Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There had been an early agreement between her and Loki after a spat of magical incidents; the most recent being her accidentally setting a piece of bread on fire trying to will it into toast. 

The agreement was that she was only to practice magic under his supervision. 

At first, she had been taken aback by his suggestion. He had said it such a nonchalant way, hands clasped neatly behind his back, but there had been something there; a tightness to his tone that was mirrored in the deep crease that troubled his brow. It was something that made it clear that it was less suggestion and more a commandment that had been carved in stone. A commandment that, obviously, had not gone down well with her—how could it have? There was little on this earth that could get Dora’s pulse stoked by the fires of indignation quite like an order.

The strong defiant streak that blazed within her had quickly cut through the shock. She had tried to argue with him, to tell him that surely she should be allowed to use basic skills, but he’d rebuffed her so quickly and sharply that she’d physically recoiled. 

The lines traced into his forehead had softened at that. He'd looked down at her and had sighed in that suffering way he always did, and then he'd placed a hand on her shoulder and had tried to explained it away as being simply due to the fact that he didn’t want his first and only student to come to harm—he'd even embellished it with a throwaway comment about how it would ‘ruin his reputation’. And that had seriously thrown her because, hidden behind that teasing tone, she could clearly hear the concern.

He was concerned about her. 

At the time, her chest had constricted so tight that for a second she thought she was having an asthma attack. Her hands had gone slick, clammy, and she had wormed her way out from under his hand as her mind played a particularly dangerous game of chicken with her anxiety, asking her all kinds of terrifying questions that revolved around ‘does he know?’. 

Fortunately, Loki had misread her troubled expression for pouting in a rare moment of error and had taken pity on her, explaining that it wouldn’t be forever, just until she had more control, and that had pulled her out of her spiral. 

It was okay. Everything was okay. 

He didn’t know.

At the time, she had managed to pull a weak smile on to her face, too shaken to even bother putting up more of a fight, and she had nodded at him, telling him exactly what he'd wanted to hear—that she wouldn’t use her magic unsupervised.

And, the thing is, she’d had the full intention of sticking to that agreement. Like…it made sense…right? She'd sat down later that day when most of the shock and indignation had worn off and she'd begrudgingly been able to admit that Loki had point. She didn't have control of her magic so, in a world where she tended to make things combust, or blow up, or worse, it was probably wise to have a clause that prohibited playing around with those forces. It killed her to admit it but it was a reasonable request.

It should have been easy as anything

…so how on earth had she screwed up so horrifically?

Well, it had all started that morning with a broken washing machine; an omen if there ever was one. The stupid thing kept foaming up and spewing out barrages of tiny iridescent bubbles whenever anyone used it whilst rattling about on the kitchen tiles like it was possessed. She was going to hazard a guess that one of her flatmates had mistaken washing up liquid for detergent but that was just a theory at this point as no-one had owned up yet. But, regardless, that left her with the problem of having run out of clean clothes. One of her many, many flaws was that she tended to let her laundry pile up until she had nothing left to wear, which would force her to wash every article of clothing she owned at once. 

Therefore, this washing machine situation was posing quite the problem for her.

Thankfully, after a couple of minutes of disproportionate panic and 'oh my god, what am I going to wear to that date tomorrow?', she had come up with an easy and cheap solution to her problem: the safe-house. She’d spotted a utility room of some kind attached to the kitchen one time when she'd been floating around; there had to be a functional washing machine in there somewhere. Sorted! And just to spread a bit of icing on that cake, she was actually due to meet Loki later in the evening at that very safehouse for a lesson, so the timing worked out great. She could head on over early to do a couple loads of laundry. She'd have time to bring the first wash or two back to hers to get it hung out to dry. Then she could head back over to the safehouse for their lesson, and afterwards she could take home whatever was left. She was genius!

So, she had done exactly that. 

The problem had come from the fact she had gotten quite bored whilst waiting for the second load to finish. She’d already entertained herself with some episodes of Parks and Recreation, as well as some mindless social media scrolling, but all too quickly an itch had settled into her skin that grew with intensity every second she was seated until she was forced to jump to her feet and search for something else to do.

Whilst pottering around the cramped little house in search of that something, Dora came across a door she had never seen before. She blinked a few times, concerned she was seeing things, but the door remained. She cocked her head, confused. It was an ordinary looking door—no different to any other in the building—except for the fact she was certain it had just been a wall when she’d been round for her last lesson. She tentatively reached her index finger out towards the painted white surface, half expecting it to transform and spring at her—Loki had a strange sense of humour—but no; the glossy smooth texture was tactile beneath her fingertips. It was real.

Obviously, curiosity took over at that point.

What was behind the door? 

Had Loki created a new room? …could he do that? 

The door groaned in protest as she pushed her way in to the room; apparently Loki’s magic didn’t extend to lubricating the hinges. Her hand reached out and fumbled along the scratchy painted wall for a few moments before finding the smoothness of the light panel. She switched it on, illuminating what appeared to be a supply closet. Though 'supply closet' perhaps wasn't the best descriptor for it, she thought—it didn't quite illustrate the curious absurdity of the room. Nik-naks of every kind lined the long wooden shelves that had been installed on the walls, making it by far the most interesting room in the house. She wandered over to the set nearest to her, running her finger along the varnished wood as she scanned the contents—a particularly shiny set of golden scales, a bowl of what looked like…eyes?, a spinning top that seemed to dance on its tip entirely by itself, and a book with a cover of the blackest black. Absentmindedly, Dora picked the book up and turned it over so she could see the title.

‘Necromancy and the Forbidden Rites’

In her shock, she nearly dropped the book. 

Necromancy.

...but that was

...that meant.

Oh.

And just like that, a dark idea began to whisper at the edges of her mind. It was an idea so wrong that she didn’t even dare acknowledge it—for she knew she would run away with it all too easily.

No. She couldn’t.

With that thought, she slammed the book back down on the shelf she had found it on before spinning on her heel and hastily exiting the room. 

Dora dropped herself heavily back down on the sofa in front of the television. Parks and Recreation was still playing, but she could barely even hear it. Her heart was racing and her back felt damp with sweat. She tried to force her attention back onto the show but that little dark voice in the back of her mind spat seeds of poison into her thoughts. They quickly began to take root.

What if necromancy was real? 

It couldn’t be that much out of the realm of possibility…right? She could literally create forcefields (sometimes) and move objects with her mind (well...maybe not right now, but she would eventually). She had watched Loki teleport across vast distances and bend reality at his will—he had literally folded space up somehow to create a new room in a tiny box house that all logic dictated should not fit within the geometry of it. Surely the universe wouldn’t draw the line at resurrection…

No. 

Dora shook her head as if she were trying to physically force the dark thoughts out of her mind; she couldn’t even entertain the idea. The dead couldn’t come back—they couldn’t! Every science fiction or fantasy program she had ever watched that touched on the subject provided a body of evidence as to why it never worked. 

But…what if it was that one in a million show where it did work? What if she could bring her mother back? Surely, if there was even the slimmest hint of a chance, it was worth the risk. 

