riverviewlogs | Words they always win, but I know I'll lose

Entry tags:

Words they always win, but I know I'll lose

who: Loki + You
what: Memoriessss
when: During October
where: Dreamscape / First person visions
warnings: Attempted suicide, will add if others come up

[ Thor and Loki ]

[ Everything in this memory is golden. The firelight that flickers across the halls, the play of shadow and warmth. Even Loki’s shadow does not seem intimidating to Thor’s boisterous yell for “Another!” as the cup smashes into the open firepit. They stand together, as close as brothers can be. Joking, laughing. Thor’s loud voice remains a direct contrast to Loki’s smooth steady tone. As a servant hands Thor his helmet, Loki watches him swallow, the only hint of nerves in his indomitable brother. Loki starts with a low tease, drawing out another chuckle and jest from Thor.

“I was being sincere!”

“You are incapable of sincerity.”

“Am I?”

“Yes!”

There is no sign that Thor’s words bother Loki. After all, Loki is perceptive. He can often read between lines. His voice is low and soft, but unwavering.

“I have waited for this day as long as you have. You’re my brother and my friend. Sometimes, I am envious. But never doubt that I love you.”

Thor clasps his hand over Loki’s neck and again, it is old jokes between them. As it has always been. ]

[ Letting Go ]

[ Sometimes it changes. Sometimes Loki loses his grip. Sometimes Thor is holding his hand and he lets go. Sometimes it is Odin . . . the variations are endless as they play on his psyche. This time, it was different. It feels fresh, like he’s seeing it for the first time. The Bifrost shatters, an explosion of every colour that all vision goes blind and it seems it will never recover. He’s screaming, or believes he is when his flailing arm connects with Gungnir and Thor grasps the other end —

— And there is Odin. The three of them, hanging off the edge of the world. He wants to cry, his face crumpling. This was it, his shame painted across Asgard in red. But this was his father. Just moments ago, Loki killed Laufey for him. Surely, surely, his father will understand. He must. He has to.

“No, Loki.”

And like that, a calm descends upon Loki’s face. Ah, it seems to say. No more lies. The wind and the Void howls but Loki can hear nothing. Thor is begging, but Loki cannot see. Slowly, his grip loosens until he releases his fingers from Gungnir.

And he falls. Until all the stars are blotted out. Loki thinks he hears Thor scream but the Void has swallowed the sound whole. ]

[ Loki and Odin ]

[ Odin’s command comes too late as Loki rests his hands on the sides of the Casket. Even with his back turned, Loki’s voice comes as a hissed whisper, full of quiet anger and confusion, ready to spill over.

“Am I cursed?”

Odin says no, claiming Loki is his son. But Loki is no longer convinced. Not longer uncertain. He turns around slowly, feeling the taint of blue skin as he walks closer. Loki carefully disassembles Odin’s words until Odin starts telling the truth. About Jotunheim and Loki. Laufeyson. Loki’s face crumbles as it goes on, barely holding onto his calm. The monster that people tell their children about at night. Finally, one feeling wins and that is rage, pure and unadulterated. Loki screams at his father, each step more threatening than the next, even as Odin falters, barely on his knees before he collapses. Loki’s expression cracks, all the anger wiped clean. He bends to reach out to his father, to ascertain his health —

— But he’s afraid and his fingers stop short. Loki is scared to touch his father, knowing the truths that were just imparted on him. After a few seconds, Loki lets his hand rest on top of his father’s, watching the quiet heave of his chest before he calls the guards in a panic. Guards, help him! Please! ]

[ Loki is crowned King ]

[ It is a beautiful chamber, golden and bright, but not overwhelmingly so. And it is a large bed that takes up the space in the room, Odin’s quiet breaths barely heard over the stillness. Loki and Frigga sit on opposite sides. Loki seems muted, dwelling on something while Frigga tells him that she asked Odin to be honest from the beginning. ”There should be no secrets in the family.” For a terse few seconds, Loki says nothing before asking, ”So why did he lie?”

Frigga’s reasoning is clear. "So that you would never feel different. You are our son. And we love you. You must know that."

