Cast A Shadow (and it's nothing like your own)
Title: Cast a Shadow (and it's nothing like your own)
Author: audreyii_fic
Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Loki, Jane Foster, Thor (Lokane)
Genre: Angst/Drama
Warnings: Explicit sex.
Summary:
Jane loves Thor; Loki loves power. Pity winning the latter requires seducing the former. (Post-Thor: The Dark World.)
Cast a Shadow
(and it's nothing like your own)
you’re going to set my house on fire / just to show me you were there
The Dead Weather, Rolling In On A Burning Tire
It doesn't matter how one scales a mountain, as long as one reaches the top. Plans may alter, designs may shatter, hopes may crumble to dust (and mothers may be lost, oh), but if one is both observant and alert, new pathways up the cliffside will always emerge.
And Loki has always been excellent at finding footholds.
***
What I could do with the power that flows through those veins...
***
We're from different worlds. Maybe they're separate for a reason. 'Jane's' eyes glimmer with unshed tears as she looks out over the Midgardian city. Towers (skyscrapers?) pierce gray steel into a blue sky. I might live for another sixty years, but you might live for another six hundred. How could it ever work?
Thor protests, but his words are feeble against 'Jane's' impenetrable logic. (And it is logic -- Loki is doing his brother a favor, really he is.) I will always care for you, 'Jane' says sadly. But I have to move on.
May I visit you, at least? As your friend?
It would be too painful. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but... please. Just go.
Thor nods, of course. Of course. Respectful of his mortal woman's wishes. (Loki would have fought; respect has never been his forte.) He kisses the back of Jane's hand, wishes her well in a voice choked with sentiment, and (Mjolnir in hand) flies into the atmosphere with all the princely flair and panache that won him the heart of Asgard.
(For all he ever cared for it.)
Three hours later, when 'Thor' lands on her balcony, Jane Foster throws herself into his arms and kisses him with a desperate fervor -- totally, innocently, delightfully ignorant of the power within her that swims weakly with every heartbeat.
***
It's a delicate process, but that's all right; Loki knows how to be delicate. Not every problem is fixed by the blunt application of a swinging hammer.
Jane Foster isn't nearly as in love as she imagines herself to be (that much is clear from the beginning) but her infatuation has engendered a deep faith that in many ways suits Loki's purposes even better. She recognizes that 'Thor's' responsibilities mean he may be absent for long periods (but not too long, he promises with a melting smile); when he tells her she must not attempt to contact him when he is on Midgard (the Avengers have so many enemies, dear Jane, and I would never forgive myself if harm came to you) she accepts it without question.
And it's her idea to keep their rendezvous from her own friends. Erik shouldn't think about all this too much, she says. Half the time he still won't wear pants. And Darcy would never shut up about it, so... yeah. I'm not saying we should hide, but... let's not have Scrabble nights, okay?
I will be cautious, 'Thor' says.
(The mention of Selvig reminds him of the dangers in treating Midgardians too carelessly; they are hardly more developed than the beasts with whom they share their planet, and the Chiutari scepter apparently crushes minds nearly as effectively as Mjolnir crushes skulls. Jane Foster will be coaxed, not coerced. She must not be damaged. She cannot be replaced.)
It'll be our secret, and Jane's conspiratorial whisper makes Loki smile one of his own smiles.
(She doesn't realize the difference.)
***
He still has to govern Asgard, of course. The only ones who might see through his disguise -- Heimdall, Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three -- rot in the dungeons for treason. (The irony is not lost on Loki.) No one questions his rule.
Odin is a wise king, the people all say. Odin is a just king. Odin is a strong king.
Thor was right (it did happen, from time to time); Loki understands the brutality and sacrifice of leadership. Perhaps he was not born to this crown, but he earned it in a way his brother did not. And it shows.
But would his subjects say the same if they knew who truly ruled them?
There is no way of knowing.
It grates.
***
He brings her gifts. Not flowers, not jewels, not even the shining daggers or burnished armor of Asgardian courtship. No; Loki brings Jane Foster knowledge.
It's an altarstone, he says, adding the appropriate note of disinterested oafishness to 'Thor's' voice. We call it magic, but--
Jane snatches it from his hand. No. Science.
She spends the next three hours examining the artifact, taking notes and measurements, referencing tomes that must weigh as much as she does, radiating raw energy all the while. It surprises him, how much he enjoys watching her work. He comes up behind her at one point to lay his (‘Thor’s’) hands on her waist, bends to press his face to the crook of her neck and breathe in all that intensity; and when she shrugs him off distractedly, he cannot even bring himself to object. Loki enjoys it when his brother is ignored, even when he is his brother.
