Ancients

In Which There is Love

"Why did you do that?"

"I deserved it. I also deserve privacy, believe it or not."

Loki was sitting on his balcony. Well, half of him was. The other half was dangling three storeys off the ground. Which didn't sound like much, but it was a tall three storeys and he couldn't get much higher without forsaking comfort, and he wasn't about to do that. Wanda stood behind him, her hand on the sliding door, right over the threshold. It was poetic, Loki thought. A foot in each realm-the insane and chaotic and the normal, with cushy furniture and colour-coordinated accents like clever little coffee tables where no coffee had ever been placed and strange knickknacks that owed their existence to their position on the colour wheel and no other reason. Like the porcelain koala that greedily claimed its spot over his fireplace. Loki didn't think he'd actually ever seen a koala, much less invited one into his home. But there it was, the furry bastard. And he'd never admit it, but once when he got lonely, he bade it good morning.

He broke his own arm immediately afterward, but that's neither here nor there.

"Will you ever stop?"

Wanda was suddenly next to him on the ledge, which he found mildly insulting. This was his ledge. He was the one being dramatic, who was she to steal his thunder? She also didn't fall and smack the side of her face while climbing up, which he also definitely didn't do.

"Being so charming?"

She cut him a glare and stole his coffee, took a sip and returned it to its spot between the two of them. .

"You know what I mean," she muttered.

He sighed.

"I suppose, if it ever becomes clear to me that this isn't something I have any inclination to do. Or when I die. I suppose I might stop then, too."

She nodded.

"Will you ever mind your own business?" he countered belatedly.

"I usually do. The thoughts of those close to me or around me are broadcast out like tiny towers everywhere. In the towers are who these people really are, being their true selves. Belting out songs and emotions and dark things to the wind, and I am the only one who hears it."

Loki glanced over at her and glued his eyes back to the horizon and attempted to look contemplative. What else was he to do?

She continued.

"That is why I do not go out in public. I don't know the people there, but they all have something to say. Usually it's just irritating-buy eggs and milk after work, don't forget to call mom, the car needs maintenance this weekend. But sometimes, in that sea of voices I hear terrible things that catch me off guard. 'I hope he isn't drunk when I get home', 'I wish she would stop hitting me'. 'I hope I locked the front door, I won't be coming home again.'

He half expected to see her crying, but there was a cold look on her face. Like it made her sad to see such pain, but it was all she'd seen for so long.

"But those things are different. Those voices are louder, harsher. They cut through my own thoughts, sometimes."

She drops her head, picks at the scabs on her knuckles.

"Everyone in this building is a little bit fucked up. Some more than others. Collectively, they're a solid mezzoforte. On a bad day. But you..."

She looked at him with this look on her face that Loki couldn't read.

"Your thoughts are like this deep bass that thunders under everyone else. Your voice is so much more ancient, so much more refined. If they are marble sculptures, you're the Grand Canyon."

He smiled, a bit full of himself.

"Oh shut up, the Grand Canyon can be perfectly awful if it wants to be."

She sobered up, her face falling.

"You just...you've got the same level of pain as everyone else, but it's been building over centuries. When you're sad, you wear the sorrow of the wars you've fought and lost, the horrors you've witnessed. And when I check in on you, I see them too."

Loki looked absolutely riddled with guilt. She shook her head.

"It's fine, there's really no avoiding it. And it's interesting. But it hurts, and it hurts you so much more than it does me. When you're happy..."

she shuddered, wiping an errant tear with the cuff of her sleeve.

"When you're happy you just light up everything around you. Everything around me becomes brighter and I tune into your wavelength and I watch the memory of you rescuing a baby elephant, or flying with Emilia Earhart, or actually flying-as a swan, on your own wings. Through you, I've seen the dawn of humanity, the discovery of fire, the first work of art. It's not like your pain goes away, it just feels...worth it. For a moment. And then it fades. The baby elephant grew up and was killed by poachers, Emilia Earhart went missing. The swan, overcome with a sudden rush of self-hatred, plummets toward the ground. Humans fucked up the world, the Library of Alexandria burned, the art was graffitied."

He nodded, hot, salty tears flowing down without permission. She placed her hand over his and transferred a sense of calm and love through the touch. He let it creep into his cracks and glue him back together, glowing like lava.

"It does hurt, doesn't it?" she asked, with glistening eyes.

"More than you know, my dear."

Wanda scooted closer somewhat awkwardly and embraced him, her lithe arms so much stronger and warmer than anyone would have thought.

She communicated so much reassurance through her hug that it broke him, and he melted like chocolate in her touch. Loki began to shake, a controlled amount of catharsis. Still, he hadn't let himself go like this in decades. He hated himself for breaking down in front of a human.

But there was something old in her too, they both knew it.

And the old in her recognised the old in him, meeting each other like two vast oceans.

The coffee grew cold and lie forgotten outside. Its darkness was diluted by the rainfall outside and it overflowed, painting the concrete balcony ledge a rich brown. Tony complained, as is his way. Loki promised he'd do something about it. But every time he saw it, he couldn't help but smile in the saddest, warmest of ways.

There is love here, it said.

There is love for you.