…but she couldn’t. 

For one, her magic was not that developed, as Loki loved to remind her. It was just as likely that she would end up recreating the first paranormal activity movie than actually successfully bringing back her mother…if not more likely. Secondly, Loki would skin her alive. This was more than just violating his little ‘don’t practice on your own rule’, it was her literally using some dark magic to do something that perverted all laws of nature, even she, in her relatively untrained state, recognised the significance of that. 

On that subject, would the spell even work?

Dora vigorously shook her head at that thought. Of course it would work—Loki didn’t strike her as the sort to keep in his possession books that weren’t legitimate.

And what if it was actually a super easy spell? She wouldn’t know unless she properly looked at it. Just a quick glance. Loki would never know. And, if it was an easy spell, then surely that was okay? Or, at the least, not quite as big of a deal. From a certain angle, it could still be considered breaking the rules but it'd only be by a tiny, little bit. Easy spells surely don’t count.

If it worked, it could bring her mother back. 

If it didn’t…well…what was the worst that could happen? She was already miserable and lonely and sad. She couldn’t lose anything that she hadn’t already lost. Except maybe Loki.

Oh…now that was a thought. Loki wasn't exactly going to be pleased that she couldn't manage a week before disobeying him. Even in a world where she miraculously performed the spell perfectly and everything went smoothly, he was still going to be cross. So, if she did it and it went wrong...

Well, that didn't really bode well to think about, did it? If she did the spell and it failed, he would be furious. It would be the straw that broke the camel's back; he would finally decide that she was too much trouble and he would leave. He already found her bothersome enough as it was when she wasn't actively causing problems—Dora would never claim to have inherited any of his skill for observation, but even she could see how he rolled his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking.

So, what would he do if she did this? How would he react?

More importantly, did she care enough about Loki's reaction to not try at all?

The answer burst into her brain without hesitation—no—and, with it, came the tantalising tickle of hope in her gut. Never in her life had she felt so sure about something like she was about this. It could all go to hell—it probably would—but there was a miniscule chance it wouldn't. And if it worked...

That was worth the world.

Dora had rushed to her feet before the idea had truly fleshed itself out, and soon was stalking back towards the hallway. The door screeched as she yanked it open, and then once again when she slammed it shut. The next thing she knew she was back on the couch, book in hand, mumbling the ancient words of the tome beneath her breath.

She tried it once.

…and then a second time.

But nothing happened.

Confused and anxious, Dora had squatted down in front of the coffee table, clasping her hands together in front of her to stop them from shaking. She combed over the spell once again in desperate search for whatever it was she had clearly missed. She had been too focused on the page to notice the windows begin to frost over. Had she wandered over to inspect this phenomenon, she would’ve realised it was happening on the inside, not the outside, of the previously clear glass. 

Eventually, she had let out a huffy breath filled with her irritation, and it had hung in the air like smoke—now, that'd caught her attention. She had looked up just as a ghostly figure began to fade into the middle of the room, and the hairs on her arms had stood up at attention.

From there, it had all gone downhill so very quickly. 

Dora crashed heavily to the floor, scraping her elbows on the carpet as she did so. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as she tried her best to shield her head with her arms. 

WHOOSH

The cold blast of air that whipped over the back of her neck let her know that she had narrowly missed being hit by her assailant. She hesitantly lifted her head to glance up at the danger, and she just about caught sight of the faint, partially-transparent figure as it sailed through a wall. 

Now was her chance.

The young woman scrambled to her feet and made for the doorway. 

She wasn’t quick enough. 

Out of nowhere, a cold, rotting hand extended from the wall and wrapped around her throat. In her panic, she flailed and kicked as she desperately tried to pry the fingers away from her neck, but it was like putting her hand through a waterfall. Every time her hands went to make contact, they sailed straight through the one wrapped around her neck.

“Mama…please,” she gasped, clawing at a hand that she couldn’t touch. Panic was beginning to fog over the corners of her mind.

She couldn’t breathe.

The ghost of her mother continued to lift her by her throat; her tiptoes barely even brushed the worn carpet now. She spluttered some more.

“Help,” she tried to cry, but barely a squeak came out. Her airway was completely closed now.

The world began to blur at the edges. She once again tried to draw in a desperate breath but it failed, not able to get past the back of her mouth. Her chest silently convulsed as her lungs wheezed for oxygen.

She was going to die.

With that thought, something within her erupted. Her magic reared up—the panic that was consuming her made it as easy to summon as it ever had been. She raised a half-curled hand in between herself and the ghost and she pushed. The sensation rippled through the air, and the grip around her throat disappeared. The next thing she knew, she was falling the short distance back to the ground. It was all far too sudden for her to react to. Her legs gave way upon meeting the carpeted floor, and she plummeted to the ground.

Too late, did she realise that her trajectory was taking her towards the end table positioned next to the sofa. Everything was so foggy. Her head hurt and she was moving too slow. She couldn’t stop herself. The bang came first, and then pain lit up her nerve endings as her temple thwacked into the corner of the table. The world turned white. She curled up into herself, spluttering as she awaited another attack, but it never came.

Her head throbbed worse than ever; she anticipated that there would be a nasty bump there later.

It took a good few seconds for the white-hot fire of the pain to dull enough for her to open her eyes. Immediately, a wave of nausea hit her. She bit down on her lip as she tried to breathe through it (if she vomited on Loki's floor on top of all this...) and she pushed herself up onto elbows that trembled beneath her so she could look up.

Her first thought at the sight that confronted her was that she had clearly hit her head hard enough to give herself a concussion. She blinked a couple of times and furrowed her brow, as if she thought that would cause the scene in front of her to morph into something that made sense. The pale, rotting ghost was frozen in the air. Just hanging solid there as if it were a piece of laundry put out to dry—hand still out-stretched as if it were still gripping her throat. Dora felt a shiver run down her spine at that. 

What the hell had she done?

She brought her hand up to delicately touch the tender skin of her neck; even that gentle touch brought a flash of pain, making her wince. She would surely have a ring of bruises later.

The sound of the front door slamming shut reverberated around the room. 

Shit. 

Loki was here. 

Immediately, Dora launched herself to her feet. The movement proved far to much for her—the entire world swam in front of her vision and her lunch roared up in her stomach. Her hand flew out in search of something to grasp onto for balance—she found the chair-rail moulding that trimmed the room.

“Child?” Loki called out from the entryway. “Are you here already?”

The ever-present little anxious butterflies that lived in her stomach were raging angry bees now. She needed to get to Loki. There was no covering this up—not a chance—but maybe she could explain things to him; could limit the fall-out. With that thought in mind, she began to slowly trudge along the edge of the room, keeping her hand against the wall to orientate herself. 

Just a couple more feet.

“Dora?” Too late; Loki appeared in the doorway of the sitting-room. His face contorted from pleasant to alarmed so quickly that she would’ve missed it had she blinked. 

“I can explain,” Dora told him, holding the hand that wasn’t keeping her standing in front of her in an appeasing gesture.

