It’s been fifty long years since the war began in earnest.
Fifty years since Loki survived having his neck crushed.
Just like he survived being ripped apart by The Void.
Survived being impaled through the chest on Svartalfheim.
Survived reviving Sutur & starting ragnarok.
And like many other impossible survivals in the decades since.
The truth is that he did not actually survive any of it. Not in the way people seem to assume.
Stark worked it out -of course he did, maddening mortal- but he never told another, Loki didn’t even have to ask. He seemed to realize that in this, Loki desperately needed to believe his own lies.
He misses Stark –Tony-, misses having somebody who knew his most horrific of secrets, but he also misses him for his own sake. His quick wit, banter and shameless flirtation. At first he was a balm for the hole left by Fand- left by the past. But over time he carved out a place of his own in the tattered remains of Loki’s heart.
He pushes the circuit board that Stark built back into place and closes the maintenance hatch. Likewise he ruthlessly pushes his memories back into their repressed compartment and heaves himself up stiffly to head to the Nav room.
Nav room. Seven innocuous little letters for everything that space represents. The navigation room, or cockpit was also the meeting room, the war room, the heart of The Resistance. The place in which what was left of the universe placed their last shreds of hope.
Loki had no hope left of his own, as pessimistic as that may be, but he found he did not need to. Over the decades so many others had –for reasons beyond him- placed their faith in him that he simply had no choice but to fight on. Divinity is a two-way street like that.
His not-leg is aching again, thus he allows himself to hobble along the corridor whilst there is no one to see his weakness. Phantom-limb pain he was told. A condition where the body lies to the mind, for how can something ache which is no longer there? He had initially blamed the nerve transmitters in the prosthetic but the diagnosis, whilst unexpected, wasn’t truly a surprise. His body has already been lying to him his entire life after all.
Loki corrects his gait as Valkyrie silently falls into step beside him, the lack of teasing or banter indicates bad news, but he wont ask. There is always bad news, and little point in hearing it twice.
They enter the nav room together and those present respectfully fall silent and take their seats.
Loki hates it.
Commander they call him.
A position he never asked for and never agreed to.
There is no greater reminder of all that they’ve lost over the years, than to lead in this room that was once a riot of leaders fighting for dominance.
Captain Rogers, Stark, Quill, Director Fury, Dr Richards, Dr Strange, Magneto, Danvers, The Guardians, Tho- NO. Nope. He will have to come to terms with it one day, but today is not that day. Too much rides on Loki keeping it together.
The point is that this room once held so many LEADERS, natural, imposing, inspiring, loud, leaders. It was almost a complete disaster in all honesty.
But the war…it was so big, so vast, like nothing that had been seen before, and all these leaders were convinced to share the load, to each take responsibility for some specific field, or aspect or division. And the leaders, the heroes, they shone so brightly as they rallied troops, and built star fleets, gathered allies or resources or intel. And Loki…
Well Loki was not a hero. Or a leader. Loki did not shine brightly in this room that once overflowed with the best of the best.
Instead Loki did what he’s always done best, he sat beside Thor quietly, he watched and he listened, he learned and he advised.
Loki kept a finger in every pie and an eye on every player. He was the bridge, the go-between, a metaphorical and oft times literal translator between the many divisions of operations. He knew the local galaxy and the far-flung reaches of the universe. He knew magic and science and how to integrate the two. He knew negotiation and manipulation, treaties and contracts, cultures and resources, battle and weapons, stealth and spies, geology, biology, cryptology and etymology.
An immortal lifetime of knowledge and study, of learning and brain plasticity. He did what nobody else could.
Like a galactic game of chess, he was surrounded by kings and bishops, knights and castles, but he was the only one who could truly see the whole board or understand the moves of each piece.
The Coordinator the good captain called him, The Chess-master whispered Stark. It was truly as if his entire life had been lived in preparation for this role, a life spent alone with his books and his travels training for this…
…and yet…
It wasn’t enough.
One by one they fell. By accident or tragedy, some simply to the passage of time. Many due to stupid, impulsive, heroic acts that didn’t really make a damn bit of difference in the long run.
Their roles were filled by others but it was never the same. These new faces, they all look to Loki now as if he holds the answers, as if he were a leader or in any way comparable to those he once shared this table with.
Even Valkyrie and Banner, whom early on decided that the ‘eternal pissing contest’ of such meetings was not their domain, now attend at Loki’s behest. In fairness the respectful council meetings now held are nothing like the testosterone-fuelled battles of will (and sometimes fists) that once occurred.
In truth, Bruce and Val help him to feel more grounded -less alone- in this place of memories and ever-changing faces.
Most of the mortals and shorter-lived species on staff weren’t even born when this war began.
Val, as always, gave him the courtesy of a swift kick to the shins to draw his mind back to the present before beginning.