A GOLDEN THRONE
THE VISITOR IS INSTANTLY RECOGNIZABLE. A younger Bruce walks over to the window, peering suspiciously out of it as Past-Olivia closes her front door.
“Bruce?” she wonders, bewildered. “What— I— where have you been? How did you get my address? What the hell are you doing here?” He shakes his head.
“I’m, uh— just in town for a few days, thought I’d stop by,” he replies, abandoning the window to turn towards her. She blinks at him in outrage when he doesn’t continue.
“So, what— you just barge into my apartment uninvited? I haven’t heard from you in 14 years! I mean— again, how the hell did you even get my address?” she demands, still flailing for answers. He opens his mouth, but his eye catches on the mask and his face turns stormy.
“What the fuck is that,” he demands, looking at her with a hard expression. Olivia— the present one— gets off of her stool.
“That’s enough,” she announces, marching decisively forward and attempting to put her hand over her younger self’s mouth. Her hand passes straight through, and the room explodes into smoke.
“What was that?” Loki wonders, confused. Olivia sighs, watching the smoke dissipate into the endless void.
“Bruce barged in, saw the mask, put two and two together. He said quit or he’d turn me in. It wasn’t much choice, really,” Olivia admits reluctantly. Loki’s eyebrows raise.
“They let you quit, just like that?” he pries. It doesn’t seem at all like the kind of thing they’d just allow.
“There was a lot of persuasion involved,” Olivia admits reluctantly, “and now I owe them, which is the most… unpleasant relationship to have, in my opinion. I can’t tell you too much, though. Honestly, the less I say about the whole organization, the better.”
Loki nods; he knows that feeling well enough. He doesn’t even like to think about the man he owes. He’s not even sure if “man” is the right word, in truth.
The smoke returns again, forming into the throne room of Asgard. Odin sits atop the throne, with Loki in chains beneath him. This is… this is recent. This is his trial, Olivia realizes immediately.
“Loki,” Frigga whispers. Past-Loki turns to her, bearing a grim half-smile.
“Hello mother,” he greets promptly. “Have I made you proud?” Frigga looks up at him in warning and concern.
“Don’t make this worse,” she whispers back, but her word of caution goes unheeded.
“Define worse,” he replies, quieter than his last greeting.
“Enough,” Odin announces. “I will speak to the prisoner alone.” Olivia frowns up at him.
“You know,” she sighs to Loki as Frigga leaves, “the more I learn about your father, the less I like him.” He chuckles dryly.
“I suppose I’m glad someone else thinks as I do,” he remarks, though “glad” is the last word Olivia would use to describe his tone.
Past-Loki steps forward, clanking his manacles together in the silence of the hall. After a brief, echoing pause, he chuckles.
“I really don’t see what all the fuss is about,” he muses, smiling up at his father with amusement despite the situation.
“Do you not truly feel the gravity of your crimes?” Odin wonders from atop the largest, most ornate throne Olivia has ever seen, movies included. “Wherever you go, there is war, ruin, and death.”
“That’s just cruel and unnecessary,” Olivia scoffs. “Didn’t that show up again in the— the stupid island dream?” Loki’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing; it’s enough indication for her to know anyways.
“I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Earth as a benevolent god,” Past-Loki claims, “just like you.” Olivia gives Loki a look.
“You know that’s not what benevolent means, right? Like… blowing in my apartment wall and killing 80 people isn’t benevolent,” she advises him. He tilts his head back a little, with slight exasperation.
“Yes, yes, I understand that well enough— I think sentencing me to the dungeons gave me time enough to realize,” he replies sarcastically. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t exactly order the destruction of your apartment’s wall.” She nods.
“We are not gods,” Odin denies. “We’re born, we live, we die. Just as humans do.” Past-Loki tilts his head a little.
“Give or take five thousand years,” he reminds his father. Olivia lets out a low whistle.
“Damn,” she remarks. “That’s a long time.”
“All this because Loki desires a throne,” Odin hums. Past-Loki’s face twists slightly with anger.
“It is my birthright,” he snaps.
“YOUR BIRTHRIGHT,” Odin shouts, leaning forward on his throne, “WAS TO DIE! As a child, cast out onto a frozen rock.” Past-Loki stares defiantly back even as pain swims in his eyes. “If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now to hate me.”
“If I am for the axe, then for mercy’s sake, just… swing it,” Past-Loki requests— almost pleads— as he takes another two steps forward. “It’s not that I don’t love our little talks, it’s just… I don’t love them.”
