Title: Mr. I-Abandoned-You-To-Take-Over-Your-Home-Planet-And-Got-Jailed-Indefinitely

Paring: Loki X Reader

Warnings: hints of depression, and exile from family life and stuff. 

Spoilers: None. 

Sequel:  This is the second part for A Gem in a Rare Trove of Treasure

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When most people say their boyfriend had to go long distance, there's a lot of sympathy. Hugs and kisses. Warm cookies left at the door, pretty notes in pretty cards saying how sorry they are for you. But for you, you had no choice in it; the love of your life had once been laying beside you in the sheets, yes, but was gone, was brainwashed, was whisked away to the land where he was raised. Fathoms away from where you stood. But when people heard that you were in love with Loki, the guy who tore strips out of New York city and destroyed their favourite cafe downtown, they frowned, and didn't care for conversation anymore.

You didn't care for conversation, either, because talking of him hurt more than dreaming. You'd see the way his eyes were ice blue, and wicked, staring deep into your soul, taunting, treachery leaching from within. You'd see the verdant green, which was always his, would always be his, but were poisoned by the blue, treacherous blue.

If it weren't for your connection to the Avengers through your cousin, you would be sure that you'd never see Loki, son of Odin ever again, and be forever scarred by the memory of the lover from out of the world you knew. But you cradled the books he had shared with you, and graciously moved into the Avengers tower in New York, and got a job down the street from where you lived. It was lovely, for the first few months, but with every passing day, every passing holiday, you felt a growing sadness inside your chest.

You understood that he'd committed a crime, and you in no way were in love with the man who had committed it, but there was something inside you which made you want to have him beside you at night, to hold onto, to greet upon coming home, to take to Thanksgiving and share a present with on Christmas. You watched as Tony moved from Pepper to May Parker, Clint leave to visit his family, Nat take to internet dating and miraculously match up with Matt Murdock, the lawyer who helped around the legal matters of the tower.

When Thor came back from a long vacation with Jane, you snapped, rising from the sad stupor you put yourself in for all of that time, and did your best grovelling to the first in line for the Asgardian crown. Thor smiled, soft and small, his beard accentuating the sadness in his eyes. It had probably been a while since he had thought of his brother, having been away with Jane, and it showed.

But, unlike other unyielding attempts to access Asgard, this proved fruitful - as he was to return in a day, and you were more than welcome to come. At that moment, all you could do was thank him in less than coherent words, and run off to your little room to pack things in and try to not forget unimportant things. Before too long, the case was full, and all but the book Loki had shared with you, the fantastical one of which you loved just short the same amount as you did he, was in your arms. And not a day later, there was you biding goodbye, or at least, a temporary goodbye to the Avengers, and riding the rainbow bridge to Asgard. 

It was all you'd dreamed it to be - the city afire with gold, the aura of stars above the skies staring down upon your skin, the white-eyes of the gatekeeper Heimdall - all that Loki had whispered in your ear, had told you of. While Thor went on his way to the war rooms to debate with his father about tensions in the nine worlds, you were escorted down below the royal castle, where the prisoners of the King were kept.

There, sat Loki. 

His hair was a mess, long and bedraggled, his skin pale and eyes hollow from emotion. His feet were bare, his clothes ripped, trickles of blood staining his sole. It had only been a year and four months since he had been taken from you, but the God before you looked like he had aged twelve, and hadn't seen you for as long. He was a dying man. Small. Hurting.

But also, Loki was standing, his hair neatly combed; regal. Long. His jaw was held high, eyes regarding all with the air you'd expect of royalty, above it all. He wore the colours of his house, the bright emerald green that you loved on him, haunting leather ensemble that caught in your mind. He was a warrior. Tall. Strong.

Those escorting you stopped, but you did not. Slowly, you approached the transparent golden wall that separated the both of you, and bent to sit upon your knees at the gate. Neither of the Loki's in the prison turned their gaze to you - in fact, it would seem that they turned their nose elsewhere, in the direction you were not present. Without realising, a tear fell from your eye, as you raised your hand to touch the barrier. The gate stung upon your skin, an irritation that would surely increase if you tried to push through, you were sure of, and the tear, the little droplet that came from within you, splashed upon the marble floor.

"Of all your tricks, Odin, this is your cruellest," His voice was thick, yet weak, sad, but without emotion. "Leave me to rot." 

Your brow furrowed, and turning to the guards, "Let me in," you whispered. "Please." 

On one of the guards' belts, they pressed a button, and the wall before you descends. As soon as you step inside, it resumes its place, and you are isolated in the room where there are two Loki's inside, where the furniture is both regal and tidy and splintered around the floor. One of them watches you intently, his green eyes following you as you navigate around the broken stools and tables over the ground. The leather-clad Loki has a haughty air to the way he holds himself, the way he regards you.

"It has only taken you years to get here," he snarks.

You raise your chin. "Sixteen months. But you cannot judge me, Mr. I-Abandoned-You-To-Take-Over-Your-Home-Planet-And-Got-Jailed-Indefinitely." You snap. "So spare me any snark and angst, Loki, because I have gone through hell and back for you. I travelled to a new world! I've been exiled from my familiar circles for associating with you!" You scream. "So, please, give this mimicry up and talk to me through your own mouth," you turn to the Loki who sits on the floor, and grabbing a short plank of wood, you throw it through the illusion before you. 