She watched as Loki’s eyes flitted to the necromancy book she had foolishly left out on the table. His jaw tensed and he turned his head back to her, angry now. “Well, you had better get to explaining then, hadn’t you?” 

“That-“ Dora gestured to the near-translucent figure still dangling in the air. “-is my mum. I took your book. I wasn’t going to, but I just…I had to try. But I don’t think I did the spell properly because she just tried to strangle me and I just…look, I’m sorry Loki. I’ve messed up. I’ve messed up big time and-” Realising he wasn’t listening to her anymore, she trailed off. “Are you okay?”

Loki was not paying her any mind; his eyes were glued to the transparent form of her mother. Dora felt her heart sink as he took a tentative step towards the ghoul, and quiet alarm bells began to ring in her mind.

“I know you,” he said quietly, his brow knitting itself together.

“No.” Blind panic had her stumbling forwards towards him…to…what? …shoo him out of the room? …cover his eyes? …tell him he was seeing things? She didn’t know. She just knew she had to stop this. She couldn’t let him connect those particular dots—not right now. It was going to hurt enough when he washed his hands of her, not knowing who she was; it would be a million times worse if he did so knowing who she was. “You don’t know her. She died quite a while ago.”

Loki turned to look at her, his bewilderment painting itself across his face by the way of a furrowed brow and lines on his forehead. It was paler than normal.

The alarm bells were pure sirens now, wailing their warnings in her head. Oh, this was bad. Loki was going to figure it out. He was going to figure it out, and not even because she had finally been honest him but rather because he had eventually put it all together, which was infinitely worse. He was going to hate her; she’d been lying to him this whole time. He had asked her so many times to be honest with him and she had kept the secret—a pretty important secret—from him. 

Her skin felt hot and she could feel her cheeks reddening. Starting to feel panicked, she tried to take a deep breath but it hitched on a sob. 

This was all going so horribly wrong. This was all her fault. She should’ve just told him.

Oh god. He was going to hate her.

In her panic, she lost her hold on the ghost.

Chapter Text

Dora crashed down to the ground, crawling along the scratchy carpet until she found cover behind the narrow edge of the couch. Her brain was rattling inside her skull like a maraca—if she didn’t have a concussion before, she definitely had one now. She winced at a screech so wretched and shrill that it made the frosted up glass in the windows quiver dangerously.

A dazzling green light illuminated the room. 

The screeching grew louder; there was something guttural and unearthly to it. It was like tiny daggers in repeatedly being stabbed into her tender drums; it went through her like nails on a chalkboard. She tried stuffing her fingers in her ears, but it did little to help—the pressure of her fingers in her ear canal maybe even made it worse. The pounding was thudding and heavy now, and she was certain that her brain was about to start leaking out through her ears. She curled up tighter in her hiding spot, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Then it stopped.

Dora waited a few seconds with baited breath, balled so tense that her chest hurt, but all she was met with was the ticking of the clock on the wall. Bewildered, she opened her eyes, peering around the couch just in time to see Loki slump back against the wall. He was panting and was hunched over with one hand braced against his knee.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, eyes flicking over to her, so sudden that she hadn't properly realised he was talking to her. Her ears were ringing and her head felt like liquid. She slumped back against the side of the couch, completely spent, and reached a shaky hand up to touch the tender skin around her neck from where her mother had attempted to strangle her.

What the hell had she done?

The burning sensation that precipitated tears flared up behind her eyes, and she could feel her bottom lip start to tremble. She bit down on it; the flare of pain it brought did little to help. Her thoughts were spinning around her head at full speed, far too fast for her to grasp on to one, so horribly disorientating that she was forced to reach up and grab onto the arm of the couch just to anchor herself to something solid. 

“Child, look at me.” Loki’s clear voice cut through her panic, bringing her back to the here and now. She lifted her head to look at him, meeting a pale face that was as blank as ever—his true feelings hidden behind a mask. “Are you hurt?” 

For a second she just looked it him—his figure was weirdly fuzzy around the edges, and everything felt so sluggish and off-kilter. She knew he was saying something but she couldn’t quite make sense of the words; it was like it was still buffering in her mind. She went to speak, to ask him to repeat himself, but her vocal cords seized and her throat tightened. 

“My throat hurts,” she rasped, gesturing towards the area that was growing increasingly sore.

The next thing she knew, Loki’s face was right in front of hers. His fingers reached down and gently—ever so gently—traced along the damaged skin of her neck where her mother’s hand had been. The irony was not lost on her. She hissed when he came into contact with a particularly sore spot, but it quickly melted away into a gentle warming sensation that lingered even once he withdrew his fingers. She brought her own hand up to her neck and was surprised to find that it no longer hurt. She looked to Loki in question.

“It isn’t healed. I’ve merely taken away the worst of the pain and done what I can to hamper the swelling, lest you suffocate. It’s the best I can do. The healing arts were always more my moth-…” he choked on that before catching and correcting himself. “The healing arts are not my particular specialty.”

Not for the first time that day, Dora found herself at a loss for words; that was an open display of kindness—of concern—and it made her blood run both warm and cold. She was playing such a dangerous game here. It had been incredibly short-sighted of her to bring her mother into the picture. 

Speaking of her mother, Dora looked around tightly, tension still deeply knotted in her shoulders. “Is she…gone?”

“No, it’s around here somewhere. I’ve reinforced the wards on the house as best I can but malevolent spirits such as those are slippery little things. They always find a way back in.” Loki pursed his lips, as if he were taking personal offence at that fact.

“She’s outside?” At Loki’s quick nod, she felt her heart stutter on a beat. She staggered to her feet. Her vision blurred from the action, but she fought through it. She had to. If anything happened… “No! We have to go stop her. What if she hurts someone? What if someone hurts her?”

“You conjured it; you are its focus. It won’t stray far enough to cause trouble,” Loki replied as he too rose to his feet. 

No, no, no—that wasn’t good enough. There was no way he could be sure. Her mother was the most perfect, amazing person in the world and she would be absolutely devastated if she found out that she hurt someone in her current state. “But what if she does?”

“Dora-“ Loki began but Dora cut him off. 

“No, you don’t understand!” She started to wring her hands together. The frantic energy that burned through her was getting too much now. 

“No, right now-“ 

“I have to do something. I have to help her!”

“You’ve done enough!” Loki raised his voice for the first time in the confrontation.

Dora flinched and shrunk away at the volume. Turning her head away from him, she began to stammer. “I-…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I-“

“What in the nine realms were you thinking?” Loki was on a roll now. He snatched up the book from the coffee table and waved it in front of her. “Necromancy. Of all the stupid, foolish, idiotic things you could do…well…you have exceeded my expectations tonight. Do you have any idea what you could have brought through?”

“I didn’t think—“ Dora scrambled to explain but she was interrupted by the angry man in front of her.

“Yes, I’m aware that you didn’t think. This was not the act of a person that had thought things through. For Odin’s sake, Dora. I gave you one rule. One.” He emphasised that by holding up a shaking forefinger. “And you couldn’t even follow that.”

