Chapter 17
When Loki makes it to breakfast the next morning, Steve is the only one awake. Loki’s hair is elaborately braided, dozens of tiny braids forming a lattice at the back of her head.
Loki’s holding herself defensively, like she doesn’t want to fight, but she will if she has to. Steve knows the look. So he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he passes her a plate and some waffles from the batch he just finished making.
“Thanks,” Loki says. She takes the strawberry jam from the center of the table and slathers it onto her waffles. Breakfast continues, quiet and calm, for 30 or so minutes.
The calm doesn’t last, of course. It never does. As Loki stands up to put the plate by the sink, Thor wanders into the kitchen. His face falls when he sees Loki.
“I cannot believe you are continuing this,” Thor says. His voice is sad and Loki bristles at it. “No warrior would act the way you do.”
Loki shrugs, gently putting her plate on the counter. “Maybe it has never occurred to you that I don’t want to be a warrior.” She smiles ruefully. “At least, not by your standards of one.”
Thor sighs. “Mother should never have spoilt you so.”
“If she spoiled me, maybe it’s because I was the only one who ever bothered to listen to her,” Loki says quietly. “You don’t even speak Vanir.”
Tony, who had just come to the kitchen to get some goddamn coffee, hears the fight. He stops in the doorway and watches.
“We’re not from Vanaheim, brother, we’re Asgardian!” Thor sounds almost sorrowful. Tony wonders what he missed.
Loki flinches at that. “Sister, right now. And we are half Vanir, or does mother’s heritage count for nothing?”
“You’re only saying that because being ergi is less frowned upon in Vanaheim,” Thor snaps.
“Don’t call me that!” Loki’s voice cracks. She knows that what she’s going to say next is at least half false. (Though that also makes it half true.) But Loki has always been good at aiming for where it hurts. “At least mother loved me.”
Thor reacts almost without thinking. His hand is in the air and, before anyone can react, he slaps Loki across the face. Her lip splits, blood running down it.
Steve moves then, standing between Thor and Loki, using his body as a shield.
Loki laughs, soft and sharp. “You reminded her of when she was stolen, Thor.” Loki smiles gruesomely. “You always were so violent.”
“She loved us,” Thor says. He’s staring at Steve like he’s trying to convince the both of them. “And she loved father.”
Loki shakes her head, pretending her eyes aren’t filled with tears. “She was a war bride, Thor. she was stolen and you never even bothered to learn her language.”
Thor stares at Steve for a long time, while blood drips down Loki’s face. Finally, he turns to leave, his face stormy. The second he’s gone, Loki sags back into a seat.
“Fuck,” Tony says.
“You okay?” Steve turns towards Loki. “I had no idea he was going to do that.”
“You clearly don’t know him that well,” Loki mumbles.
Steve shakes his head. “I am going to go yell at him after we make sure you’re alright.”
Steve grabs a paper towel and wets it in the sink. He presses it gently against Loki’s lip. Loki twitches a little bit, but otherwise holds still. Once Steve gets the blood off, he stands back.
“That’s definitely going to bruise,” Tony says. “Can you heal it? It looks like it hurts.”
Loki takes a deep breath. “In Vanaheim, scars are shameful. Scars mean failure, that somebody else landed a hit on them.” Loki shrugs. “In Asgard, scars mean you survive.”
Loki smiles then, something almost-scary but mostly sad. “Thor always wanted me to be more Asgardian.”
Loki tells herself she’s meditating. (Loki is definitely moping.)
Steve sits down next to her, wincing when he sees the bright red bruise outlining the side of her mouth.
“How are you holding up?” he asks. Loki just shrugs.
“I meant to give these back,” Steve says. He pulls two knives out of his pocket.
Loki brightens up. She takes the knives almost reverently, running her finger over the blades. Then, in the blink of an eye, they’re gone.
“What do you even do with them?” Steve asks. “When they disappear?”
“I have pocket dimensions that I send them to.” Loki shrugs. “I have them spread out all around the universe. It’s easier to summon things that are closer to begin with.”
“Interesting,” Steve nods. “Then why were you so upset about those particular knives. I assume you have more?”
Loki laughs at that. “Of course I have more.” Her smile falls a little. “My mother got me this set of knives for my 500th name day. Father had just given Thor Mjolnir. Mother had these specially made for me.”
Loki flicks her wrist and one of the knives pops back into her hand. Steve finds it odd that he doesn’t even react to weapons appearing and disappearing in front of him. Loki moves the blade side to side, so it catches the light. There are thousands of tiny etchings on the metal.
“She wove pretty much every rune into these knives.” Loki smiles sadly. “Protection and bravery, knowledge and luck. All to keep me safe.”
“She sounds like a lovely woman,” Steve says. He remembers his own mother, overworked and underpaid, constantly worried about Steve. Keeping him as safe and healthy as he could be, even after Da left. (Even before Da left, when the house was a whirlpool of bourbon and backhands.)
“She was,” Loki says, looking at herself in the knife’s reflection. “She was.”
The Asset thinks that part of being a person is having a name. When he bought coffee and some rations in a crappy gas station at the side of the highway, with money he had taken from his ex-Handlers, the cashier’s name was James. The name feels familiar — not quite right, but closer than The Asset. He starts calling himself James.