and neither of them relishes being reminded of it.
“Loki…?” Bucky is giving him a sharp look, and he thinks probably the man can read more into his hesitance than anyone else in the room, save Nebula herself. How many times was she assigned to his training, he wonders, having forgotten or repressed most of the details. How many times did she see his blood, hear his screams?
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, forcing the irrational part of him to silence. She is here, and she hated Thanos before he had ever heard his name.
“We’ve met before,” he says. “But that is irrelevant now.”
The opaque dark eyes of the woman are almost impossible to read, but the tension in her shoulders suggests she’s poised to defend herself. He shakes his head slightly. “What’s past is past. We are on the same side, with the same goals.”
“The same enemy, at least,” she agrees, settling subtly.
“We always had the same enemy,” he tells her. She does not smile, nor would he have expected her to, but there’s a jerky little nod of acknowledgement, and that seals their truce.
If he had known what danger awaited her, he might have spoken longer. Then again, Nebula, like Loki himself, is a personality that must be fought to a standstill before she can accept any kindness, and with far more excuse than he has for his peculiarities.
-------
He leaves them promptly on Morag. As soon as a ship can be taken, one that is not theirs or the ship their incidental quarry arrived in, he is gone. It’s 2013, years before Asgard will be emptied, years before the ship carrying its remnants comes into contact with Thanos. For a moment, the universe opens wide before him, the starry void no longer a mouth threatening to swallow him whole, but a vast expanse of possibility. He could do anything here, now, in these extra years. It would harm no one, provided he kept his appointment. He could be free out here, no burdens or fears; he could sneak into Asgard and change everything.
He could find his children and take them away where they would be safe from the oncoming catastrophe.
He’s never excelled at staying the course. Spontaneity and improvisation, reacting to curves thrown his way, that is his specialty. But soaring through the blackness, he finds himself thinking of Harley and the ship they sailed together through the night, to the very gate of Hel. It’s not every lover who’ll do something that crazy at one’s side.
He’s only been gone a few days, but he misses her, and Thor, and Ian, and the children, and suddenly it feels like a physical ache. He is, fundamentally, a very different Loki from the one who first arrived in the Nexus after being throttled to death. That Loki wanted no one, and nothing, but the power to avenge himself. Love can make a truly staggering change in a person, or a god.
Hours pass, but the coordinates he seeks are not so very far. He knows, from his trip with Harley, where the ship was shattered. It will theoretically be possible to jump through time with the PINpoint, and if he’s made his guess right, he will land in the Statesman.
If not, he’s in for a bad time.
He chuckles softly, thinking of Sigrid singing her favorite song in the cottage, sometimes practicing, sometimes trying to cheer him or one of her siblings. It’s time to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap.
So he does, tapping the button on his wrist, attempting to defy gravity.
Behind him, the stolen ship shuts down and floats in space, empty and adrift.
-------
The smell of ozone hits his nostrils at once; a good sign, because that means he is breathing. There is heat and cacophonous noise, and as his vision swims and clears, he realizes he is in the cargo hold of the Statesman. The electrical system is on fire; one of the power nodes crackles angrily less than six feet away from him. Staggering to his feet he makes a run for the hall, then pauses, taking a moment to remember where the first hull breaches occurred.
The ship rocks and trembles, hit by a blast of cannon fire, and the sudden fierce pull of air tells him what he needs to know. He scrambles, dodging sliding debris, hauling himself desperately into a utility tunnel and slamming the hatch as the chambers behind him decompress.
He moves to crawl ahead on all fours, but a prickle at the back of his neck stops him, and a moment later he realizes why. Green-gold light swells in the tunnel before him, and he finds himself face to face with a mirror image. Himself.
“Oh.” He says, and sighs. “Fuck.”
Dear Norns, but the younger Loki looks awful. So pale he is nearly bloodless, streaked with ash and blood, eyes wide and fierce with terror. And he remembers now, the elder Loki, the hull breach cutting him off from the fighting, ducking into these tunnels to get past, to find Thor or Banner or Heimdall, getting turned around in the fray.
“Explain yourself,” the younger Loki says, dagger in hand despite the closeness of the tunnel.