“I just wanted to see her again!” Dora cried, wrapping her arms around herself as she drew in a shaky breath. “Just one last time. I had to try, Loki. I had to. But, I swear that I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear. I don’t even know how this happened—I followed the instructions perfectly—and…and…” Her voice hitched on a sob. “…I’m sorry, Loki. I just had to try. She’s my mum.”  

At that, the angry lines that had been etched into his forehead smoothed out. Loki watched her with intense eyes for a good long moment, as if he were trying to see through her, but then he sighed and ran a hand through his long hair. When he spoke, it was with such a weary tone that Dora was forced to look at him. “Necromancy is an art that not even I practice. It is so very volatile—dangerous at the best of times. You can never truly be sure what you are going to bring through. Rarely will it be what you expect.”

“It looks like my mum,” said Dora.

“Malevolent spirits can take many forms,” Loki replied

“But it looks like her,” she insisted.

“It isn’t your mother, Dora. It might be her form but whatever you’ve pulled through to inhabit it is something else entirely. It would kill you without an ounce of regret if it got the chance—does that sound much like your mother to you?” Loki exhaled deeply at the end of that, physically deflating.

“No,” answered Dora. Even she could hear how small and meek her voice sounded but she daren’t speak any louder. It would make it real. “But I just wanted one day with her, Loki. There has to be something.” 

“I’m sorry, child. I truly am,” said Loki with a solemn shake of his head, “but there is nothing to be done.”

The breath rushed out from her chest at that. It felt like something heavy had thumped into her, leaving her winded and wounded. She was speechless; her mind was scrambling to catch up with what was going on and she just stood there waiting for it to process. When it did, it came with the absolutely heartbreaking realisation that it was all over. This had been her only chance to try and see her mother again and she had failed. Her mum was gone. She would never see her bright smile that lit up every room, would never again see those deep-set brown eyes that were warm as a hearth, or her bushy mahogany hair that was so much like her own. 

It felt like she had lost her all over again.

Her eyes stung so she balled her fists up to distract herself. This wasn’t fair. No, this was beyond 'not fair', this was cruel. She had thought it had been fate when she’d found that book in Loki’s storage closet. She’d thought the Universe was giving her a sign, giving her another chance, but instead all it wanted to do was dangle hope in front of her on a line just snatch it away before she could reel it in. For what reason—to see her cry? …to see her scream? …to see her break?

“For the record, I really do wish the spell had worked for you,” said Loki, and Dora’s head flicked to look at him for his tone was so heavy and loaded with something that it left her with the strong conclusion that he had lost someone too. She could feel his pain as if it were some tangible thing that he had put out into the universe. 

Her face felt warm and the world grew even more blurry around the edges. She felt herself sway dangerously on the spot, rocking from side to side on shaking legs. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realised that she was going to fall, but she didn’t care. Her head was really hurting now, and it was all too much.

“Woah…woah!” Loki exclaimed as he reached out and coiled a hand around her bicep to steady her. “What’s wrong?” 

Dora grimaced at his loudness—why was everything so loud? And why were the lights so bright? “My head hurts.”

“Did you perhaps hit it at any point?” Loki asked with a frown.

“Yeah…on the table,” said Dora as she pointed to the spot on her temple that was hidden by her frizzy curls. “It really hurts, Loki.”

Loki was knelt down and directly in front of her again, brushing her curls away from her head. She winced when his hand came across an extremely tender spot. She heard him exhale tightly. “You stupid child. I asked you if you were hurt. You failed to mention this.”

“Too loud. It hurts.”

“Alright, alright, stop your mewling,” Loki said as he delicately placed his hand over the growing bump. She could feel a gentle warmth emanating from his palm. “I can take the pain away but I can’t do anything for a concussion. Brain injuries are tremendously complex; I could make things much worse.”

Without thinking, Dora leant into the warm touch. She mumbled, “That’s okay. Thanks."

“Any other injuries that you would like to mention?” Loki asked, leaving his hand on her temple for a couple of seconds longer than necessary.

“I think I skinned my elbows.” 

“Oh, darling.” Loki replied mockingly. He removed his hand from her head and rose back to his full height, grabbing the spell book from the coffee table as he did so. “However will you survive?”

“They sting,” she protested, bringing her elbows up to show him. She went to take a step towards him, but she wavered ever-so-slightly. 

Loki sighed and looked to the sky like a man looking for religion. When he looked back to her, it was with an exasperated expression. “Perhaps we should focus on sorting out your head before you drop. I believe ice is the recommended treatment for your delicate little skulls.”

“That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” said Dora.

Loki ushered her into the kitchen, having to grab her by the arm several times to stop her from toppling over. 

“Let’s get you up here.” Loki easily lifted her onto the kitchen counter space as if she weighed little more than a feather. He pointed a finger at her and added, “Stay.”

The man began rooting through the freezer drawers, wrenching them open and slamming them shut in a way that made her head start to throb again.

“You’re being too loud,” she told him.

“You’re too loud,” Loki threw back at her, not even turning around.

A second later, a projectile came flying through the air towards her, narrowly avoiding hitting her head. It crashed into the overhead cupboard beside her. Dora reached out and plucked it from the air just before it dropped to the ground. The bag was cold in her hands. She turned it over and realised it was a pack of frozen peas.

“Hey!” she protested as she put the bag to the wounded spot on her head, “You could’ve hit me!”

Loki looked over his shoulder with a blank, unapologetic face and said, “Oh no. Sorry.” 

Dora stuck her tongue out at him, but he didn’t notice. He had already turned his back to her and was riffling through the drawers in search of something. 

“Ah,” Loki exclaimed as he opened a drawer. From it, he pulled over a forest green bag about the size of a fanny pack with a giant white plus symbol on the front of it. “This should do fine.” 

He came back around the counter so he was by her side again, unzipping the bag as he did so. From it, he pulled out a couple of small square packets of what looked like antiseptic wipes, as well as a pack of butterfly strips. 

“This is going to sting a little.” He ripped open the first pack of antiseptic wipes. One hand reached out to grab her chin to tilt it up and to the side, the other began dabbing at the bump on her forehead gently. So gently. 

The alcohol began to soak into the wound. Dora gritted her teeth in anticipation of the pain, but it never came. She could feel the tiniest stinging feeling—more a warmth than anything else—but no more than that. She tried to turn her head back to him but he held firm.

“Hold still,” he told her as he continued to dab at the wound. “I’m almost done.”

Her stomach churned uncomfortably. It was such a paternalistic display—him patching her up—that it made her heart ache and yearn for something she had never really known. 

She needed to take her mind of her thoughts, so she asked the first question that came to mind, “How do you know first aid?”

Loki smirked and tilted his head down, looking unusually abashed. “You are hardly the first unfortunate being that I’ve had to patch up.”

“Really?” she asked; it sounded like there was a story there.