He frowns. "How did you know?" 

You smile, but it is not a happy smile. It's wan. Tight. "I can see you both. Either I'm sort of magic in a mundane way, or you're getting slack, Loki." He does not laugh. You add, "It might have taken sixteen months, maybe because my mind is at war with itself over a male who has torn my soul and taken a piece for himself, and left me to fend for myself. You know what it's like to be rejected, from your own people, now imagine it for me, who has never had it happen! All because I dared to lay in bed and love the man whose brain was washed to take over Earth." You take a shaky breath, and feel a tear slip. "Forgive me."

Adjusting himself against the wall, he glances to the space beside him, bare of splinters and unpleasantness scattered. "Will you sit with me?" It is not a question. It is a plead. You do sit, but not close, keeping an eye on the two guards that stand on watch as you mingle with their prisoner. "Forgive me."

You lay your head upon his shoulder, feeling the essence of Loki there, present, warm, alive. It can't be a dream, because you can smell his scent, can hear his breathing, the pitter-patter of his heartbeat's pulse under the hand on his wrist. 

"Aren't we a pair," you sniff, looking to his distressed hair, "The common waitress, and the alien prince," your hand on his stroked his skin, his fingers intertwining with your digits. "Don't tell me it sounds like a good story," you warn him, inhaling his scent. 

"It sounds like a good story," he repeats, despite your cautionary words, "But I should always think of that tale to be of the dreamer who watched the stars, who wanted to touch them upon her skin, and the globe-trotter who wanted nothing more than to make just one place his true home," Loki's eyes turn to you, their bright green aura stirring you with their beauty, their grace. "I have done so much wrong, have done too much bad in the world to keep this weight upon your chest."

You withdraw from his side. "Don't - don't you dare," you whisper. "If you leave me, I will haunt you until the day I die, and even then, will never cease," you threaten. "If loyalty, or devotion was defined in the dictionary, there would be a picture of me right here, right now, beneath those words. I will always love you, even if you are the monster under children's beds, even if you are a shattered mirror."

"Really?" Barely a whisper. Barely heard. But only by you.

You nod. "Honest."

There is a silence between the pair of you, but unlike before, it does not chill your bones, or break your heart. It's kind. It's healing. He clears his throat, and nodding, affirms your words, and wraps his other hand over his, and yours, and that is where you stay, silent, and, with each other's company. You're not sure whether it is half a minute, or half an hour later, but the thud of boots came, and from your heavy eyelids, you saw the dark maroon of Odin, and the crimson of Thor's cape appear. Loki shifts, aware of his brother's and father's scrutiny, but squeezing his hand, you compel him to stay seated, to stay beside you, to not fight this fight. 

The silence is broken when Odin clears his throat. "I have been in council with the lords and jury of Asgard, and heard word from your brother of this development," His voice is deep, and regal, and you cannot help but not maintain eye contact with him - it's almost like a primal fear of the peasant vs. royal complex. "I must say, Loki, my son, you have shocked me more than I believed you ever could."

Beside you, Loki narrows his eyes, but before he can spit out a burning retort, you interject. "Inciting a war while waiting for peace is not a tactic most fruitful, King Odin." 

You don't know where the fancy words have come from - you're just a human. A barmaid. A little ant in comparison to the gods you are surrounded by. But adrenaline is a funny thing, and yet here you are, and you're staring down the one-eyed bearded man you know from mythology as the ruthless King of the Gods. 

He cracks a smile. "I like this girl, Loki, she will be good for you, for all the trouble you have put yourself through." He glances to Thor, and adds, "In the discussions, we have deliberated a punishment more fit for you than solitary confinement - ten years without your seidr to live a mortal life until the next court will come to session to review the next phase. You are fit to live with the watchful, honourable gaze of the Avengers on Midgard, and with your lady, the fierce _______." 

Loki nods, agreeing with his father. "I agree to these terms, my King." 

You bow your head, heeding the words, of both your lover, and your most likely, future father-in-law. "Thank you for this offer, King Odin." 

____

It is light outside, but through the thick glass of the new Avengers Facility the birdsong heralding morning have not woken you. The bedside alarm is turned off, and reads to be nearly eight o'clock, but thankfully, you do not have work today. Turning in the sheets of your bed, you're still not sure what has woken you from slumber. But as you turn, you see him - the man you have fallen for, had fallen for, will always fall for, curled onto his side, his wide green eyes taking in your face in the morning. 

"It's early, you can sleep in," his voice in the morning incites something in you, a flutter in your chest. "What is it? Why are you staring?" He asks.

You can't help but smile. "I'm just ... I'm just in awe of this, of you, of ... being here," your grin widens, and reaching out, you cradle his face in your hands, and just touching his skin, you feel a fire building beneath your fingertips. "Gods, you're beautiful." 

Loki laughs. "But darling, that's what I'm supposed to say to you," he protests, and shifting beneath the bed sheets, he is closer to you, close enough to smell, to see every eyelash on his face, "Since we have nowhere to be until later, I can suggest a method to make it up to you," he offers.

"Oh, silver-tongue," you grin, carding your fingers through his raven hair. "Show, don't tell."