Still Holding On

Chapter 57

Loki looks down at his hands the whole time Steve is on the phone. He doesn't want to see Steve's face. He doesn't want to know what he thinks. He just wants to hear what Tony has to say.

Somehow, that makes it worse.

Because he knows Tony didn't keep all those secrets out of malice. He knows Tony cares about him. He knows that this is killing him – it's killing both of them, really. But he still can't go back. Because, no matter the intent, Tony lied to him – about everything. He thought he'd finally built a new life after what happened in Asgard, and then it all came crumbling down around him, again, the way he was so sure he'd never have to face a second time.

He misses Tony. He misses what they had. But the reality is that he can't trust him anymore, and trust was the foundation of their relationship. He may not remember how they met, but, for as long as Loki can remember, he's trusted him. And he can't do that anymore.

And it sucks.

"You okay?" Steve asks. The sympathy in his voice says Loki's not doing a good job of pretending he is.

But Loki meets his gaze and forces himself to nod. "I'm alright," he says. "Thank you for letting me listen to your phone call."

"Yeah, no problem," Steve says. "I want you to know what's going on. I'm not trying to keep you in the dark."

That's a first.

Loki gives him an awkward smile. "I appreciate that."

Then it gets quiet. That's nothing new; much of the car ride was quiet, too. It's hard to talk to a person he doesn't know how he knows. And, given that Steve knows him as a 'murderous psychopath,' he probably doesn't mind the quiet, either.

Finally, Steve asks, "Are you hungry? We could order room service."

Loki still doesn't know what room service is, but he accepts the offer anyway.

Flash forward half an hour or so, and Loki is eating a cheeseburger on top of a bed covered in white sheets, because he is a smart person. (Fortunately, after a thousand years of princehood, he's pretty good at not making a mess.)

Steve is sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, eating some type of fancy lobster dish. Every now and then, they make eye contact, but neither of them speak, just averting their gaze and turning their attention to their food. At least he knows he's not the only one who feels awkward right now.

He takes a sip of his wine. It doesn't taste quite like Asgardian wine. It's certainly not as strong. But at this point, he will take whatever form of alcohol he can get, if only to trick himself into thinking it has some relaxing effect. He certainly needs it.

Eventually, he has to ask. "You said we've met before. What did I do to you?"

Steve holds up a finger while he finishes chewing. "To me specifically? Not a whole lot," he says. "We fought briefly. You tried to take down the ship we were on. That was about it."

Loki raises an eyebrow. He's so nonchalant about that. He has to assume that in at least one of these instances – and, realistically, probably both – he was trying to kill the guy, and he just doesn't care.

"'The ship we were on,'" Loki repeats. "Who was 'we'?"

"Well, I meant you and me," Steve says, "but there were a bunch of us – SHIELD agents, mostly. Stark was there, obviously; Thor; Banner."

Loki doesn't know who Banner is. He doesn't ask.

"SHIELD agents?" he repeats. "Natasha Romanoff? Clint Barton? Director Fury?"

"Not Barton," he says. "He was – well, he was there by the end, so yeah, I guess he was there."

Loki cocks his head to the side. "What was different about Barton?" And why does he get the feeling he doesn't want to know?

Steve hesitates, just long enough for Loki to wonder if he's going to start keeping secrets, too, but then he answers, somewhat haltingly, "He was working for you. You used your scepter on him. You sent him to... I don't know, cause problems? And Nat knocked some sense into him."

Loki's silent as he processes that. He used the scepter on Clint Barton? The same scepter that started this whole mess? And somehow, Clint still seems to like him, which is ridiculous. How could anybody like him after that? Either that or he's a wonderful actor, because he was one of the most welcoming people Loki's met on this planet.

"He's fine now," Steve adds. It doesn't make him feel much better.

Loki takes another sip of wine. He's beginning to wish he didn't tell Thor he wanted nothing to do with him until after he asked his not-brother to bring him some very strong alcohol from Asgard. He really feels like he needs it.

"How many people did I kill?" he asks. He doesn't want to know. He really doesn't want to know. But he has to.

"How many people did you kill directly? Just one."

"And how many indirectly?"

Steve sighs, but still, he answers, "Over two hundred."

Loki's eyes go wide.

Over two hundred people.

He killed over two hundred people.

How could he let that happen? How could he let himself do that? He killed over two hundred people – innocent people. Some, he assumes, were fighting against him; he considered them the enemy, and he killed them for doing the right thing. But he saw what he did to the city. How many innocent – truly innocent – people did he kill? People who were uninvolved in all of it; people who were just trying to live their lives in peace.

He buries his face in his hands.

Over two hundred people.

How he wasn't executed outright, he can't even imagine. He certainly would have deserved it.

"It wasn't your fault," Steve says. "You can't blame yourself. Somebody made you do it."

Loki doesn't respond. He wouldn't know how to. How could he possibly explain how this feels to somebody who's never been through it? It was his actions that got all these people killed. How is he supposed to live with that?

Steve lets out a long breath, and, after a few seconds, the bed dips, so he must be sitting on the edge of it. "Look, I don't want to lie to you," he says. "You deserve to know the truth, and Stark was wrong not to tell you. But I'm guessing this is why he did it. He knew you were going to take it too hard."

"I don't know that it's possible to take the murder of over two hundred people 'too hard,'" Loki mumbles through his hands.

"Yeah, I know, it sucks," Steve says. "It really does, and I'm sorry. But it's not your fault."

"That's easy for you to say," Loki mumbles, mostly to himself. "You were on the right side of this all along."

Again, Steve sighs, but he doesn't try to argue. Whether he's giving up or finally coming to agree, Loki can't say, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't care what Steve thinks. He killed over two hundred people, and nothing is going to change it.

Eventually, Steve stands up, presumably going back to his chair. Loki doesn't look to check.

It's silent for a while, the quiet sound of Steve eating his dinner excluded. Loki doesn't bother eating the rest of his. He's not hungry anymore. Not after that conversation. All he can think of is how many people he's hurt – physically, emotionally, from battle or from grieving their loved ones. How is he supposed to move on from that like everything's okay?

Steve finally breaks the silence quite a while later, asking a bit hesitantly, "Do you mind if I put on the baseball game?"

Loki sighs, finally lifting his head. "I don't care," he says. "I'm just..." He lets out a long breath. "I'm going to take a shower and go to bed."

Steve gives him a small, sympathetic smile, and Loki just nods in response. He picks up his half-eaten dinner, tosses it in the tiny hotel trash, and heads to the bathroom to get washed up.