“My brother.” His attention was back on her wound now, and the smile was slowly sliding off of his face. “When we were children, he always used to sneak out and run off head-first into whatever foolhardy adventure caught his fancy. Then he would return home, and I would have to tend his wounds. He couldn’t exactly go to the healers, because then he would be found out.” His eyes flashed to hers for a fraction of a second. “You remind me of him sometimes.”

It took everything in her not to just tell him then and there.

Loki cleared his throat and looked away from her, blinking far too many times for it to be normal. “Now just to seal the wound,” he told her, pulling a smile on to his face that didn’t reach his eyes.

Dora winced as he pulled the skin of the gaping wound taut together and used the butterfly strips to close it up. The pain when he touched the split surface wasn’t anywhere near what she had been anticipating; the stinging of the antiseptic wipe had barely even registered. She really needed to get that pain-blocking spell from him. 

Assuming, that was, that he would ever be willing to teach her anything again.

Now that was a sobering thought.

“There we go,” Loki exclaimed proudly, as if he had impressed even himself. “I can’t say it’s my best work, but it should prevent it from scarring too badly.” 

With one last proud little nod of his head, he turned his attention away from her and began pouring through the spell book that he had placed on the kitchen counter, his face morphing into one of uber concentration. Dora felt her throat tighten and, for a second, she thought his magic was failing and that her trachea was starting to swell up. She swallowed heavily from the discomfort and she felt the lump in her throat shift and her bottom lip start to tremble.

Oh…she understood now. 

This had always been her mother’s territory. She had been the most adventurous of children—climbing trees, hopping rivers, playing on rope swings—and she had come home many a time with her fair share of bumps and scratches. Sitting here, right now, up on the kitchen countertop being patched up by her father was so agonisingly bittersweet, because it showed her what could lie ahead as well as reminded her of what she had lost.

A treacherous tear hung heavily on the edge of her eyelash. She went to swipe it away, hoping to catch it before Loki saw, but it defiantly launched itself free and began rolling down her cheek. The next thing she knew another had joined it. And another. And another. And now she was openly crying. Hastily, she pulled her sleeve down over her hand and then rubbed it across her face. She didn’t want Loki to look up and see her weeping like a child. It would either prompt questions that she didn’t want to answer, or he would say nothing and then it’d just be awkward.

“Did you perform the spell exactly like it is in the book?” Loki asked her without lifting his head.

“Y-yeah.” Dora knew that the wetness to her voice had given her away.

As expected, he looked up at her, but if he noticed the shiny quality to her eyes or puffiness of her lids he didn’t comment on it. He fixed her with a look and asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, more assuredly this time.

“Well at least there’s that,” he muttered, flipping through the pages at such a speed that she was sure he couldn’t be properly reading it. However, he clearly had as a few seconds later, he shut the book and announced, “There is no reversal spell in here. Apparently, I am going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.” He clenched his jaw as he looked towards the hallway that adjourned the kitchen and then took in a sharp breath and nodded to himself, seemingly having decided on something. He snapped a finger at her and said, “Be useful and run to the storage room. I need you to grab me a maroon book. It doesn’t have a title or any text on the cover. It should be on the right hand side. Third shelf up.”

“On it,” Dora exclaimed as she slid down from the counter, happy to finally be helpful.

“Dora?” Loki called after her. Once she had turned back to look at him, he levelled her with a firm stare. “Do not be tempted to let your eyes wander. And on that matter, if you ever steal from me again, you will regret it. Do I make myself clear?”

A rose flush painted itself across her cheeks at the censure. Whilst she disagreed with the assertation that the had stolen the book from him (if he didn't want her to borrow things, he shouldn't just leave them out), she wasn’t foolish enough to argue that particular point with him right now—not when she was quite clearly on thin ice—so instead, she simply ducked her head and nodded.

“I want a verbal response,” Loki said, not satisfied. “And you will look at me when you do so.”

Damn demanding gods.

With a sigh, she lifted her head up. Meeting his eyes was hard; both from the knowledge that she would find disappointment there and the guilt that came from the fact she was still desperately hiding things from him. “I understand. I-…I’m sorry, Loki.”

He inclined his head towards the corridor and said, “Go on then.” 

Dora scuttled away before he could say anything else; though she had a very strong feeling that that little telling off there would not be the end of it. She wasn’t particularly good at reading people, but even she could feel his tenseness—could see how he kept clenching his jaw. The anger was still there, below the surface. Yes, there would undoubtedly be repercussions to her foolishness. She could only hope that they did not consist of him denouncing her and giving up on her training—leaving her.

Anything would be better than that.

Chapter Text

Loki had not expected his day to take such a turn. 

When he had awoken in the morning, it had been to a bright New York day. He had started his day in the usual fashion. He had made himself a coffee and had enjoyed it thoroughly. He’d wound up Thor, this time by enchanting his pop-tarts—giving them arms and legs and a strong will to try and escape. He’d then spent the next 30 minutes covertly watching his brother chase them whilst he relished in his second coffee. 

It had been a wonderful start to his day. 

The remainder of his morning had consisted of training, more annoying Thor, dodging the Spider, annoying Stark, and then he’d retired to one of the many studies to work through the kinks in a particularly difficult spell he had designed. If it worked, it would serve as part of a defensive system for Midgard that the Avengers had been tasked with. The idea was that it would charge the outer layer of atmosphere so that it would repel any would-be invaders, providing a forcefield of sorts. That was assuming he could get it to work.

Once the clock marked that the morning was over, Loki had yawned and forced himself away from the desk. It was evening time in England now, meaning that the mortal girl would be heading to meet him soon, and he wanted to head over a little early so he could get in some light reading. He never got the chance to read for pleasure in the compound; the second he picked up a book that wasn’t related to his work, there came some form of interruption—he was starting to think someone had cursed him.

So he’d whisked himself over to London—to an alleyway just by a local patisserie that had recently stolen his heart. There he’d obtained more than a few of his preferred pastries. His mother would’ve slapped him had she been around to see; he’d always had an outrageous sweet-tooth. 

That thought had made his shoulders deflate. Whilst he was still oh-so angry with her for participating in the lie—she should’ve told him—his heart still clenched painfully whenever he thought of her. She had been all he’d had. The only person that had ever truly loved him. And now she was gone. 

And he was alone.

His emotions were still far too complex and raw for him to know how to deal with that.

From the patisserie, he had decided to walk on over to the safe house from which he was operating. It wasn’t far and the cool winter air was soothing to him. He preferred not to think too much on the why of that. 

He’d bounded up the stairs in front of the narrow building, his feet crunching satisfyingly on the frost-covered leaves that covered the lower steps. Then, s he was about to wave his hand in front of the door to unlock it, he paused.

The lights were already on.

The girl must’ve decided to head over early. 

He sighed loudly to himself—there went his reading time. He then waved the latch unlocked and pushed the heavy oak door open and walked into a scene of pure chaos: upturned furniture, a pale near-translucent figure suspended in the middle of the living room, and his pupil shaking in the corner like a little rat-dog.

Of all the ridiculous, brazen, foolish things she could do, she had to pick necromancy. 

Necromancy! 

