BEFORE (PART IV)
It is dark out, by the time they find their way back to their home on Midgard.
Dark and dreary, rain pattering gently against their windows, soothing in its soft, melodic fall.
Anthony had not spoken a word of what he saw, and neither had Loki; he did not tell his lover of the Void and the darkness and the ice and the Other, of Thanos on a world unknown, of silence and fear so intense he could hardly breathe past the weight of it on his chest, of threads in his lips and poison and snakes and children.
It was quiet but for the rain, and they sat in silence, curled together beneath the blankets, not saying a word, not needing to, held close in one another’s arms, trembling but safe.
Silently, Loki reminisced, his mind turning inward, a hand stroking soothingly up and down, up and down Anthony’s back as he did.
It was another time, of course, but just as heavy.
Distantly, he thinks it was raining then, too.
***
Anthony could not lay on his back, anymore; not for long, at least.
The reactor was too heavy to allow him that.
“Starts pressing in weird places,” Anthony had said with a pained smile. “Makes it hard to breathe.”
Now, he slept sprawled across Loki’s body, his glowing chest resting warmly against Loki’s torso, head pillowed on Loki’s chest, ear resting directly over where his heart pounded a steady beat.
It was probably soothing, Loki mused. Anthony had always been a rather tactile person, but now it varied- sometimes, he wanted (needed) to be touching Loki, whether it be holding hands, tangling their legs together under the sheets, or simply twining their pinkies together when in public. These times, he would laugh and smile and ramble on about things Loki did not understand, about theories and metals and laws, happiness in every feature.
Other times, he flinched at every minuscule touch, curled himself into a ball and shivered, and didn’t say anything at all.
Loki dreaded those days, the ones where Anthony’s eyes would go distant and glassy, where he would lock himself in his lab for hours at a time and emerge smelling of scotch and motor oil, small burns littering his hands and arms, eyes red rimmed and swollen.
Today was one of those days.
When Loki had awoken early that morning, Anthony had already been gone, his side of the bed cold and wrinkled and Loki sighed, rolling onto his back and watching the color on the ceiling gradually shift from blue to purple to pink to yellow.
Anthony had been back for just over a month, and Loki swore he spent more days in the lab than he did with him (and Loki understood, he did, but he missed his Anthony more than he could put into words).
Still, Loki rolled himself out of bed, showered, and then made his love breakfast, knowing it was unlikely Anthony would have eaten anything at all yet. He had a rather terrible habit of forgetting to eat, and it had only gotten worse since his return from Afghanistan. Before, it would have been because he was immersed in some exciting project or another; now, it would have been because he was nauseated and could not stomach the food.
However, Loki found himself lost and confused, standing before his lovers lab holding a tray with Anthony’s steaming meal, the glass windows frosted and impossible to see through, the door locked and remaining firmly closed.
“My apologies, Loki,” JARVIS spoke softly, sounding genuinely apologetic. Loki had talked JARVIS out of calling him ‘Mr. Laufeyson’ ages ago. “Sir has gone on full lock down mode- he does not want anyone coming in.” The ‘not even you’ went unsaid, but Loki heard it anyways, and felt something uncomfortable pulse in the unsteady beat of his heart, a nauseating mixture of fear and concern.
“He is well?” Loki asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.
“Sir is...as well as he can be, given the circumstances.”
Loki nodded, sighing softly, and settled the tray on the ground just in front of the door.
“Please tell him I have left his breakfast, will you, JARVIS?”
“Of course, Loki.”
“Thank you.”
And so Loki returned upstairs, alone, to eat his meal at their dining room table with the cloud-dulled sunlight filtering in through the large windows, directly upon the chair Anthony had claimed (the rays hit that spot just right, Anthony had said one day when Loki questioned his lovers insistence in sitting in that particular chair. Warms me up, you’re too frosty, he had uttered with a grin, and Loki tickled him until he caved).
After he had cleaned his mess in the kitchen, Loki curled himself into one of the plush armchairs in their living room, tucked into a corner near one of the windows, and pulled one of his favorite novels out of his pocket dimension, settling himself in for a long afternoon of reading, the rain still pounding away at the windows.
He quickly lost himself in the words, pausing only long enough to send a flicker of magic into the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea and float it out and into the living room, unwilling to leave his chair once he had found a comfortable spot, too immersed in his novel to bother with such trivial things as walking.
