Loki, Unraveled|| NovaVerse 2

22|| Morphine Revelations

Word count: 2,667

Weeks had passed since Loki had arrived in Midgard. Weeks since he last heard any true update on Nova's condition. Any attempt to inquire about her wellbeing was turned down by FRIDAY-a primitive piece of technology the Midgardians called "Artificial Intelligence." He had told Natasha that getting rid of it was for their own good, warning her of how it threatened Asgard millions of years ago. His advice was viewed as "a threat to the security system."- or irritatingly vague comments from Natasha.

"She's stable," she would respond some days. Or "She's fine."

"I need more than that, Natasha!" He would snap, his hands curled into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms hard enough that they drew blood. Then Natasha would shake her head solemnly.

"I tell you every time, Loki. We can't risk Thanos knowing anything." She turned on her heels and walked toward the door, the heels of her boots clicking slightly.

"No," he said. "Nonononono. Natasha, please, it's me- just me. I need to know- please- is Nova truly alright? Is she awake? Can I see her? Please, Natasha. It's just me, just me." This he repeats every time, and every time when she ignored his pleas, he would become angry again. No- furious.

He hit the glass-like material of what was essentially a cage- a prison- until his knuckles were red and swollen. Asgardians are very durable people- the best of the warriors have been said to be able to venture to the center of a star and come out alive. Then again, Loki wasn't Asgardian. Perhaps that explained why he got tired of punching the walls after doing so for a few days nonstop. A true Asgardian warrior could keep going for a month without a mark on their hands.

A monster, he thought, the people I have called my own for so long would have gladly chopped off my head gladly if they knew of my true parentage.

Weeks alone in a cell gave him plenty of time to soak in his new reality, which is exactly what he was doing as he sat on the floor staring at the ceiling.

Loki of Asgard, the rightful heir to Jotunheim, god of Mischief, was sitting in a Midgardian cell. Loki, son of Laufey- not Odin, not Frigga. Loki, brother of none. Loki, the offspring of a race thought to be barbaric and cruel, stupid and horrifying. Parents would tell their children of how the Frost Giants would eat their own children if they misbehaved. Whether this was fact or fiction, even the greatest historians of Asgard could not tell.

Frost Giants are monsters.

Loki is a Frost Giant.

But aren't monsters heartless? He could feel his heart beating ferociously every time a thought about Nova passed, which was more often than not. If he had her, perhaps he was not all bad and terrible like he should have been.

He sighed, pulling himself up from the floor and mumbled, "Get me Natasha."

"I'm afraid she is unavailable," answered FRIDAY, her voice slightly muffled from the inside of the cell. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Loki conjured fireworks in his palm, imagining showing the tiny trick to Nova and admiring the way a smirk would find its way to her face and her nose would crinkle ever so slightly, which meant that she was trying her best not to show how amused she truly was.

She would have said, "Incredible! You know, I think you might be on par with a street performer," or whatever other sarcastic line popped into her head, but the little sparkle in her eyes would betray her words.

"Mr. Odinson? Are you alright?" The AI inquired. Despite Loki's weariness around the technology that nearly brought Asgard to its knees all those millennium ago, one can only go so long without some form of interaction. Besides, FRIDAY was still simple compared to what Asgard used to have. Minimal danger, right?