He had always known his student would rebel against the rules a bit—after all, he himself had when similar restraints had been imposed on him in his own childhood—but this was beyond what he could have ever imagined. He had expected her to flaunt the rules a little, not burn them on a pyre and dance in the ashes. 

Loki had wanted to wring the girl’s neck like a towel—to curse her and send her packing—but then she gave him the sob story about her sad childhood, and she had spluttered through her tears, and ‘oh, how she missed her mother’, and Loki had felt the ice inside of him thaw. For he was intimately familiar with that particular pain.

And then, to make the situation even more peculiar, he recognised the woman—Dora’s mother—somehow. He had walked into the room and seen her ghost suspended in the air and the tendrils of a lost memory had flashed before his eyes but, before he could grasp a hold of it, it was gone…like sand through his fingers.

Now, Loki liked to think he was a smart man, but he knew he was an observant one, and he couldn’t deny that what he thus far had observed made him uneasy. The child had gone to extreme lengths at every opportunity to try and hide her identify from him. She had dabbled in half-truths and hyperbole in the hope of trying to lose him in her words. And now he was presented with a woman—the girl’s mother—that he apparently knew from somewhere. What was he to make of that?

He didn’t have very long to ponder on that particular mystery as a loud crash and a shriek came from the direction he’d sent the child

“Loki!” He was already launching himself out of his seat at the small kitchen table. It clattered loudly as it hit the tiled floor, but he paid it no mind. “Loki, help!”

In the hallway, Loki was presented with a most unpleasant scene. 

The girl had the maroon book he had requested—his mother’s own personal grimoire—in one hand. The other was preoccupied holding up a golden shield that flickered in warning as the ghostly form of her mother crashed into it repeatedly like a rabid dog gone wild.

Well…he supposed he should be somewhat happy that she could finally bring up a shield that didn’t collapse at the first sign of impact.

Loki threw a hand out and the apparition was sent hurtling through the air, back outside of the wards. A quick pulse of his magic revealed that his actions wouldn’t buy them much time at all; the creature had slashed through his warding like it were tissue paper. He extended his other arm towards the girl. “Child, here. Now.” 

She did not need any further prompting and scurried over to him. 

“The wards are failing,” he told her, pushing the girl behind him. “Stay behind me.”

A screeching wail was all that warned him. The sheer figure whooshed back in, phasing through the front door like it wasn’t there. Loki delicately placed his thumbs and forefingers together so that they were touching in a diamond shape and summoned his magic. A path of gold etched itself along the outline of the shape his fingers created. He pushed the glowing diamond forwards. It grew and began to slowly spin. 

By the time it reached the ghoul, it was the size of a small car. It got caught on the edge of the ghoulish figure and hooked around it, encasing the thing. The speed of the spinning increased until it was barely visible, just a strobing light. But it did what it needed. It had imprisoned her in that space. For now.

 He held a hand towards the girl and firmly commanded, “The book.” 

She slapped it into his hand without hesitation. Loki quickly turned his attention to the book, thumbing through it as he desperately looked for the spell. He knew there had to be one; his mother had encountered such creatures several times before. She had to have a way to get rid of them.

There.

The spell was a banishing spell—designed to get rid of any unwanted spirits. He breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping with the action.

His skin itched with the sensation of being watched. Slowly, he turned his head towards Dora, his brows raised in question. She immediately looked away from him, her eyes moving over to the pale ghostly figure caught in his trap. And there it was…that feeling was back—that unsettling feeling that obnoxiously screamed that he was missing something. He followed Dora’s gaze to the ghost. Again, familiarity hit him.

Why was she so familiar?

He took a step forwards. Dora’s head swished back to him in with such an astonishing speed—he registered the movement only out of the corner of his eye. His attention was fixed on the dark-skinned woman ahead of him. He was close now—he could feel it. The tugging in his gut—the Deja Vu—grew stronger.  

When it came to him, it came in flashes. 

He remembered the silkiness of her voice as she came to introduce herself to him. He remembered the way she swayed with the music in that dark room—he could practically feel the pulsing of the bass beneath his shoes. He remembered bouncing, coiled hair in front of him as she pulled him along behind her by the hand. 

Memories of a passion-filled night flashed before his eyes.

There was a moment in which the world around him just stopped. It was as if the turning cogs in his brain had jammed, stuttering on the information that was beginning to piece itself together. Every muscle in his body tensed as klaxons blared in his head, telling him to look closer—that he was almost there. 

He turned his head to look down at the girl. The girl with curls that fell looser than her mother’s coils with a skin tone that was a light honey to her mother’s darker bronze. The girl that possessed a sharp tongue and a burning compulsion to prove herself. 

A light bulb flicked on inside of his head. 

No.

It was not possible. There was no way it could be possible. She couldn’t be. 

But…

Wait…how long ago had he met that woman in that club—15…20 years ago, maybe? 

And how old did the girl say she was? 

He had horrible feeling she had said she was somewhere around that age—so the timing added up—but that surely didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. It wasn’t possible!

In his panic, Loki didn’t notice the moment his entrapment began to fail. Nor did he notice the moment the ghost smashed free of it and dived straight at the girl. He did, however, see the moment in which she instinctively summoned a bright web of golden energy and managed to tug and pull it until it was a half-sphere around them both. A shield. Just like the way he had taught her with magic that felt so much like his own.

Why was it so much like his? 

He’d never come across a Seidr user with magic so alike his own in his entire life. Not even his mother wielded her magic like he did. This child pulled from the same reserves he did—all the way down to the exact same branch of the world tree. Her power came from the exact same place. It was all far too well aligned for it to be coincidence but yet, what all the evidence was pointing towards, it wasn’t possible. It shouldn’t be. The chances of him being able to procreate with a mortal were infinitesimally small. 

Dora looked over to him, meeting his gaze. Her brown eyes were wide and fearful. Somewhere in the back of his mind he observed that, whilst she clearly favoured her mother, her eyes—the shape of them, the roundness, how expressive they were—that was all him, and in that second the dots all connected and he knew that there was no world in which this was not his child. 

He immediately snapped out of his stupor and jumped into action. Casting his hands out in front of him, he was just able to throw up a desperate shield of his own in front of the girl’s collapsing one. Just in time. Her shield fell not a second later and she slumped backwards, staggering into the wall. Completely spent. 

His head flicked in her direction. “Dora?”

“I’m fine,” she grunted, waving him off weakly. Her entire body rocked with every breath she took and her hands shook as she braced herself against the radiator.

“There will be time to rest later. Get behind me.” Only once she was behind him, did he turn his focus back to the ghost. It was time to end this. Mirroring the instructions in the book, he placed his hands out in front of him, palms open and extended towards the ghost. “You are no longer welcome in this realm.” 

With that proclamation, he reached out beyond himself, beyond Midgard, until he brushed the cosmic energies that tied the realms together. He let himself sink into those energies—let them bolster him. When he came back to himself, with him he brought a tsunami of magic so strong that he felt his core begin to shred and tear. The ghost, in response, let out a frenzied roar that rippled through the air and made the hangings rattle against the walls. He gritted his teeth against the pain and held strong. His power crashed down upon the ghost with all the might of a bomb, making the house tremble and creak. 

