revivalproject | Cohort Mingle

"Poetic. And glum." Very Russian, honestly. She has to wonder if that's something that someone like Loki can understand, can identify with. Maybe he can—who knows? But there's something about the poem's resignation that strikes her as distinctly mortal.

"Is that because you expected me to be dead? Or some other reason."

"I live to serve." He offers her an ironic little bow.

When he straightens, he looks surprised. "Last I knew, you were quite well. Full of... what's the phrase. Piss and vinegar." He laughs, though his expression shifts to one of some concern. "Is there something I ought to know? It has been a piece since I've been to Midgard. There were... troubles on Asgard."

If there were any question of the fact this isn't the Loki Natasha knows, not any of them, then it's put to rest now.

"I don't doubt it. Seems like there usually is," she says, as much to buy time as anything. "I'm not sure what there is to tell—depends how much you already know, I suppose."

"When last I went to Midgard... it was a very brief stop. My brother and I were searching for Infinity Stones and I had dropped by to... check in on things. At any rate, there'd been some sort of... argument and the Avengers had split up, which Thor thought very silly when I tried to explain it to him. He blamed himself for not being around to beat Tony and Steve's heads together, I think." He considers. Natasha isn't one to beat around the bush with. "I thought it was an exceedingly stupid argument as well. But it was not something I could attempt to intervene with, as soon after Thor and I had all of our attention fixed necessarily on Asgard."

"I know the argument you're talking about. It's probably a little more complicated than you know. But... you're right, it was stupid." It was stupid not because there wasn't a real disagreement, but because of how they handled it, because of how two people's egos were allowed to drive what followed. Because in the end it wasn't the Accords that broke up the Avengers, it was them. Their inability to keep it together. "Sounds like your version of events is a little different from mine, though. Hopefully it ends different too."

"I would like to hear the details of it, should you be in the mood for a story. The entire matter made little sense to me, but I did not have time to fully investigate."

He doesn't like the sound of this. "How did it end for you?"

Natasha isn't entirely sure what to make of all this civility. It's not that she doesn't think Loki's capable of faking it; she's sure he is. But she can't imagine why, or with her.

She's heard a bit from Thor about how things evolved between him and his brother toward the end, information that complicates her reaction now.

"Not like I have much better to do. Depends which part of it you want to hear about, though."

"I shall take all you might give me." He doubts it will be the whole truth; this is Natasha, and she isn't his Natasha. She has no reason at all to trust him, and the absence of that friendship is like a missing tooth, which he can conceal with a close-lipped smile.

"With Thanos." She actually intended to say more than that, but what more is there? How much can she say that would even make sense. "You know who he is, right?"

There can be no doubt that Loki knows who he is. His normally supreme poker face can't save him when he hasn't prepared himself, and he's made the mistake of relaxing because he's around Natasha. He's already so pale that it's really hard to tell if he's gone paler, but there's a shift in his expression, the life and light draining away and leaving only a hollow in their wake.

"Oh yes," he says quietly. "I'm familiar."

Suddenly, he does not want to know this story. Because while they are here, it can be only a story, and not a reality that he, too, may have to face. He knew it would come eventually, but hadn't the focus of their efforts before Hela's return been to prevent that? "How badly has it gone?"

His expression is enough to tell her everything she needs to know—that he knows just how badly it could have gone. That he knows what kind of maniac Thanos is. He knows what he's capable of, what he's trying to do.

So he and the Loki Natasha knows have that in common.

"I'd say fairly badly."

Loki begins to pace, bringing one hand to his mouth so he can nibble on his fingernail. It's a bad habit he'd almost broken. "How many?" he asks.

Not that he cares about the number in the abstract. But it will tell him how badly things have gone in Asgard, if it is as bad as she implies.

"Suppose it could have been worse," she says. Somehow, remarkably, she finds herself trying to spare Loki's feelings. There's not much he can do about it here. "But he won. He did exactly what he wanted to do—wiped out half of all living creatures. Kind of a round about story, but... we weren't ready."

He presses his fingers against his eyes; not holding in tears, but holding in something much more visceral. "Then our worst fears have come to pass. Who remains?"