Loki’s expression doesn’t change. They discuss Odin’s state as Frigga rubs the All-Father’s hand reassuringly. She advises him not to lose hope. For his father. For Thor. It is the topic of Thor that has Loki’s expression tighten, hard to read. Finally he decides to get up, walking away with purpose from the bed. It’s clear he’s had enough, that this is too much for him to discuss anymore. But his head jerks up at the sound of the doors opening. The Einhenjar stand at the entrance and bow, their hands clasped to their chest. Loki stares, stunned as one of the oldest of Asgard’s advisors stride into the room and stand in front of Loki with . . . Gungnir. He bows and Loki’s expression creases in confusion and fear before he turns to his mother.

“Thor is banished. The line of succession falls to you. Until Odin awakens, Asgard is yours.”

Loki continues to stare. He’s lost, even as he turns back to Gungnir. The advisor raises it higher but Loki does not reach for it. Does not even think to do so. The sound of crows can be heard as Loki carefully raises his head and lets the advisor deposit the spear into his open palms. His fingers curl around them loosely, a strangeness seeping into his veins.

“Make your father proud,” Frigga says with a faint bow, “My king.”

Finally, he tightens his grip on the spear, something akin to a smile, but it’s awkward and it falls flat as his eyes widen. King.

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I never feel safe.

[ It's what he lives by, what keeps him alive. Even if Loki has little interest in living, the spite and the knowledge that everyone is fooled by his death and he succeeded in keeping the throne lets him keep his head above water. For a while. He's not deluded enough to believe it will last forever. However, his attention is caught by the new memory. The Widow. Loki has always been . . . fond of her. He respects talent. ]

Is it?

[She nods, because she understands that. If not for Bucky and Steve, she's not sure that she would either. She can't help watching as the memory plays out. Back when she could hold onto her rage without worrying about the fallout.]

Yes.

[But her voice is small and soft, and it's a lie. It's not so easily dismissed as a child's tantrum; it's anger and hurt, it's caring and open vulnerability. They stand there, facing each other, tension tense and dangerous, the way that Ava's eyes are as hard and bitter as flint speaks to old wounds.

"You never came back," the girl says, the words deceptively steady for the hurt that they hide.

"No. I didn't," Natasha answers. There's no apology there, though the words are quiet in the space between them. The quiet stretches out and Ava shifts to stand on the edge of the roof, looking down at the traffic from the heights for a breath, trying to pull back that anger, but there's no place for her to go.

"You promised you would come for me, but you never did. You handed me over to SHIELD and then left me to rot," Ava says when she finally speaks again, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

"In some circles they call that growing up." Natasha is unflinching, dispassionate to a degree that's openly cruel.

"I wrote to you. I went to the Embassy and tried to cash in the paper hourglass you gave me. They turned me away. They laughed at me."

"I know. Who exactly do you think told them to?" The fury colors Ava's face, flushing her pale skin with heat, hurt and humiliation and the fact that she doesn't know how not to care about the woman who so easily twists the knife.

"But I knew no one. I was all alone in a world where no one cared. And you left me to die."

"But you didn't, did you?" Natasha doesn't even deny it, pitiless as she watches Ava. No remorse. There are lessons here, but they're as cold and cruel as the woman herself.

"Die? No, I didn't. No thanks to you." She shrugs her shoulders, looking off to the side, that anger and bitterness that can only come from caring. "I can only depend on myself."

"Exactly. You're welcome," Natasha says with a humorless twitch to her lips. In the dreamscape, Ava's blue eyes start to glow. She tries not to remember, not to feel those feelings she can't quite escape. The loneliness, the isolation, the feeling of being so unwanted by the one person that pretended to care.]

None of this matters. She doesn't even remember me here.

[She tries to shrug her shoulders like that doesn't matter, but her fingers press hard into her arms, trying to keep her emotions in check.]

[ This was the Widow? Loki could see the signs in the lines of her shoulders, the sharpness in her gaze. But this was not her, not quite. Loki had assumed Ava had direct ties to his universe, but perhaps not. Love is for children. He could almost admire the ruthlessness of her lesson. Certainly, Loki has learned from the best and she clearly took notes from similar people. ]

It matters.