(He wonders what she will think in Asgard, when he can show her his magic. If she will watch him with the same fascination. He thinks she will. He looks forward to it.)
The things that I could do with this, she says.
This? It is hardly worth noting. Many of the items in Father's vault are far more magical -- I beg your pardon, far more scientific.
Will you show me?
Perhaps. One day.
Power begets power and strength begets strength and the source of both is ambition.
Ambition is something Jane Foster has in droves.
***
He waits to take her to bed. She is eager -- very eager -- but illusions are complex things that can collapse under temperamental circumstances, which coitus is. It requires true mastery to keep a lover from knowing just whom she embraces, and it would be irksome to lose this gambit over something as meaningless as base carnality.
Also, he is out of practice.
So he waits for a night she is so restless from long looks and teasing, feather-light caresses to the nape of her neck that she would scarce question him were he wearing Volstagg's face instead of Thor's. He requests gently, with the chivalrous decorum his brother would have chosen (for her, at least), and she all but drags him to her closet of a bedroom.
Close your eyes, he tells her as he extinguishes the lights. Just feel.
She does.
(So, to his mild consternation, does he.)
She runs out of energy first, naturally, though he must give her credit for vigor and enthusiasm. When she is snoring he rolls her onto her stomach and strokes the soft plane of her back with infinite tenderness.
There, just beneath his hand, still fluttering in her blood, a faint line of red shimmers through her spine.
It would have been such a waste, after all, to give Malekith all the aether.
***
He spends his time in Asgard considering what this power (Jane Foster) makes possible. The aether (Jane) will allow the final destruction of Jotunheim, and wiping Svartalfheim from existence would make a fitting addition to Mother's epitaph. After that, once no one in the remaining realms conceives of challenging the might of the Aesir... well. Even Loki cannot predict the future in its entirety. He may take a short rest. Perhaps he may even be satisfied.
It is difficult, when thinking thoughts such as these, to keep ‘Odin’s’ face bland and expressionless. But he manages.
***
When he arrives she wears her Asgardian robes once more, stains from Svartalfheim no longer in evidence, the small rips and rents sewn shut. Even the breastplate armor shines.
I got a D in home ec in high school, she admits, frowning at a missed tear in the fabric at her waist. It ruined my GPA. But I did my best. What do you think?
The dress is in scraps by the time they collapse sweaty and panting to the floor.
***
She mustn't share her findings. 'Thor' does not even need to convince her of this; her fear of S.H.I.E.L.D. blackbagging her precious research stays her hand. It does not lessen her frustration.
This is the best work of my life, Thor. It's fundamental. It changes everything, and I can't tell anyone!
Is that truly so important? he says. Nudging. Always nudging.
Yes... no... maybe. She stops her pacing through the tiny kitchen to flip through a set of notebooks covered in incomprehensible writing. The pages whisper like a blade slicing through air. Everything I've ever done has been dismissed. Ignored. I was laughed from every room at Cal Tech -- they almost kicked me out over my second thesis. But I was right the whole time, and now I can prove it. The Foster Theory. Thanks to you I have all the evidence I need, but... She slams the notebook shut, throws it across the room. Threads of crimson snake up her hands, and when she turns to face him her eyes flash black. I'm right! I've been right this whole time! The entire scientific community thinks I'm crazy and I'm right! I saw everything they didn't! I'm smarter than them! I'm better than them! And I can prove it! I want them to see, I want them to apologize, I want-- I want them to...
Kneel, Loki completes for her. You want them to kneel.
Her rage ebbs visibly at his words; she rubs her forehead and shoots him a sheepish smile. Is that how I sound? I'm sorry. I don’t usually-- I don’t know where that came from. That was dumb.
No. That was enchanting.
Jane flushes. He cannot tell if it is the aether, or all her.
(He does not care.)
***
The aether does not grow. It cannot grow; aether is of a set quantity, a constant in the universe, never increasing nor decreasing. But it can strengthen, it can feed on its host’s greed and passion and drive and feed it back in an endless loop of magic (science) until it (she) becomes a force mightier than Mjolnir and keener than Gungnir.
She does not notice the changes. She is too wrapped up in her growing collection of trinkets to eat or sleep unless reminded. Consideration must be given to her mortal form before her ambition consumes her; what good will this power do, after all, if the body containing it is destroyed?
(And such a lovely body, too. Loki is becoming quite attached to it.)
In one evening visit wherein he very nearly exhausts even his own considerable Asgardian energy (after he turns her hoarse from screaming), he uses tricks to push her into full unconsciousness. The aether is easy to find, no longer faintly fluttering but swimming strongly. He touches; it pushes back against his magic.