“This feels personal,” Olivia whispers to Loki, “do you want to stop here?” He shakes his head.
“I’ve nothing to hide,” he replies firmly. “You showed me your moment of weakness; this is mine.” Olivia looks back at Odin thoughtfully as he announces Loki’s sentence.
Past-Loki stumbles back, looking struck, and behind him the ground cracks open, forming a giant chasm. Olivia is forced to step to the side to avoid it.
“Jesus,” she reflects. “I’m assuming this is just what it felt like, and not what actually happened?” Loki nods grimly.
“And what of Thor?” Past-Loki presses, keeping his voice cold, even as he fails to hide the glossiness in his eyes. “You’ll make that witless oaf king while I rot in chains?”
“Thor must strive to undo the damage you have done. He will bring order to the Nine Realms, and then— yes, he will be king,” Odin confirms, impassive as ever. The memory explodes into smoke, and Olivia sighs into the void.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers to Loki, though she doesn’t look at him. “Your dad sucks.” He feels almost compelled to chuckle.
“He’s not my father,” he denies quietly. Olivia shrugs a little.
“Maybe, but he was when you were growing up,” she replies, “so it still matters.” He glances at her.
“You are an odd mortal,” he observes. She smiles, evidently amused.
“What tipped you off? Was it the mob background, the alien soulmate, or the brother that turns into an overgrown chia pet?” She chuckles. He gives her a look; but when she lays it all out like that, she really does lead an incredibly unusual life.
“Perhaps the second was indication enough,” he acknowledges, a wry smile on his face, “though you must be some form of extraordinary to survive that imbecile I call brother.” Olivia laughs outright.
“Honestly, if he backhanded-compliments me one more time, I’m gonna have to call him on it,” she muses. “I can only call it ignorance so many times.” Loki chuckles.
“You’ll have to tell me how that goes,” he muses. Olivia raises her eyebrows teasingly at him.
“I would, but I’m pretty sure UPS doesn’t deliver mail to your post code. Little out of their range, I think,” she jokes. “And, y’know, the chances of us seeing each other again after tonight are pretty low.”
Loki’s heart drops.
Shit. He forgot. Is it really getting to be that time already? Time for him to while away eternity alone in his cell with nothing to do but read books?
“…would you?” he wonders. “If you could?” She looks at him, a little confused.
“Would I what?” she prompts. “See you again?”
“Keep… dreaming with me, like this,” he elaborates, “for a longer time.” She considers the question for a long moment, giving it real thought instead of answering haphazardly.
“Yeah, I think so,” she decides. “I mean, you’re not so bad. I’ve met worse— hell, I’m 70% sure I am worse. Plus you’re at least interesting to talk to.” She shrugs.
“My cell traps my magic,” he admits reluctantly, “so normally, I would never be able to accomplish something like that.”
“Wait,” Olivia interrupts. “Sorry to interrupt— does that mean you can’t do magic, or just that your magic has to stay inside your cell?” He almost smiles, but stops himself.
“I can still perform magic,” he replies, pretending to be annoyed by her interruption, “but it stays within my cell.” She nods her understanding.
“Okay, that was all I wanted to know,” she confirms. “So, normally you would never be able to accomplish something like that?” He nods.
“Normally,” he agrees, “but our, er… connection—“ he cringes even as he says the word— “affords me a direct line from my soul to yours, which is much more powerful than the confining magic of my cell.” She nods her understanding, paying very close attention.
“Okay,” she hums, as confirmation that she is still following.
“With that said, I may be able to apply my magic directly to that connection, and continue these… dream excursions. With perhaps a bit more control, in the future,” he admits, watching her very closely for her reaction. She nods, apparently having been expecting that.
“Sounds good to me,” she agrees at once. “It’s not like I have any important dreams scheduled.” He smiles dryly.
“Most would be more hesitant to spend their nights in the company of a killer,” he replies smartly. She smirks.
“You do recall I could say exactly the same to you?” she challenges. He can’t help the amused smile that forms on his face.
The void around Olivia begins to feel distant, and her vision blurs a little.
“See you tomorrow, I guess,” she smiles. He barely has time to nod back.
Loki awakens with a snap in his cell, his gaze fixing on the white ceiling above. He should feel excited, happy even. That conversation ended exactly the way he hoped it would. He has something to look forward to now.
…so why does he feel so uneasy?