“Please don’t stab me in the face; I don’t fancy shapeshifting over a scar for the rest of my life.” He realizes as soon as he speaks that dark humor is the last thing his younger self needs just now, and sits back on his heels, holding up his hands. “Really. There isn’t much time.”
“I know. He’s here.” The younger says, and drops the blade, running a trembling hand over his face. “Am I hallucinating?”
“I’m real.” Half afraid of being bitten, the elder Loki reaches out and puts a hand on his counterpart’s shoulder. He remembers this, the numb terror, the way he could feel the last minutes of his life ebbing away. And he wanted so badly to get to Thor. Wanted one last chance to explain.
The younger Loki takes a shaky breath and looks him over, desperate. Looking for signs of cybernetic implants, the elder suspects. Fearing a sign that the Black Order has taken him apart and pieced him back together, the way they did Nebula. “He didn’t kill you?”
“...yes and no. I...there’s too much to explain.” And the older Loki remembers how alone he felt, going to either death or a worse fate (you will long for something as sweet as pain), how much he ached for a word of kindness.
He’s not good at compassion, least of all to himself, but he threw a wake for his alternate once. Both hands come up and he cradles his younger self’s face in his palms. “It won’t be as bad as you fear.”
Green eyes glazed with fear and unshed tears search his. “He’ll kill me?”
He nods, knowing this is the best case scenario at this point. “It’ll be quick. And something better comes after.”
The younger Loki doesn’t fully believe him; he can see that, but they are both, nevertheless, Loki. And that means they’re aware of the power of a lie, whether to manipulate or to comfort.
“Thor...?” The younger asks.
“Will live. But only if you buy his life.”
That, he can see, makes sense, and the younger Loki’s shoulders untense just a little. “Balance in all things,” he says softly, grimly.
“Go,” the elder tells him, pointing out the adjoining passage which they will both need to follow. “Hurry. Tell Thor the sun will shine on you again.”
But then, before he releases his younger self, the elder Loki pauses and kisses him gently on the forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Be brave.”
“That’s not my usual modus operandi,” the younger one says, with a bright and brittle smile, but then he nods, and drops, shifting into a gleaming green serpent. The snake is off like a shot up the corridor, and the elder Loki watches it go.
He doesn’t remember this conversation, but where he kissed his younger self, his own forehead feels warm. He wants to sit where he is and cry, layers of emotions too complicated to analyze right now rising up to choke him. But he, too, has work to do, and he steels himself to follow.
Minutes later, there is a green and golden spider that crawls onto the fallen Heimdall’s shoulder and tucks itself between his throat and his armor. Eight eyes witness once more the last moments of horror he tried so hard to forget, and for the first time he sees Thor crawl across to his own broken body and cradle him close as the ship falls apart around them.
And then they are all hurtling through the void, and into eternal light, or each into a different realm of darkness.
((Musical Inspiration))
“You shouldn’t have to do this,” Loki says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“Neither should you,” Thor says.
“We can agree to disagree on that point.” Loki smiles at him weakly. Then, slowly, in a voice almost too low to hear: “If you do see her, tell Mother I’m sorry. For all of it.”
The idea of facing either of their dead parents fills Thor’s heart with ice. For a moment, he struggles to breathe, but his arms are still around Loki and that warmth gives him a small measure of calm.
“I will,” he says, hoping the opportunity doesn’t arise. “If I see her.”
There’s a rumble of thunder overhead. Datta, Dayadhvam, Damyatta.
“It will be all right,” Loki tells him. “We will either do this or die trying.” The last thing he wants to do is to die, when he has lovers and children and friends awaiting him back home (home is not a place, but a people), but for this moment only he accepts that it is a possibility. One that he was willing to risk for the sake of his brother and the remnants of their countrymen.
“Either way,” Thor begins with dark humor, then trails off, thinking better of it.
Loki cups a hand at the nape of his neck and nudges their foreheads together. “Yes. I know.”
“I…”
“Ssh. Do not be ashamed of being in pain.”
There is a lingering look between them, another roll of distant thunder.
“You’re not actually the worst brother,” Thor says thinly, trying to smile.
