In the week and half he’d been at the Tower, Loki had memorized the paths from most of the common areas to his room. He allowed his mind to wander as he mechanically turned down the hallway with the painting of the sea at dawn. The past eleven days had seen him getting complacent, hadn’t they? Apart from the semi-productive research at the beginning, Loki had squandered his time reading Midgardian literature and talking with the other residents of the Tower. And Norns, did he talk.
Loki had found himself simultaneously unsettled and ecstatic that the Avengers didn’t have an encyclopedic rundown of his entire existence at their disposal like at the TVA. It had been a viscerally uncomfortable experience to have his past extirpated by people whose names he didn’t even know, but he had gotten used to it. Now, his vague allusions to some escapade or another were no longer instantly understood. Not only did Loki have to explain himself, he had to choose to explain himself. Just the fact that the option to withhold information was there made it all the more tempting to share.
Loki could hear a gentle rain start up as he opened the door to his ro- to the guest room Stark had lent him. J.A.R.V.I.S. had mentioned Tony putting more clothes in the bureau, but Loki had ignored him at the time, electing to just check the closet. Now he pulled open drawers to find the suggested loungewear.
He really should stop talking so much to the Avengers. But it was getting to be years since Loki truly confided in someone, brief respite at the TVA—Norns, that was a respite, what had his life become—exempted. As foolish as it may be, he was beginning to trust these mortals. It was more than he could say for just himself, let alone his variants. And if the Avengers insisted on keeping him in the Tower, well. It was simply just desserts for them to lend an ear to his stories.
The gentle rain had turned into a veritable downpour as Loki located a pair of sweatpants and a bottle green sweater and pulled them on. He found himself immediately relaxing into the soft fabric. Midgardians weren’t the most technologically advanced, but damn, they knew clothing. Loki frowned. Tony was going to be insufferable. He could just avoid coming back up to the living room, but that would convey defeat in and of itself. Besides, Loki had left his book up there, and he really wanted to see how Victor's journey would go.
He was nearly to the small staircase that would take him back to the common floor when thunder rumbled outside and Loki realized what was happening. He had forgotten to cloak himself from Heimdall again, of course this would happen. He darted towards the steps, calling out, “J.A.R.V.I.S., tell the oth—”
His words got bit off as a wonderfully, terrifyingly familiar hand latched around his arm and yanked him backwards. In an instant, Thor had him pinned against the wall, hand now around Loki’s throat. As he choked, Loki tried not to think about his Sacred Timeline counterpart, neck snapped by the Mad Titan. He tried not to think about his Thor, last rejoicing in saving his Tony’s life. He tried not to think about Time Collars locked around his throat. Loki felt tears prick his eyes. Why was he crying? He needed to get out.
“This is the last time you harm my friends, brother,” Thor growled, pulling out a pair of seidr-suppressing handcuffs. Loki pressed hard on a pressure point and twisted, but his broth- his brother’s grip never wavered. Now is when you finally decide to get wise to my tricks? Loki wanted to say, but it just came out as a gasp. Don’t think about Sacred Timeline Thor’s screams as his own face turned blue. Don't think about ending up right back where he started, no matter how he tried. Stop crying and focus.