Hard.
Too hard.
Jane whimpers in her sleep.
'Speaking' to such a thing is a complicated effort, one that ought not to be attempted by anyone who lacks experience with Infinity Stones. They are strange objects: inanimate but sentient, alive and not. But they have survival instinct. They wish to protect themselves. The aether does not want to kill its host.
The Midgardian (Jane Foster) has done so well so far, Loki explains without words. The mortal (Jane) will wield the power as capably as any Dark Elf and he, Loki, will wield her. Be patient, and all will be well. This Loki promises.
(He ought to stop making promises to pieces of the Gauntlet. It rarely ends well for him.)
The aether settles in.
The next day Jane sleeps till noon and eats six eggs for breakfast. Then 'Thor' (Loki) contemplates her with unconcealed pleasure as she returns to work.
***
In the vault there is an item called the Casket of Ancient Winters. In the right hands it will hail an icy death upon one’s enemies.
It actually generates hydrogen and oxygen in thermal conditions from nothingness? How?
Magic.
Is it dangerous?
Of course.
No, I mean yes, I know, but to study. Can I touch it?
Oh, Jane. If only you could.
***
'Odin' enters the Odinsleep. When he awakes the Aesir will see him reborn. Their king will seem young once more. Recovered from the blows life has dealt. Recovered from the loss of his family. Ready to move on. Ready to take Asgard into a new golden age.
Ready to rebuild.
***
It is because it has been a great deal of time. Since before Thor’s banishment. Asgardians live for millennia, but time is fickle when jumping through realms; his year in prison felt like decades; his months with the Chulthari felt like centuries. Therefore it is hardly surprising it seems an eternity since he has enjoyed the pleasures of a woman rather than merely a drop in the proverbial bucket of Loki's existence.
He craves her because it has been too long.
This, at least, is what he reasons to himself when he bends Jane Foster over the edge of her bed and buries himself to the hilt, trying to focus on the tone of her cries rather than the name on her lips. But soon -- very soon -- he cannot shut it (her) out.
One hand leaves her hip to wrap around her neck. He none-too-gently pulls her up, her back flush to his chest, and (as her face reddens) murmurs in her ear No words, Jane.
He waits until she nods, then pushes her down, her hands flat against the mattress until her fingers curl into the blankets with pleasure. Her moans are formless.
(If she'd turned around, she'd have seen the wrong man.)
***
Irritating though it is, Loki finds himself keeping track of his brother's movements in Midgard. 'Thor' cannot be between Jane Foster's thighs while also engaged in some sort of battle with his bothersome new friends.
How do you even find time to go home? she asks, on her side next to him, sheets bunched around her waist. He can see perfectly well, but her focus is vague and glassy. It seems like you're always on the news or here with me. Not that I'm complaining, but--
My welcome is thin in Asgard, Loki lies smoothly. There has been no banishment, but Father does not care for my presence.
(Regicide, not patricide. Only regicide. And anyway, he burned that bridge with Laufey long ago.)
Jane's indignation practically glows in the dark. That's ridiculous.
It is no hardship. I infinitely prefer your company to his.
I don't care! How can he be so heartless?
A heart is unnecessary when you are King.
But he's your father! You're the only son he has left!
He only ever had one son!
She jerks away from the venom in his tone. His brother -- his sentimental, stupid brother -- would never speak in such a manner, and Jane Foster knows it. The mistake must be rectified, so 'Thor' says (forlorn, grieving): My apologies, Jane. It has been... quite a difficult time. For everyone. The Allfather included.
A small, warm hand on his shoulder. It takes a great deal of focus to keep the illusion from collapsing under the touch. I'm sorry, she says. I think I forgot to tell you that, what with the fabric of reality ripping apart and all. But I'm sorry about your brother.
You needn't be. You held no love for him.
Well, no, but you did. And I love you.
Silence.
Um... Thor? I... I said 'I love you'.
Silence.
Did you hear me? Thor?
He sighs deeply.
After a horrified pause, Jane rolls away and covers her face with her hands. Her smothered giggle is mortified. Okay, wow, I'm an idiot. I can't believe I-- never mind. Never mind. Can we just, uh, forget I did that? Please?
If you wish, says 'Thor'.
I wish. Pause. If you wish. Do you wish?
I wish, says Loki.
***
I need to see the tesseract.
No.
You don't understand. I need to.
No.
The data it would generate from just a few simple tests could be the foundation of--
No.
I know you can't take it from Asgard, but -- but if you could just take me to it, just once--
No.