[ Not to Loki and he won't pretend that it does. He's not capable of that kind of empathy, but he . . . is softer. Perhaps because he cannot deny the connection. For good or for ill, it is another thread in the noose. And Loki respects the noose. ]

Because it happened and no one will validate it.

[She sighs at his words, briefly letting her eyes look away from the display, because he's not wrong.] Yes. [She had expected derision more than anything, so there's a softness in her answer, too.] No one here really understands. How I know her, about my powers, or why I have them. I try to think of that as a good thing.

[But it's not, really. Another facet of being forgotten, but that's a bit too vulnerable to say outloud. And if there's one thing that Natasha tried to teach her it was that emotions are her weakness. But the memory continues to play, with little care for Ava's feeling on the issue. "It doesn't matter how you feel, we need to get out of here. Okay?" Natasha says, with a touch of irritation.

"Why should I do anything you say?" Ava snaps in response, sharp and angry.

"Because you can trust me." Natasha says with that edge as if she's explaining something to a small child, continually dismissive.

"Are you crazy? You're the one person I absolutely can't trust. You taught me not to trust you." Ava clings to the anger because it's easier than the hurt, but it still shines through to someone that cares enough to look.

"I taught you, not to trust anyone," Natasha corrects, with that subtle emphasis.

"And now I'm supposed to thank you for the lesson and hold your hand?" Ava's incredulous, disdainful. However much she might have called it a child's tantrum it's not quite. She might be angry, but she's never petulant, and Natasha clearly incites it. Old wounds and bad blood and not-quite siblings that don't know how to talk to each other.

"Things have changed. Now you have to listen to me. Now, you don't get a choice." Ava tenses, like there is little she hates more in all the world than being told she doesn't get a choice.

"We're in America. Here I always have a choice, сестра." There was so much venom in that word that was supposed to be a statement of family, of a shared bond. It seethes on her mouth, but Natasha hardly seems to notice.

"No, you don't. Ivan didn't die, Ava. He's here. And your name keeps coming up. He seems to have unfinished business with you. I believe that he's been looking for you for the last eight years, and he's still after you now." At that name, there's a flicker of something, some emotion, like the world slides from under her feet, but she catches herself, stands still and firm, buries herself in her anger.

"So what? Don't act like you care." It's both an accusation and a twisted sort of desire to be proven wrong.

"I never said that I did." Natasha shuts down that hope before it can even form. "But he is coming for you. That's why you need to come with me." Which is when things click into place: for Natasha this is business. Uncomfortable business, with too many loose ends and emotional connections she doesn't like, but still business. "Children are disappearing from orphanages again. And somehow this comes back to you." Ava doesn't budge and Natasha sighs, moving over to stand next to the girl. Emotions, someone who needs her to care- this clearly isn't something she's comfortable with, or even particularly good at when she can't fake it.

"If I can get through this, you can too. We're the same, remember?" There's something to those words; they mean something. It's something shared, an old trauma, and Natasha tries to use it like a code word to some sort of connection between them. Loki might see it, the way Ava's anger hardens into a momentary flash of hate. All at once she snaps; still and then she moves, leaning up and into the impact. Ava's fist into Natasha's face, sudden enough to catch the woman off balance, hard enough to snap her head to the side, to have her fall back a step. Things might have escalated, but the door opens suddenly in a crash.

As the memory dissolves there's a brief image of Natasha and Ava, same stance, like an eerie mirror, too exact to be anything but a strange reflection. There are two reasons that Ava dislikes having had this on display. The first is the vulnerability, that transparent, undisguised fact that she cares, that she wants people to care, wants to be accepted by people that have time and again done little more than shun her. The other is the anger, the rage, the bitterness. This was before she hid it, before she had to, before she'd learned to choke it down, to pretend to be smoother and more even, like she hadn't been forged in fires and anger.]

For the record, I still think she deserved it.

[No, she is not the least bit sorry.]

Edited 2017-10-13 06:28 (UTC)

The Widow has never been . . . kind. She knows what she wants to do, what she wishes to achieve. But she will not change who she is.