Loki was not entirely sure how much time had passed, but the next time he looked up, Anthony was sprawled over the couch directly across from him, hair sticking up in every direction, clothes singed and splattered with oil and other miscellaneous things Loki would rather not attempt to identify, dark smudges beneath his half lidded eyes, a mug of steaming coffee cradled carefully between his hands, a soft smile delicately tugging up the corners of his mouth.
Loki took in the look of his lover with a warring mixture of worry and fondness, carefully folding his book back into his pocket dimension and curling his fingers around the mug hovering near the armrest of his chair, taking it with him as he went to stand between Anthony’s spread thighs, reaching a hand out to his lover to absently smooth down the disastrous locks of hair.
“You have been ignoring me, lately,” Loki mused, soft and casual, void of the accusation and hurt he almost desperately found himself wanting to voice.
Anthony gazed up at him, lips curling in faint amusement, head tipping back to rest against the cushions.
“Have I?” Anthony asked loftily, a smirk in his voice. His eyes traced slow, burning pathways down and then back up Loki’s body suggestively. “Perhaps I’ll have to make it up to you, then,” he murmured, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Loki felt a hot flare of irritation bubble up inside him at the attempt to turn his attentions elsewhere.
“Or perhaps,” he said stiffly. “You would care to explain why.”
The poor attempt at seduction faded and Anthony sighed, facade dropping, running a hand tiredly through his hair, gazing up at Loki like he may very well contain the answers to the universe.
“Why indeed,” Anthony murmured, his eyes burning fever bright when they met Loki’s again.
Abruptly, Anthony stood, putting himself face to face with Loki, pressing a delicate kiss to the corner of his lips before stepping around him and shifting his mug to one hand so he could tangle his fingers with Loki’s and lead him towards the stairs.
“This does not look like an explanation, Anthony.”
Anthony shook his head, but did not stop walking. “I don’t know how to tell you,” he admitted grudgingly. “But I can show you.”
Well, Loki supposed that would have to do.
And, he would admit to finding himself rather curious. Anthony very rarely locked himself in the lab for so long unless it was important, and Loki had always found his lovers creations terribly fascinating. It was part of Anthony's appeal, after all. The man was quite literally a genius, and Loki admired his intelligence just as much as he admired the man himself.
Soon, Loki found himself standing inside the lab, looking around curiously, passing over the empty coffee mugs and glass bottles littered across every flat surface they possibly could, a twinge of concern tugging at his chest, before his eyes landed in the center of the room.
It was beautiful.
It was elegance at its finest, made up of smooth lines and clean edges, strength writ in its hardy yet stunning appearance, gleaming brilliantly beneath the white lights of Anthony’s lab, it’s center glowing like Anthony’s blue-fire heart, an incredible testament of his creativity and craftsmanship; the mark of a true creator, a life builder, a genius.
Carefully, Loki dragged his fingers across the cool metal, eyes wide in fascination and awe.
“This is why…” Loki trailed off, unable to take his eyes off of the beauty before him.
“This is why I’ve been, ah, ignoring you, yes,” Anthony confirmed with a nod.
“What is it?” Loki asked, finally turning to face his lover.
Anthony grinned sharply, something cold and dangerous hovering at the cracked edges of his sanity, red and gold reflecting brightly in his eyes as they settled on his creation.
“My revenge.”
***
Loki remembered it as though it had been yesterday, the look of determination sparkling in Anthony’s fever bright eyes as he had explained to Loki exactly what it was for, and how he had first come to craft it.
In a cave, with a box of scraps, he’d said.
And now, looking down at the fitfully dozing man in his arms, Loki could not help the cold grin from spreading across his face, his own cracked edges struggling to mend beneath the weight of terror and destruction roiling through his mind.
Upon witnessing, once more, the strength and tenacity of his lover, witnessing his brilliance and his will, Loki could feel something building in his chest, unfamiliar but far from unwelcome.
Hope.
Loki allowed his eyes to fall closed, holding his lover closer.
Anthony would win. He would wreak havoc, and he would win; he was not one to be idle, he was far too forward thinking for that. No, Anthony was brave and strong and brilliant and so many other things Loki could not even begin to name, but above all, Anthony was fiercely loyal to those that were his. His planet, his people, his lover.
Anthony would win for all of them.
Slowly, Loki drifted, his lover cradled in his arms and a mantra in his head, soothing him to sleep.
‘What is it?’ (what will you be, Anthony?)
My revenge….my revenge….my revenge….