If there had been any advantage to the months spent in that wretched cell, it was the silence that gave him time to shake the cube's influence from his brain. His decisions on Midgard had all been his own, and he regrets very few of them (only those that affected his downfall), but so much unfiltered power at his command had made him sloppy. Reckless. Blunt, like Thor. And if he, Loki, son of Jodenheim and student of Asgard, could not wield the tesseract, then it is not for the likes of a mortal. No matter how exceptional she may be.
Not to mention that using the cube could attract Thanos' attention.
(There will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you.)
Jane's dissatisfaction all but crawls across her skin. The aether does not like to be thwarted, and neither does she. I need to see the tesseract, she says again. There's so much knowledge to be found there, and knowledge is power.
Loki ('Thor') smirks. Indeed it is. But the answer is still no.
***
The next time he arrives to find the front door hanging half open, a smear of blood marring the brass knob.
It is to the overall benefit to the locals that Loki hears Jane's soft crying in the bathroom before he has the chance to level the building, possibly the block. He discovers her cowering on the floor of her shower, hands wrapped around her head.
What transpired here? He kneels (no, no, not kneeling to her, only in front of her) and tries to inspect for damage.
Don't touch me!
'Thor' pulls back and waits patiently. Silently. As the real Thor would never do, but Jane no longer knows that. She has not seen the real Thor in a very long time.
After a few gulping breaths, she relates the story of how her intern had demanded to know why Jane would not return her calls or venture out into the world, then (upon seeing the notes, the papers, the books, the data strewn across every surface) concerned that Jane spiraled not into depression but madness. The intern had threatened to call S.H.I.E.L.D., and when she tried to take Jane's arm the aether had blasted her back hard enough to crack her skull against the edge of the kitchen counter. The intern had run. (A sensible little thing, it would seem.)
It's still inside me. Jane scrubs her hands against the hem of her shirt; the skin of her fingers is pink and raw. How-- how can it still be there?
No one but a Dark Elf has carried the aether before, 'Thor' tells her. The results were always going to be unpredictable.
Jane pauses her movements and looks up. She does not fight as he places a hand beneath her elbow and gently lifts her to her feet. You knew.
I suspected.
Then you have to know how to get it out, she says.
That cannot be done.
No. No, there has to be a way. Some kind of extraction process-- you know Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, maybe they--
No one will take this burden from you, Jane. It will be with you until your death.
Jane turns very pale. She leans against the door of her bedroom, so deceptively fragile. And that’s not very far off, is it.
You held all the aether in the nine realms inside you for more than a week, and came out of it hale and whole. Now you possess scarcely more than a drop. You’ll not only survive it, you’ll control it. He brushes his lips against her forehead, strokes her cheek with his thumb. You may outlive even me, Jane Foster.
Her trembling stops; her pale brown eyes narrow. Control it?
Oh, yes. He cannot stop himself. He raises another hand, cups her face between his palms. He can feel all the life within. All the power. Her power. He has been so patient. You will be feared, adored, second only to me. You will be such a marvelous queen.
There is a long moment of silence as Jane stares at him in disbelief. Then she shakes her head, pulling it loose from his grasp. You’re not Thor, she whispers.
Loki smiles.
Her slap snaps his head to the side. The shock of it is enough to finally shatter the illusion he has held for so long, and he tastes a hint of iron as Jane scrambles away. He touches his mouth, rubs the thick blood between his thumb and index finger. I rather like it when you do that, he admits.
You-- you-- you-- Jane stands in the opposite corner of the tiny room, keeping the bed they’ve shared between them like a barrier instead of an invitation. You’re supposed to be dead! she shouts accusingly.
Not the first time that mistake has been made. He wipes his hand clean and stretches, making no effort to stilt his movements or exaggerate the gesture. Between his time as his brother and the Allfather, he has nearly forgotten what it is like to simply be himself.
Where’s Thor? What have you done with him?
He raises an eyebrow.
It is with the utmost satisfaction that he watches realization dawn on her lovely face (though perhaps the horror that accompanies it is less satisfying, but there will be time for her to adjust). I… no. Not-- not since the beginning. No.
Did you truly never suspect? I must be more skilled than I believed.
You... Her wide eyes stare at him blankly, then drop to the bed; the horror in her expression tinges with disgust. Oh, my God. We had sex. You had sex with me!
Now, now, let's not rewrite the past. You bedded me as frequently as I bedded you.
Only because I thought you were Thor!
He feels his smile turn to a sneer. And yet you could not tell the difference. Perhaps I am not the one you are angry with.
The red-hot glare she throws his way is nearly as delightful as the slap. Less horrified, less frightened, so much more angry. This is the way he likes her best. Don’t even try that bullshit on me, asshole. You tricked me. You lied to me.
