Loki knew Stephen inside and out, and front to back. Could brew Stephen’s favorite meditation tea in his sleep and got what it meant when he set his jaw; remembered which detergent made him sneeze and exactly how many silver hairs streaked through the black; recognized when Stephen’s hands trembled and ached painfully, learned how to soothe them. Loki understood Stephen’s past and present, his dreams and nightmares. It was his job to know, because the more Loki knew about his Stephen, the better he could love him, and Loki took pride that nobody knew more or could love Stephen better than he. So he watched, and listened, and questioned, and mentally filed everything away with care.
Right now, though, Stephen was acting in a way that Loki, with all of his observations and mental notes, had never seen before. The day was snowy and frigid, which Loki knew meant a deep ache in Stephen’s fragile hands and a cloud in his mind. Usually, a day like today called for tea and deep meditation, and Loki forcing Stephen to eat a little something; and later, in a bedroom lit only by soft green magic, a slow and gentle massaging of each painful joint. And yet, Stephen was defying Loki’s every expectation.
“Somewhere you need to be, darling?” Loki had drawled, suppressing his surprise when Stephen brushed past him towards the door just after breakfast, most definitely not dressed for meditation.
Stephen had hesitated, passing his weight from one booted foot to the other, the Cloak gently hugging him. His mouth had opened and closed, weighing his words. A gloved hand had smoothed back impeccable silver hair. “I won’t be long,” the sorcerer finally replied.
Loki had cocked an eyebrow at the unusual display of uncertainty and stepped forward, gently carding his hands through Stephen’s sideburns (extremely annoying that he actually had to reach up to do so). “Everything okay?”
Loki hadn’t exactly been using his gift of silvertongue on his boyfriend, but he knew that Stephen was near defenseless to this approach.
Much to his shock and distaste, Stephen had simply nodded, promised to be home soon, kissed Loki on the cheek, and vanished out into the bleak New York City morning without another word, leaving Loki alone and bewildered in the kitchen.
That had been hours ago. Loki had already cycled through a variety of emotions- first was simply confusion, and he had pouted in the library until a particularly interesting tome caught his eye. Then came the annoyance- wasn’t it always Stephen who demanded that Loki “open up” and “share things?”- and Loki had stalked through the Sanctum, aggressively tidying and simply Vanishing anything too troublesome to put away. And now, as dusk settled around the city, Loki had arrived at a full-on panic.
Of course, Stephen could take care of himself, even if he was a second-rate, pathetic excuse for a mage. Loki knew that. And yet, as the minutes ticked by, the chilly knot in Loki’s stomach grew, imagining Stephen bloodied and alone, Stephen needing his help and not finding it… the emptiness of a lifetime without Stephen in it. The mere thought of it caused Loki’s stomach to flip.
By the Norns, he couldn’t lose anyone else. Loki had experienced more loss in his few thousand years of life than anyone should in a millenia, and he was still standing, albeit damaged, but Loki knew down to the bottom of his soul that losing Stephen would be the blow to force him to his knees. Loki could not- he would not lose Stephen. Just as he flicked a slender, pale hand to don his armor- this was a moment for the Big Horns- a portal whooshed open just in front of him, causing Loki to jump back in momentary alarm before Stephen, looking tired but altogether alive and unhurt clambered through.
“Where have you been?!”
Tired gray eyes raked Loki up and down. “The Big Antlers? Hardly necessary, my love.”
Loki huffed indignantly, both at the use of the word antlers and at Stephen’s ridiculous flippancy, allowing the armor to fade away to green mist. “I didn’t know where you were, Stephen! I… was concerned.”
“Well.” Stephen smiled awkwardly, closing the portal with a wave of a gloved hand. “I’m fine, so. If you’ll excuse me.”
“I think not.” Loki moved between Stephen and the living room doorway, blocking his path. In the flickering firelight, he could see clearly now that his sorcerer was unwell. Stephen stood hunched, the Cloak wrapped around him like a protective second skin. His mouth was pinched and eyes rimmed with red; his delicate hands quivered violently in their leather gloves, looking painful. Loki's heart clenched.
“Loki-” Stephen’s breath caught.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want, okay, my heart?” Loki’s tone was gentle but unyielding. His anger and frustration had drained away in the face of Stephen's obvious distress. Loki placed a pale hand on his boyfriend’s cheek and registered, with displeasure, how chilled he was. “Just let me take care of you. You don’t need to be alone.”
Stephen hesitated, then swallowed hard and nodded. “Thank you, Lo,” he murmured.
With the Cloak supervising fretfully, never out of arms’ reach, Loki managed to guide a shockingly compliant Stephen to the bedroom, where he unbuckled all of his boyfriends fucking belts, untied his clunky boots, and helped the sorcerer into soft pajamas, all the while keeping up a running monologue about “this ridiculous fucking outfit babe, I mean, nobody needs that many belts.”
When it came time to remove Stephen’s leather gloves, Loki hesitated. The damaged hands were trembling badly and the god was sure that the pain must be debilitating. It looked as if Stephen had been out in the cold all day. “Do you want…?”