Loki laughs, a burst of brightness piercing winter clouds. “When all this is over, then, I will have to step up my game.”
That’s a normal exchange between them, and it feels like enough to move forward on. Reluctantly, Thor disengages from the embrace and gives a farewell nod.
Loki watches him go, knowing that the next time they meet will be on the battlefield.
-------
The news that Rogers and Barnes will be the two going to Vormir settles in his chest like a lead weight. He does not know what the price of the Stone they seek will be; that is not something he was fully informed of, but he does know that when two sought it before, only one returned. It’s probably his fault for being here, he concludes grimly. The two who are, aside from Thor, the most warmly inclined toward him are bound to be the ones entering the worst danger.
“Stay close,” he tells them. “And be careful.” Beyond that, he is helpless to advise them.
He needs to be in space, not to retrieve a Stone, but to retrieve a friend. The transport via space-pod to Morag will only get him partway there, but he anticipates being able to complete his own journey after that. After Star-Lord, by all accounts, there will be Ravager ships and others, and Loki is perfectly capable of commandeering one.
The only trouble is a familiar face. He gives the slightest of nods to War Machine, who looks as unhappy to see him as the other Avengers did, but when his gaze meets Nebula’s, they both go still. There is history here, and neither of them relishes being reminded of it.
“Loki…?” Bucky is giving him a sharp look, and he thinks probably the man can read more into his hesitance than anyone else in the room, save Nebula herself. How many times was she assigned to his training, he wonders, having forgotten or repressed most of the details. How many times did she see his blood, hear his screams?
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, forcing the irrational part of him to silence. She is here, and she hated Thanos before he had ever heard his name.
“We’ve met before,” he says. “But that is irrelevant now.”
The opaque dark eyes of the woman are almost impossible to read, but the tension in her shoulders suggests she’s poised to defend herself. He shakes his head slightly. “What’s past is past. We are on the same side, with the same goals.”
“The same enemy, at least,” she agrees, settling subtly.
“We always had the same enemy,” he tells her. She does not smile, nor would he have expected her to, but there’s a jerky little nod of acknowledgement, and that seals their truce.
If he had known what danger awaited her, he might have spoken longer. Then again, Nebula, like Loki himself, is a personality that must be fought to a standstill before she can accept any kindness, and with far more excuse than he has for his peculiarities.
-------
He leaves them promptly on Morag. As soon as a ship can be taken, one that is not theirs or the ship their incidental quarry arrived in, he is gone. It’s 2013, years before Asgard will be emptied, years before the ship carrying its remnants comes into contact with Thanos. For a moment, the universe opens wide before him, the starry void no longer a mouth threatening to swallow him whole, but a vast expanse of possibility. He could do anything here, now, in these extra years. It would harm no one, provided he kept his appointment. He could be free out here, no burdens or fears; he could sneak into Asgard and change everything.
He could find his children and take them away where they would be safe from the oncoming catastrophe.
He’s never excelled at staying the course. Spontaneity and improvisation, reacting to curves thrown his way, that is his specialty. But soaring through the blackness, he finds himself thinking of Harley and the ship they sailed together through the night, to the very gate of Hel. It’s not every lover who’ll do something that crazy at one’s side.
He’s only been gone a few days, but he misses her, and Thor, and Ian, and the children, and suddenly it feels like a physical ache. He is, fundamentally, a very different Loki from the one who first arrived in the Nexus after being throttled to death. That Loki wanted no one, and nothing, but the power to avenge himself. Love can make a truly staggering change in a person, or a god.
Hours pass, but the coordinates he seeks are not so very far. He knows, from his trip with Harley, where the ship was shattered. It will theoretically be possible to jump through time with the PINpoint, and if he’s made his guess right, he will land in the Statesman.
If not, he’s in for a bad time.
He chuckles softly, thinking of Sigrid singing her favorite song in the cottage, sometimes practicing, sometimes trying to cheer him or one of her siblings. It’s time to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap.
So he does, tapping the button on his wrist, attempting to defy gravity.
Behind him, the stolen ship shuts down and floats in space, empty and adrift.