Well, yes. But not about everything. He stalks around the edge of the bed, gratified by how she stands her ground. You will make a marvelous queen.
Her confidence cracks a bit at this, and she takes a step back, pressing herself to the wall. The light from the bedside lamp shines rippling shadows across drawn curtains. You’re insane.
Debatable. But, more importantly, irrelevant.
He reaches for her; she jerks away and raises her hands. Don’t you dare touch me, she snarls. You know what I can do. I threw Darcy halfway across the room without even trying.
And didn’t it feel spectacular?
She swallows. No, she lies, and not very well. (He’ll have to teach her that, too.) But I’ll do it anyway.
How unappreciative. I did save your life, if you recall.
She blinks, then glances down at the crimson crawling beneath the paper-thin skin of her wrists. For the aether, she breathes. Dismay is etched across her face, and it is, perhaps, the first time Loki has not enjoyed someone’s fear. What are you going to do? Rip it out of me like Malekith?
Even if I could, I would not. I cannot wield it. They’ve come very close together; he leans in, lips almost brushing the shell of her ear. I've no idea why, but only you can.
She grinds her teeth -- but she does not push him away.
Think of it, Jane. It takes no effort to make her name a caress. I'll take you to Asgard. Show you the vault of the kings. A new sky of stars. Did you wonder, Jane, how it is the seas of Asgard flow into the void? Beginning nowhere, becoming nothing? Would you not like to explain that with your science?
Her heartbeat quickens. He can hear it.
All of Yggdrasil will be yours to discover and dissect. You will never be questioned, nor ridiculed, nor cast aside. Never again be forced into shadow. Those who once mocked will kneel before you, Jane Foster.
But only if I help you become king.
He chuckles against her throat, relishes her responsive shiver. I am already king, Jane.
Then… why do you need me?
I don’t need you, Loki says, and he is not certain in this moment whether he is lying. But one is wise to plan ahead. Also-- he ghosts his lips across her cheek, not making contact --I’ve come to enjoy your company as much as you have enjoyed mine.
She shakes her head again, and he sighs. Really, you mortals always seek complications where there are none. I offer you a throne and innumerable lifetimes with which to study the secrets of the universe. Why refuse?
Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re a psychotic murdering lying megalomaniac?
Hmm. Then I give you leave to reform me. If you can.
As he will reform her. As he has reformed her. (As he questions reforming her.)
The aether pulses through her body -- his own magic thrums in time with her heartbeat -- and she has never been as tempting as she is right now. Show me how you do it, she says suddenly. Your-- your trick. Show me.
With nothing more than a thought he transforms himself into a palace guard. (Not Thor. He will never appear before her as his brother again.)
Jane stares for a long moment, then, slowly, cautiously, stands on her tiptoes to wave a hand over the top of the ‘guard’s’ head. You’re shorter, she whispers. You’re actually-- but you can't-- tell me, is it molecular transmutation, or neural interference? When he raises an eyebrow, she clarifies: Did you really change, or do I just think you changed?
I don’t know, Loki says. (Semi-honestly.) But would you not love to investigate?
Her eyes shine with unqualified greed.
Her blood sings with it.
And when he finally presses his lips to her shoulder the aether (Jane) does not push him away.
***
The new Queen is a quiet, reclusive creature, guarded jealously by the Allfather. She is of a middling age, but young enough to bear more sons for the throne. Any who questioned their king capable of such a feat doubt it no more after his awakening from the Odinsleep. He seems millennia younger.
(Jane does not speak on the subject, but it amuses Loki to think that one day -- one very, very distant day -- the child of a cursed mortal and a Frost Giant will defile the throne of Asgard. What would Odin (Father) have said to that?)
Thor is only vaguely welcome in Asgard, but he comes to pay his respects to his new stepmother, and that is the most work Loki has put into illusion in quite some time. His brother looks melancholy, but suspects nothing when he kisses the hand of the tall, blonde, gray-eyed Queen. The aether's smile is pleasant but distant, for Jane’s thoughts, as always, are in the vault with all the treasures of the universe.
(If he did not so relish watching her work there, illusionless, able to touch and be touched without magic blemishing their bodies, Loki might even be jealous.)
Oh, what it would be drop the deception, the pretense and show Thor just what has been taken and twisted and made whole. (As though his brother would ever have truly appreciated his prize.) But that would invite her loss, and for once -- for the very first time in his very long life -- Loki has something he would not risk for any triumph.
Perhaps he will, at last, be satisfied.
At least for awhile.
***
When the aether is finished burning Svartalfheim, Jane takes samples of the ash.