[ Still this was a lot of work, even for Natasha. There is an angle here, a story Loki couldn't quite put his finger on. He knew enough of Natasha's background to make a few guesses and Barton had told him everything. There is the itch to dig deeper, to tug on old wounds until all the secrets spill, but Loki was in a precarious position himself. He was rubbed raw, seeing his father again. Seeing himself as . . . a monstrosity. His other self had helped push that guise down, hidden from view but Loki knew it was close to the surface. ]

They will never understand. It is better kept from them. Let them see what they want to see and keep the rest away.

I thought she was, once. She rescued me, when I was younger.

[She's still not quite sure if that makes Natasha kind or not. There have been times where she's nearly wished that Natasha hadn't, hadn't worried about protecting her or saving her. That night had been rough, all fire and ashes and things she still couldn't entirely remember, but it's still one of the softer pieces. Softer as long as she doesn't touch what Natasha had saved her from, anyway. If she's honest she'd rather Loki had seen a scared little girl than the bitterness, the anger and hurt of just a few years ago but that still seems so small.]

It's not their life. I can't really expect them to. It makes the people from the other world almost easier.

I suppose it does.

[ Though Loki hasn't met any other Asgardians save for his other self. It would certainly more jarring to meet the other Thor or Warriors Three and Loki is glad to have avoided that pitfall. Loki doubts he could handle seeing another Thor very well. Or any other amalgamations of Asgard. ]

You would know better than I. My conversation with her was . . . brief.

[ Even if Loki knows her history, her past. ]

[There's a look there, a tilt of her head as she looks at him as he mentions his conversation with Natasha. She is capable of playing her cards closer, it's just not as easy as it is for Natasha.]

But Barton told you everything. You might not have talked to her, but you still know more about her than most.

[Her tone is careful, even with that echo of sentiment about Barton. Because there are parallels in Natasha's secrets and her own, and as much as she likes Loki more than she should, she doesn't really know how much she's willing to tell, those secrets and half-truths that crackle in the blue of her eyes.]

Edited 2017-10-16 06:43 (UTC)

[ Loki blinks. A peculiar turn of phrase, one only two people would know of. And Loki knows their conversation was, for the most part, private. Natasha had seen to that when she arrived to interrogate him. Finally, the pieces slid into place. People look at his magic as his greatest skill but it never was. Loki could do far more with a few words and he rarely guesses wrongly. ]

Not as much as you, I believe.

[She looks at him at the words, a slight shrug of her shoulders and she sighs, blue eyes looking up at him curiously. He's sharp, sees through her better than just about anyone else. Steve from her world (or almost her world; it was hard to know, to see the lines) had known because of how she fought. Loki only needed a few words.

She's trying to weigh this, figure out how to play this.]

Is that a question?

[ His lips twitch faintly. ]

I suppose it is not. Yes, you could say I know the Widow better than most. Though I doubt that is a designation she is comfortable with.

[There's a twitch of her lips.]

No, I guess not. But she's not much of a sharer. I wouldn't imagine she's particularly comfortable with anyone she doesn't choose knowing her secrets.

[Not that she really has to imagine. She's seen it aimed at herself, she's felt it, the anger and the feelings she tried to hide.]

Is she ever comfortable?

[ Both Loki and Natasha have sacrificed comfort for the sake of survival. Paranoia. The edge. Neither of them will ever truly give that up, though perhaps the longing is there all the same. ]

No.

[It's an easy answer, even if she seems a little sad for it. She knows Natasha a little too well -- her Natasha, at least, even if she's a little less aware of the differences -- to not care. She knows her pain in an intimate sort of way.]

[ Loki hums softly. ]

I imagine that leads to the way she behaves here. It is not an excuse, but merely . . . a layer.

In part. I understand it now, more than I did then.

[Which is to say, she hadn't seen Natasha back then in the same way she had by now. There's a sort of certainty to how she talks about it. These are things she's sure of, not empty suppositions.]

It doesn't really make it easier. We had too much in common for her to really forgive me.

As I said. It never gets easier.

[ Loki has learned to bury it instead of letting it get to his head. And while it never goes away, at least it no longer fully controls him. Everyone needs breathing room. Even Loki. ]

No, it doesn't. I thought it might, for a while.

[But clearly that hadn't quite worked out, in the end.]

[ Loki hums softly. ]

It is a sweet lie at the start.

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Words they always win, but I know I'll lose

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