“I trust you,” Stephen looked up at Loki through dark lashes, and oh. The headrush at hearing those simple words was almost too much for Loki to bear. It was as if he could physically feel his heart expanding in his chest. His body was just not large enough to contain the way his emotions burbled up at hearing- for the first time in thousands of years- that he was trustworthy. Truly worthy of trust. That he was more than mischief and deception.
Loki took a steadying breath and bit back his foolish emotions. He could luxuriate in the deliciousness of being loved later; Stephen was sitting here on the edge of the bed in his pajamas, wearing those absurd gloves, and he needed all of Loki’s attention.
Ghosting his fingertips over Stephen’s gloved hands with a featherlight touch, Loki murmured a spell for pain relief and hoped it would be enough as he gently began to pry shaking hands out of clammy leather gloves, one precious, scarred finger at a time.
“Thank you,” Stephen whispered when Loki had finished his ministrations. He still looked exhausted and terribly sad, but his face had lost that pained, pinched look that Loki hated so much, and there was color in his cheeks again.
“Not quite done yet,” Loki pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Stephen’s bowed head, allowing himself just a moment to breathe in that comforting scent of pine wood and old parchment. “Into bed and get comfy, please.”
Once Stephen was leaning comfortably against the headboard, Loki summed a travel mug of his boyfriend’s favorite Midgardian tea, complete with an extra-long curly straw so that Stephen had no need to attempt to grasp a cup while his hands were so obviously weak.
“There.” Loki surveyed his work- a fine job, if he did say so himself. It was times like this that he felt a flicker of connection to his mother, the truest Healer he would ever know. “Now you may say thank you.”
Stephen smiled, a tiny upward quirk of the lips. Loki cheered inside. “Thank you, Lo. Really.”
“Drink your tea.”
It was a few hours later, after the tea had been drunk and the mug subsequently Vanished- “stop Vanishing my stuff just because you’re too lazy to get up, Laufeyson”- and the lights turned off so that the room was bathed in flickering orange from the fireplace at the foot of the bed. Loki was leaning against the headboard, with Stephen’s head in his lap, laying between the V of Loki’s legs under golden blankets. The god was gently and deftly plaiting Stephen’s hair into tiny braids and undoing them over and over.
“You’re being very patient,” Stephen’s voice rumbled, a bit amused.
“I thought you were asleep” Loki pressed a kiss to Stephen’s forehead. “And I am very patient,” he added, tugging a bit of gray hair for emphasis.
“No, you aren’t,” Stephen half-smiled.
“Only for you.”
“You spoil me,” came the dry response.
A pause, during which Loki tried to convince himself that he was exceedingly patient, especially for someone only 2,047 years old.
“I suppose you should know,” Stephen addressed the ceiling, and Loki resumed his plaiting to give his hands something to do. “I just haven’t told anyone about… I never… Well. I don’t like to- to talk about it.”
Loki hummed in affirmation. He thought of indigo skin and blood-red eyes and could relate to clutching a secret so close that to share it seemed unfathomable, like peeling away a protective layer of armor.
“I had a kid sister. Donna.”
“Had?” It slipped out; Loki wanted to slap himself for interrupting.
“She. Uh, she died.” Stephen swallowed. “We were kids, and she was ice skating on this lake and- well, the ice was too thin and she fell through. I couldn’t save her.”
Norns. Loki imagined losing Thor that way, imagined a crack in the ice, a whoosh of frigid current, a blond head swept under and away. He shivered. “How old were you?”
“Nine. I had just done my first aid training in Boy Scouts.”
Loki hadn’t the foggiest why Midgardians were sending their boys off on scouting missions, but he heard the unsaid and the crack in Stephen’s voice. “You were a child, my love. You couldn’t-”
“That’s just an excuse,” Stephen whispered fiercely.
“It’s not.” Loki leaned down so that Stephen’s tear-filled eyes could see the truth in his own. “You did your best.”
“You can’t know that, Loki” Stephen sniffled plaintively.
Gently, Loki raised Stephen up and guided him into an embrace. Rubbing his back, the mage whispered into his ear. “I know that because that’s what you do every day. Even when the cards are down and the odds are, frankly, atrocious, you keep trying and you do your best. I know you.”
Another pause, during which the Sorcerer Supreme took a series of deep, calming breaths, while the God of Mischief scratched his back with pale fingertips.
“So today…” Stephen continued when he had gotten his breathing under control.
“You needn’t say anything else, my love.”
Stephen planted a damp kiss into Loki’s collarbone. “I want to.” A pause. “Today I went to Donna’s grave. Just sat with her. I dunno. I do that on the anniversary every year. Just to say hi…” His breath caught.
Loki was quiet a moment, rubbing Stephen’s back and collecting his thoughts. It occurred to him that he had no idea what Midgardians believed happened after death, and less idea what Stephen believed. “I am sure Donna smiles on you for that,” he finally replied.
“Thanks for… letting me trust you with that.”
That notion again. Trust. Loki had never felt worthy of being trusted before, had never known what it was to hold a loyalty deep in his spirit and know that he would never betray it. The Norns were too gracious to him, too kind, to grant him this moment with this man. Loki’s heart ballooned in his chest, because he could love and be loved in return, and he could trust and be trusted. If not for his embrace with Stephen, he might just have floated up into the Heavens and joined the stars.
“I love you too.”