-------
The smell of ozone hits his nostrils at once; a good sign, because that means he is breathing. There is heat and cacophonous noise, and as his vision swims and clears, he realizes he is in the cargo hold of the Statesman. The electrical system is on fire; one of the power nodes crackles angrily less than six feet away from him. Staggering to his feet he makes a run for the hall, then pauses, taking a moment to remember where the first hull breaches occurred.
The ship rocks and trembles, hit by a blast of cannon fire, and the sudden fierce pull of air tells him what he needs to know. He scrambles, dodging sliding debris, hauling himself desperately into a utility tunnel and slamming the hatch as the chambers behind him decompress.
He moves to crawl ahead on all fours, but a prickle at the back of his neck stops him, and a moment later he realizes why. Green-gold light swells in the tunnel before him, and he finds himself face to face with a mirror image. Himself.
“Oh.” He says, and sighs. “Fuck.”
Dear Norns, but the younger Loki looks awful. So pale he is nearly bloodless, streaked with ash and blood, eyes wide and fierce with terror. And he remembers now, the elder Loki, the hull breach cutting him off from the fighting, ducking into these tunnels to get past, to find Thor or Banner or Heimdall, getting turned around in the fray.
“Explain yourself,” the younger Loki says, dagger in hand despite the closeness of the tunnel.
“Please don’t stab me in the face; I don’t fancy shapeshifting over a scar for the rest of my life.” He realizes as soon as he speaks that dark humor is the last thing his younger self needs just now, and sits back on his heels, holding up his hands. “Really. There isn’t much time.”
“I know. He’s here.” The younger says, and drops the blade, running a trembling hand over his face. “Am I hallucinating?”
“I’m real.” Half afraid of being bitten, the elder Loki reaches out and puts a hand on his counterpart’s shoulder. He remembers this, the numb terror, the way he could feel the last minutes of his life ebbing away. And he wanted so badly to get to Thor. Wanted one last chance to explain.
The younger Loki takes a shaky breath and looks him over, desperate. Looking for signs of cybernetic implants, the elder suspects. Fearing a sign that the Black Order has taken him apart and pieced him back together, the way they did Nebula. “He didn’t kill you?”
“...yes and no. I...there’s too much to explain.” And the older Loki remembers how alone he felt, going to either death or a worse fate (you will long for something as sweet as pain), how much he ached for a word of kindness.
He’s not good at compassion, least of all to himself, but he threw a wake for his alternate once. Both hands come up and he cradles his younger self’s face in his palms. “It won’t be as bad as you fear.”
Green eyes glazed with fear and unshed tears search his. “He’ll kill me?”
He nods, knowing this is the best case scenario at this point. “It’ll be quick. And something better comes after.”
The younger Loki doesn’t fully believe him; he can see that, but they are both, nevertheless, Loki. And that means they’re aware of the power of a lie, whether to manipulate or to comfort.
“Thor...?” The younger asks.
“Will live. But only if you buy his life.”
That, he can see, makes sense, and the younger Loki’s shoulders untense just a little. “Balance in all things,” he says softly, grimly.
“Go,” the elder tells him, pointing out the adjoining passage which they will both need to follow. “Hurry. Tell Thor the sun will shine on you again.”
But then, before he releases his younger self, the elder Loki pauses and kisses him gently on the forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Be brave.”
“That’s not my usual modus operandi,” the younger one says, with a bright and brittle smile, but then he nods, and drops, shifting into a gleaming green serpent. The snake is off like a shot up the corridor, and the elder Loki watches it go.
He doesn’t remember this conversation, but where he kissed his younger self, his own forehead feels warm. He wants to sit where he is and cry, layers of emotions too complicated to analyze right now rising up to choke him. But he, too, has work to do, and he steels himself to follow.
Minutes later, there is a green and golden spider that crawls onto the fallen Heimdall’s shoulder and tucks itself between his throat and his armor. Eight eyes witness once more the last moments of horror he tried so hard to forget, and for the first time he sees Thor crawl across to his own broken body and cradle him close as the ship falls apart around them.
And then they are all hurtling through the void, and into eternal light, or each into a different realm of darkness.
((Musical Inspiration))