BLUE LIPS, BLUE VEINS
THIS TIME, THE SMOKE CLEARS TO THE HALLS OF ASGARD. It’s Loki and Odin in the Vault. Loki’s stomach lurches; he knows how this goes. The memory Loki stares down at the Casket of Ancient Winters in his hand, his skin blue and his eyes red.
“Am I cursed?” The younger Loki wonders, as his father stares at him in dismay.
“No,” Odin denies at once.
“What am I?” he inquires, though he knows the answer already.
“You’re my son,” Odin answers simply, watching Loki carefully. Memory-Loki puts down the Casket, and his body returns to normal as he turns.
“What more than that?” he presses, even knowing the answer already. He stares at his father as he strides forward. “The Casket wasn’t the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?”
There’s a long pause as Loki approaches, ever closer to Odin.
“No,” the Allfather finally admits, remaining dignified even now. A short beat passes. “In the aftermath of the battle I went into the temple and I found a baby. Small, for a giant’s offspring. Abandoned. Suffering. Left to die. Laufey’s son.”
“Laufey’s son,” Memory-Loki repeats numbly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Olivia glances over at her soulmate, the present Loki, whose eyes are focused on the exchange. He looks upset.
“So,” she whispers to him, hoping to distract a little. It works well enough; his attention diverts immediately to zero in on her. “This is how you found out you were adopted.” He nods, bitterly.
“I suppose so,” he confirms quietly. Olivia nods, shuffling in place.
“I thought your other form was, uh,” her face heats up a smidge. “Really… pretty.” Loki’s eyebrows fly up.
“Pretty,” he repeats, as though it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “You think my Frost Giant form is… pretty.” She nods.
“Yeah,” she confirms. “I mean, I haven’t really grown up in this kind of environment where you were taught to hate Frost Giants or something, which I guess makes me kind of objective. I just… I saw it, and I thought it was pretty.” Loki considers her for a long moment.
“That’s—,” he starts, only to be cut off by his own younger self.
“Tell me!” Memory-Loki shouts, eyes brimming with tears. Olivia and Loki’s attention switch to him and Odin.
“I thought we could unite our kingdoms one day, bring about an alliance, bring about a permanent peace... through you,” Odin admits. Quickly, he adds, “but those plans no longer matter.” But Loki isn’t listening anymore.
“So I am no more than another stolen relic,” he scoffs, “locked up here until you might have use of me.” Odin shuts his eyes with despair.
“Why do you twist my words?” he implores, almost desperately.
“This is a bad memory for you,” Olivia concludes quietly. “I mean, it’s still— it still hurts you. I don’t have to watch if you don’t want me to.” Loki tears his eyes from the memory of learning his true heritage, turning away.
“Pretty,” he scoffs quietly to himself. Olivia turns away, too, and focuses her attention on the room instead of the memory.
“So,” she hums, a little louder than strictly necessary to cover the sound of arguing a little bit, “Asgard’s relics. You probably know what they are, right?” Loki nods slowly.
“I suppose,” he acquiesces. Olivia approaches one of the pedestals, inspecting a basin with a brightly burning flame inside.
“Is this one of the relics, or do fires not need fuel where you’re from?” she wonders, looking to Loki for the answers. He approaches, albeit a bit reluctantly, to stand with her.
“That’s the Eternal Flame,” he replies. She tilts her head as if to agree that makes sense, and he continues. “It’s a mystical flame with the power to bring the dead back to life. Apparently, someday, Surtur’s crown will fall upon it, bringing about Ragnarök.”
“Okay, two questions: who’s Ragnarok and who’s Surtur?” Olivia inquires. Loki smiles with amusement.
“Ragnarök is a what, not a who,” he corrects. “It’s the eventual destruction of Asgard at the hands of Surtur. Surtur is… well, he’s a Fire Demon, the lord of Muspelheim, prophesied to destroy Asgard.” Olivia nods.
“And Muspelheim is…?” she prompts, watching him curiously. He chuckles.
“One of the Nine Realms,” he replies. “It truly baffles me how you can know so little.” Olivia shrugs, running a hand through her hair.
“Just raised different,” she dismisses. “I mean, you probably couldn’t use an espresso machine if I paid you.” He purses his lips, but begrudgingly says nothing to the contrary.
“Guards!” Memory-Loki shouts frantically, earning Olivia’s attention. She turns to see him panicked and tearful, crouching over his fallen father. “Guards, please, help!”
The doors swing open, exploding the scene into smoke.
There’s a drawn-out silence as both soulmates grapple for words.
“So why don’t people get resurrected, like, all the time?” Olivia wonders, pretending to kick a rock despite everyone’s awareness that there is quite literally absolutely nothing there; not even air.
“What?” Loki blinks, taken off guard. Olivia looks over at him, tapping the front of her shoes on the hard void beneath her experimentally.
“Well, the Eternal Flame resurrects people, right?” she hums. “Unless I misunderstood you, that is. So, if you can resurrect people, why don’t you do it all the time?”
He stares at her for a moment as she notes that the void floor feels like smooth pavement beneath her feet. Understanding what she’s trying to do, Loki smiles a grim but not unappreciative smile.
“They aren’t really themselves anymore after the Eternal Flame brings them back to life,” he explains. “They’re… ghouls, really. Just animated flesh, devoid of soul.” Olivia nods in understanding.
“Always a catch,” she hums, as if in agreement to something he said. He nods, that having been his experience as well.
“Always a catch,” he agrees.
The smoke assembles once again, to form the living room of Olivia’s apartment. It’s clearly about a year after the last memory. Her hair is still cropped short. Her Fox mask is lying on the table, flakes of dried blood still clinging to one cheek. Amidst it all, she’s just sitting on the couch, drinking coffee.
After a pause, it becomes apparent that she’s not going to move much beyond scrolling through her Tumblr feed.
“So,” Olivia sighs, dropping onto one of the stools in the kitchen. “Looks like it’s just about over.” Loki’s stomach drops, but he forces himself not to look at her.
“I suppose so,” he agrees. She sighs, resting her elbow on the kitchen counter.
“I haven’t been back home in, like, a week,” she confesses. “I missed it.” Loki looks at her in confusion.
“A week?” he repeats, bewildered. She nods idly, her eyes roaming the living room.
“My bedroom wall got blown out in the battle,” she explains. “I’ve been staying at Stark Tower while it gets fixed.” Loki cringes, his nose scrunching slightly in distaste.
“I can only imagine the torment,” he remarks, almost sympathetically. Then, his mouth quirks into a half-smirk. “After all, you don’t even like Stark.” Olivia groans, though a smile is fighting to stay off her face.
“Not this again,” she complains. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t have a problem with Tony?” He fights off a smile of his own.
“Well, you can say it all you want, but that doesn’t mean I’ll believe you,” he advises her, smirking at her pained look. “As I’ve said, you’re a terrible liar.” She laughs.
“Only for you,” she protests. “To everyone else I’m actually a pretty good liar, I’ll have you know— not that I’m lying about Tony.” He laughs.
“If this is what passes for good, I’d hate to know what bad looks like,” he jests. Olivia grins, rolling her eyes playfully. Before she can retort, a knock on the door sounds.
Loki and Olivia turn to look as Past-Olivia looks up from her phone at the door in confusion. Olivia’s grin slowly drops as a second knock rings through the air, more urgently this time.
“Coming!” Past-Olivia calls, looking a little exasperated as she hauls herself off the couch, towards the door. She pulls it open just barely, but the guest pushes it the rest of the way open and comes in, taking advantage of her surprise.