The resulting shockwave was powerful enough to send him flying several feet back in the air until he hit the tiled floor. Hard enough the send the wind rushing out of his lungs, leaving him spluttering on the ground. The sound of glass shattering and a high pitched scream pierced the air. Then everything was quiet.

“Is it over?” Dora asked from beside him, groaning as she pushed herself up from the floor. He cast a glance over her; she looked exhausted, bruised and a little battered but mostly alright. 

Loki let out a deep sigh before rolling so he could sit up. There wasn’t an inch of him that did not ache. He would sleep well that night. “I should hope so.” 

A hiss of pain drew his attention, he turned his head to the girl just in time to see stumble to her feet and slump over to the table, which had somehow remained standing throughout the onslaught. She dragged a chair out from under it, the legs screeched against the floor, before dropping heavily into it. Loki felt the fierce fire of indignation ignite from the embers in his gut. He could feel his hands start to shake and his vision turned red. 

How dare she keep this from him? 

How dare she? 

His fury churned hot in his stomach like acid. This was why she’d been so secretive. All this time she had known and she had said nothing. She had deigned to play this little game of deception with him instead of coming clean about who she was—she had deemed that the preferable option. 

At that thought, his anger deflated and the tension slumped out of his shoulders; she had known who he was—what he was capable of—and had still thought it preferable to play this game of cat and mouse with him. 

What did that mean she thought of him?

Needing answers, Loki forced himself to his feet in one smooth motion. His shoulders and back screamed at him, begging him to lie back down, but he pushed through it. He’d been through worse. He then strolled over to the kitchen table where she had planted herself and dragged another chair out from under the table, turning it so that it was angled towards her before sitting down.

“Are you okay?” she asked, clearly having picked up on the tension bleeding out from him.

Loki ignored her question. Instead, focusing on schooling his expression into a blank one, and he asked, “Were you ever planning on telling me that you are my daughter?” 

Chapter Text

Several moments passed in silence. The tension was stifling. It hung low in the air like a fog, pressing down on his chest, making it hard to draw breath.

Now he had said it aloud, the reality of the situation had hit him like blow from Mjolnir. Time slowed to a absolute crawl as his mind stuttered and stalled like an overloaded computer.

How was he in this position again? Left raging and betrayed by yet another secret. One that, once again, threatened to ruin everything he knew—ruin everything he had built since coming to this dreadful planet that was almost just beginning to be tolerable. 

It was starting to feel like the Norns were holding a particularly nasty grudge against him. For what reason, he had no idea.

The cause of his current crisis—the girl—shuffled in the seat across from him, drawing him out of his own head and back to her. She was watching him ever so cautiously. Head bowed, eyes wide, hands wringing anxiously in her lap. There had never been a truer portrait of guilt. Her heart had sped up noticeably, going from a steady thump-thump to a racing thrum, and it skipped a beat every now and again. He didn’t even need to strain his ears to hear it.

“Sorry…what?” the girl tried with a confused smile.

He narrowed his eyes at her but stayed silent, watching her intently through stormy eyes, cataloguing her every move—every shudder of her shoulders with each inhale and exhale, every flicker of wild eyes towards the door, every twitch of those nervous fingers. He didn’t need to say anything. Given the opportunity, the child would dig her own grave—they always did.

Silence was a mode of torture to a guilty soul; this he knew well.

The smile slowly fell from her face as the situation began to dawn on her. A panicked expression flitted across her face and a breath hitched, and finally her composure was broken.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realised that she was frightened—frightened of him—but it didn’t bother him like it probably should have. Any part of him that could’ve maybe felt a small amount of compassion for the child was buried beneath the maelstrom; rage was the only emotion he could properly decipher amongst it all, so he had grasped on to it with both hands. 

“Loki, I-..” the girl started but her words failed her. She was looking everywhere but at him, as if she were trying to find inspiration in the stripped-back kitchen, still apparently searching for a way to deceive him. “I don’t understand. Is something wrong?” 

Impatience had well and truly curled its fiery tendrils around him, and before he could reign it back—temper himself—sharp words fell from his mouth. “I have had more than enough of your games, girl.”

The child flinched at that. 

“I’m not—“ she began, but he swiftly cut her off.

“Stop lying. You’re pitifully bad at it.” 

There was panic in her now—he could feel the static in the air just like the first time he had ever met her. Her eyes flicked to the door once again.

No. That would not do at all. This Norns-damned child was going to give him some answers. She was not going to run. She owed him that much after everything. All that she had done. All that she had kept from him. 

“Save us both the energy. You would not make it to the door,” he warned her, quashing any further thoughts of escape.

Her shoulders sagged and she closed her eyes for a moment like she had actually thought she’d had a chance. “I know,” she said quietly as she opened them again, keeping her gaze on the floor now.

Good. As sour as his mood was now, he was certain it would only be that much worse if he was forced to chase after the runt.

Now back to the matter at hand. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked her firmly.

There was a brief pause, and then the child shrugged. “I don’t know,” she told him as unhelpfully as she could. The urge to reach out and wring her neck was growing with every second.

“You are going to have to try much harder than that,” he said.

Another shrug and he had to take a deep, calming breath. She then said, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“No? Really? Because I feel I’ve been quite clear in that regards,” Loki replied mockingly. “I want the truth. I think you owe me that much, don’t you?”

“I don’t owe you anything,” she threw back suddenly.

“Well, that’s not strictly speaking true, is it?” When she didn’t reply and stubbornly turned her head away from him, he pressed more. “Is it?” 

The air around them crackled again. It was charged like the build-up that occurred right before a thunderstorm. Loki recognised it for what it was, so he inclined his head towards the girl, his expression stern. “You had better gain control of yourself, child, or I will do it for you.”

The girl blinked and her eyebrows rose—as if she hadn’t quite noticed the thick charged air around them—but her surprise was only momentary. It quickly melted away to a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes.

Loki took a deep breath in anticipation.

“I’d have much better control if you weren’t out here having a go at me,” she snarked, locking her gaze with him. Bold as a bilgesnipe.

“I think that all things considered I have every right to be rather displeased with you right now. In fact, I think that you should consider yourself very fortunate that I am having such a controlled reaction.” At that, his thoughts flickered to Odin—to the last time such a huge revelation had come to light. Down in the vaults below the palace.

Yes, this was a much more preferable reaction. As angry as he was with the girl, he did not mean her any harm.

The child snorted. “You’re trying to tell me that this is controlled?”

“I assure you that it is. But, please, keep on—keep goading me—and I guarantee that you will very quickly appreciate just how controlled I’ve been,” he commented, clasping his hands together on the tiny kitchen table in front of him.

Now that threat was enough to wipe the smugness from her face. What replaced it was uncertainty. After a moment of chewing on the inside of her cheek, the girl clumsily reached out with powers he was even more wary of now that he knew their origins. There was the tiniest twitch in the pressure of the room and then the air around his ears stopped crackling. He let his shoulders sag—he wasn’t quite sure when he’d tensed them up.