Loki forces himself to expect that those who remain will have not given up. If Thor... yes, Thor must still be there. He won't accept any other conclusion. Because the worst part is, in his heart of hearts, he knows that their two universes are not so different. If Thanos has won in Natasha's universe, then the chances in his own are slim. He at least is an ace in Thor's pocket, so to speak, but his sense of his own importance and cunning isn't that entirely overblown.

"Thor, Steve, Tony, Bruce... me, obviously," she starts with Thor because based on what she's heard from her own Thor, from what she's seen herself, she figures one way or another that's his priority. With some hesitation, she adds, "Clint. A few others. We have a plan. We're working on it, and I hear it goes well."

Thor lives. That's the most important thing. The others that Natasha names are a fairly good team. If the humans have a chance at all, it will be because they're the ones who survived. "Then that is better than it could be," he finally says.

He does not ask what happens to him. Because that is not him in this Natasha's universe, and he tells himself that he does not care.

"It can always be worse," Natasha agrees. It's a strange thing to commiserate over with Loki, but in a way easier to tell him than it was Steve or James. There's less pins and needles to spare his feelings, which leaves her more access to her own.

Strange how that happens.

"Still, it could be a lot better too."

That draws a laugh from him. "We go to battle with the warriors we have, not the warriors we wish we had." He rubs the bridge of his nose with one finger. "There are no absolutes in the universe, even if Thanos thinks himself one. Anything can be undone... for a sufficient price."

And that list of names are, for the most part, the sort of people willing to pay terribly.

"That's the idea." She sighs. It worked. She knows it worked. Clint's confirmed it, and Thor did before they left the Fleet. But this situation, all this rolling things back and bringing new people here has her feeling tense.

Loki looks at her for a long moment, taking in the sigh and the expression on her face. Then he asks, very softly: "What price did you pay?"

This is the real test, isn't it. Of whether or not this Loki is different. She could lie, but the fact is she hasn't been hiding it for a while not. Now really. Hell, at first she half assumed he already knew...

"Someone had to die on Vormir so we could get the soul stone. I made the call."

He'd begun to suspect that there'd be more death in the offing, but this hadn't been his vague prediction. Natasha had never struck him as the gleefully self-sacrificing sort; it was one thing that they really got on about.

But this wasn't ordinary circumstances. This wasn't about making a splashy, principled sacrifice like Thor or Steve might; of that, he felt certain. And the soul stone, he'd found vague rumors of in his research and hadn't liked any of them. But it meant that he felt no urge to question the necessity of such a sacrifice either, particularly not when it was coming from someone whose judgment was generally (annoyingly) sound. Natasha had always been an extremely reasonable sort, for a human.

"Oh."

There isn't a point to I'm sorry, because of course everyone is bloody sorry, and it's such a hollow thing to say even at the best of times. And he's never been the sort for that sucks. Even if it does, by the human colloquialism, 'suck big time.'

"You made good use of your death," he finally says. His lips quirk in a wry, sad little smile. "I will miss our little talks."

It's such a thin, useless thing to say as well. But genuine emotion is much more difficult to articulate than manufactured sympathy, and this hurts.

Edited 2019-11-27 20:05 (UTC)

"Maybe you won't." Considering how things turn out for him in her own timeline... but if she's thinking of differences, she can't deny that the changes might be for the better. "Maybe we'll be luckier where you're from."

She follows it up with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"On the other hand, I'm feeling pretty lively for a corpse. If we're really stuck here together, you might not be able to get away so easy."

"Such an optimist," he says teasingly. "Now I truly know you're not my Natasha. Though in my universe, you do have the excellent advantage of... Me."

It's half mocking, half serious. Loki knows he's very good at his job. But he also know more about Thanos than he is willing to look at straight on, and he's afraid. Bone deep terror is not something that adds to efficiency.

Loki grins at the mock threat. "I am very good at hiding."

Natasha shrugs, a multipurpose gesture that seems both noncommittal, as as though either way, she doesn't see much of a downside. It's the kind of posture that's useful in her line of work, saying everything and nothing.

"Guess we'll see."

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