Meant To Be (Loki x reader)

Chapter eighty two - Scott Lang

Four and a half years later

"Hey, where's mine?"

"Get your own lunch, I'm starving."

"That's so mean-"

"Shush, we're in a meeting!"

You threw a scrunched up piece of paper across the table at Nat who dodged it and pulled a face at you, biting into her peanut butter sandwich. Her hair was its natural bright red again, except from the very bottom which was still blonde. You didn't know why she didn't cut the ends off; you'd never asked her.

Four years ago you'd formed a sort of committee: you, Nat, Steve, Rhodey, Rocket and Nebula, Carol and Okoye, from Wakanda. You were keeping track of any unusual activity; it had started off as a way to keep you and Nat sane, but it had evolved into something much bigger. The work you did had become widespread and important; it helped a lot of people.

Some small part of you knew that, deep down, you were all hoping for a miracle, even all this time later. You told yourself that you'd moved on, yet here you still were, four and a half years later, in the very building you'd returned to from space just after it had all started.

Still waiting. Hoping.

It was what you had solely been doing for the majority of the past four years. Other activities had included visiting Tony and Pepper in Georgia, who had since had a baby. Morgan was four, and you were her godmother. You'd sobbed when Tony and Pepper had told you the news. It was the first in a long series of good events which had led you to where you were now in life.

You visited New Asgard less frequently, but in your defence Norway was quite a bit further away than Georgia. Thor was doing... badly. You felt as though you'd swapped around: every time you visited you were a bit better and he was a bit worse.

About two years ago when you'd visited him, he had been so bad that you'd stayed over there for a month to try and help him get back on track. He'd lost the entirety of his family and his home, and he was still expected to act as king to the Asgardians that remained in New Asgard. Life wasn't being kind to him.

Valkyrie and Sif were practically running the place; you couldn't be more grateful for them. You tried to help Thor as best you could, but you barely knew how you were managing to get through your own grief, let alone how he should set about going through his.

You worried about him constantly, despite his incessant reassurance that he was doing okay whenever you facetimed him. If he worked out how to answer your call, that was. He was awful with technology.

No one really asked how you were doing, anymore. You couldn't say you minded, preferring not to think about how you were doing unless you were alone and it was the dead of night.

You were doing well. Wellness was such a subjective term, though. Compared to when you'd been living on Asgard with Loki you were doing awfully, but compared to when you'd been stuck on the spaceship with Tony and Nebula just after Loki had died you were doing really, really well.

It was just life, and you were living it. Some days you were happy and some days you were sad. The scar on your face had faded to a silvery white line which you'd grown used to. You didn't notice the void in your chest anymore; you weren't sure whether it had fixed itself or whether you'd just become used to it.

Sometimes it cracked a little when you thought about how you were going to be alone forever.

You'd gone out clubbing with Nat about eight months ago for the first time and got completely drunk; there had been this guy at the bar who you'd got on really well with and spent hours talking and dancing with him. The night had concluded in you going back to his place, and then you'd both cried in his kitchen and he'd freaked out because your eyes turned purple.