“Look, Loki…this…this doesn’t have to change anything,” the girl said, and that was as good an admission as he imagined he was going to get. 

“Don’t be foolish; it changes everything.”

The girl’s eyes rolled up towards the ceiling as she let out a little groan of annoyance. “And that is exactly why I didn’t tell you!”

He saw red. 

“Well, you should have!” Loki snapped at her—the last couple of tendrils of his patience fraying and tearing under the absolute gall of the girl. She had absolutely no right to hide this from him, and now, just to disrespect him further, she was apparently attempting to justify her deception by pointing the finger at him—the audacity. “You should have told me!”

“Oh yeah! That would’ve gone great, wouldn’t it?” she spat back at him—suddenly incensed and ready to match his fire with her own. “Just swan up to you like ‘knock, knock—who’s there—dad—dad, who?—dad, you!’. Come on, Loki—wise up!” 

“That would’ve been better than lying to me!”

The audacious runt pointed her index finger at him, and he could’ve throttled her. “I never technically lied—okay? At no point did you ever ask me ‘hey, are you my daughter?’”

Oh, he was definitely going to throttle her.

“Don’t try to argue pedantics with me,” he replied, slamming a hand down on the table. “You may not have lied directly but you were in no way truthful and that is just as good as..”

The girl had the gall to actually laugh out loud at that—it was a barking, mocking thing that had him curling his hands until his nails dug into the calloused skin. “Ha! I cannot believe that you—the god of lies—are lecturing me about the truth. Have you got any idea how ridiculous you sound? You are a complete hypocr—“

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop right there,” Loki cut her off with a tone that was dark and full of warning.

The child did not heed his warning, nor did she feel inclined to pull her punches. No, she sprung at the hint of a sensitive spot and asked, “Why? Because you don’t like being called out?”

“Because my patience with you is starting to wear thin, little girl,” replied Loki.

The child bristled at that. Now he had hit a nerve. “I am not a little girl. Don’t patronise me.” 

“Why?” Loki retorted with a tight-lipped grin, taking advantage of the ground he had gained. “Do you not like being called out?”

The girl’s lips set into a thin line, and she slowly sat back in her chair, breaking eye contact, and subsequently their stand-off, by turning her head towards the charcoal sky visible through window beside her. A short, sharp breath huffed out from flared nostrils.

In response to that, Loki sank back in his own seat, which groaned in protest beneath his weight, and crossed his arms over his chest. Still waiting. Waiting for her to tell him something that would make all of this—this betrayal—make sense. Waiting for something that would make the blood stop pounding in his ear. Waiting for something that would extinguish the absolute fire in his chest that was slowly starting to bleed into pain because how was he here again?

“I was going to tell you one day. I just didn’t know how.” Her voice was quiet when she spoke, but it somehow still cut through the silence like an atom bomb. “I thought that maybe I just needed to wait for the right time…but that never came.” Something like a smile but too twisted—too pained—to be anything that resembled happiness crossed her face. “And then the more I got to know you, the harder it got. Obviously. Because then it meant that I didn’t just have to tell you the truth, I had to tell you I’d been lying to you. And I didn’t want to do that.”

“So, you just continued on—kept lying to me. That was your plan?” he asked incredulously.

The girl shook her head and said, “There wasn’t a plan.”

“Well, yes. That much is starting to become evident,” he snapped and the child recoiled. 

He knew he was being unfair—the girl was finally starting to tell him what he wanted to know, and he should probably be encouraging that—but he just couldn’t stop himself. There was still so much anger.

The girl resumed her anxious wringing of her hands, and an uncomfortable silence permeated the room. This time he knew he would have to the be the one to break it. 

He took a deep steadying breath that inflated his entire body until his ears began to ring. It held there, almost painfully, in his chest for several seconds before being released back out into the air.  

Right…

“How long have you known?” he asked her

“A while,” the girl replied.

This time Loki somehow managed to bite back the initial snarky retort that came to mind. Another slow breath and he was somewhat calmly able to ask, albeit through gritted teeth, “And how long exactly has that been?” 

“I don’t know,” the girl said with a shrug, and he felt his brow twitch at the annoying habit. “Since New York, I guess. Kind of. My mum dropped some heavy hints when she saw you in the footage on Avengers Tower—kept ranting about you finding me and…well…I’d never seen her so panicked, so that’s when I started to suspect it. Then a couple of years later, there was all that talk about superhuman registration so she sat me down and told me.” 

“This entire time, you’ve known. You’ve known and you said nothing,” said Loki. The burn in his chest was starting up again, scorching away the edges of the pain. “You should’ve told me!”

“I didn’t know how,” the girl complained, turning shining round eyes on him that were so much like the ones he saw in the mirror, and once again he was hit by his own stupidity.

How in the nine realms had he not seen her? Gods. He was supposed to be smarter than this but yet he’d somehow been fooled and run around by this mortal runt when he should’ve been able to put it together by himself a very long time ago. 

The embarrassment of it all was doing little to simmer him down. Its burn was clawing its way up his chest now, threatening to spit fire from his mouth. 

His legs burned with the need to move—in fact, now he’d noticed it, his entire body did—so he leapt to his feet. The chair he’d been seated on flew back from the force of the movement and loudly clattered to the ground. The flinch that erupted from the child at the loud noise did not escape his notice, but once again he found himself unable to muster up enough sympathy to care. 

Let her be frightened—it might do her some good.

Loki dragged his hands through his hair and paced the three short steps it took him to get to the kitchen counter. “You should have told me.” 

Those words had become a mantra now. Something that kept repeating in his head because by the Norns she should’ve just told him.

“I know,” she whispered but even that did not settle him. 

In fact, her admission did nothing but anger him further because she didn’t know. She didn’t understand. How could she? She couldn’t even possibly begin to realise the sore spot she had hit with this lie—this betrayal. Had no idea the memories—the pain—this was dragging back into his life. 

This little slip of a girl couldn’t even possibly begin to realise how much wounded him because no-one ever trusted him. Not with the throne. Not with the truth. Not with anything.

A wild static energy buzzed through the air once again. It took him a moment to realise that this time the girl was not the culprit, he was. It was all getting to be a bit too much. His magic was rearing up and ready to go. It had taken advantage of his shocked state to stretch out into the world, ready to protect him from whatever it perceived as danger.

He let out a long, shaking breath from between his lips, trying to wrestle back some semblance of control but it failed him. 

He needed out. Out of this room. Out of this house. Out of this damned city. He needed space to think.

The idea had barely even danced across his mind, but it took and rooted itself there, catching like kindling on a bonfire. He needed space. He needed to get away. Now the hallway was coming towards him. He just needed some room. His own loud footsteps echoed off the peeling walls, and his magic curled around him protectively, waiting for instruction.

“Loki?” he heard the child call out in confusion and then there was a patter of light, quick footsteps somewhere behind him, but he ignored her. “Where are you—“

He didn’t hear the end of her question as the world melted away with a ripple of green.