Chapter Text
It was not often that Loki let months pass where he did not visit his young friend. Mortals grow so fast, Loki found himself fearful that he would return and she would have out grown his companionship. He and Thor had been so very close when they were boys. Now they seemed, to Loki, to inhabit different realms. He was determined not to let that happen with Emerson. Every week or so, Loki would disappear from the courts for hours, escaping to his Midgaurdian confidant. No one questioned the second son’s absence. On the occasions that he would use the Bifrost, Heimdal would nod solemnly and send him directly to the oak tree in the park outside Emerson’s home. Once and only once, the gatekeeper had made the comment, “Your spirits are lighter now Prince”, upon his return, but that had been the extent of their conversation of the matter. Loki liked to think that they had an understanding. That Heimdal would not inform the All-Father as long as Loki never crossed the, as yet undetermined, line.
The prince went on visiting Emerson undisturbed for years. Emerson grew up under the watchful eyes of the God of Mischief, a fact he liked to throw around quite a bit. Once Emerson had complained to him about a boy at school who was teasing her about being a Tom-boy, her words. The bot had come back to class the next week with all pink clothes. His mother had no idea how that could have happened in the wash, but Emerson didn’t need an explanation.
She moved through her classes with a bored sort of ease that her teachers attributed to a high IQ and their excellent teaching abilities, but how was anything they taught her supposed to measure up to the history of the nine realms that Loki liked to pour over while they were toghether. Her mother enrolled her in outside language classes to keep up with her ever-growing vocabulary. She picked up foreign tongues as easy as you please. Loki was filled to bursting with pride. He would listen to her talk about her school days with the same wrapped attention that she afforded him.
She was fascinated by Loki’s knowledge and he was eager to share what he knew with someone who could finally appreciate all the things to which he had dedicated so much of his time. They would spend hours roaming Alfeim market places where his magic would disguise them both. He would make her practice the All-Tongue, which she struggled with at times, unlike the languages of her own realm. He would take her on adventures in less civilized realms. Loki would hold lessons on mathematics and science, pausing now and then to explain an equations or theorem. He knew it set her apart from her peers, knew what it could do to a child to live apart from the affection of others. When he asked her if it bothered her to be so different from everyone, Emerson had laughed at him; saying that she had a best friend who was way cooler than any one of her classmates. Loki was not clear on what being “cool” had to do with anything, but it seemed to be a good thing.
She became used to seeing her friend regularly, holding their oddly informative adventures in the forests of Alfiem. Emerson was worried beyond reason when months passed with out seeing her dear friend. He had promised to see her on her birthday. He had promised to take her to see a festival in a distant realm. He had even requested that she wear the silken green tunic he had given to her weeks before. When he did not come at sunset she waited. She sat by the open window in her room all night, the hot summer air blowing against her face. Her first instinct was not to cry, her best friend would not forget her birthday, or his promise. Something was wrong and for months his absence sat heavy in her chest.
Her effortless glide through her school days took on the monotonous drudgery of a chain gang. If her clueless teachers noticed the change in her demeanor they attributed it to hormones, she was thirteen after all. Even a genius could be a victim of their endocrine system. Her near perfect grades never slipped. Keeping up her marks was something she was sure Loki would have approved, he would see it as a silent rebellion.
“Success can be revenge you know,” He had told her once. When she had asked why he knew so much about so many things.
So she worked on tedious math problems that she and Loki had blown by months ago while sitting in the tree at the park. She muddled through her day to day worried for her friend.
It had been four months of hell for the dark son of Odin. He had never seen a more gruesome battlefield. Dark Elves had taken the lives of scores of Asgaurdian soldiers. His brother had not lied when he said they needed him. Thor had needed a cunning liar to infiltrate the Dark Elves camp, to plant the seeds of chaos in the chain of command. There was no one better suited for the job than he. It had taken far longer than he had anticipated. He had been discovered and held hostage for at the hands of his enemies. Thor had tried to negotiate for his return, but in his ire had only made things worse for Loki. At the end Loki had never been so glad to see his one-eyed father in all his long life.
Loki had needed to be carried out of the Dark Elves’ camp by Volstag. The warrior had always been the most accepting of Thor’s comrades. Volstag had winced at his first glimpse of Loki. Long bloody whip marks rained down his back, his once lithe form emaciated. Blue shadows haunted his sunken eyes and now hallow cheeks.
“You are a ghost my brother,” Thor said once they pair had reached him at the mouth of the Bifrost.
Thor had slept by his bed in the healing chambers until they healers had released Loki to go back to his rooms. The scars they assured him would fade in time, he was young and virulent. Loki did not wait long to sneak out to the Bifrost. He nodded to Heimdal in the same manner he had every other time he left Asguard.
“She has missed you, prince.” Loki was surprised that the gatekeeper had bothered to keep tabs on a mortal girl when so many atrocities had been happening to Asguardians. He was about to say as much when Heimdal slid his legendary sword into the golden altar and Loki was pulled through the Bifrost.
When he arrived it was night. The wind howled from an oncoming storm and Loki made his way up the street stiffly. His leg burned with every step and even the weight of his tunic seemed too much against the tender scars along his back. They had knitted the flesh back together swiftly enough, but only his magic would truly mend the ghastly ridges of pain. When he finally reached his destination he ran his hand through his hair vainly, staring up at the only lit window in the house. He had known she would be awake. He let himself in through the front door, hating that he was so weak and ghosted through the house careful not to wake the sleeping parents who would undoubtedly object to his entire being. He knocked on her door softly. She mumbled something through the door he knew was not an invitation, but let himself in anyways.
She didn’t look up from the paper she was studying. She merely made an annoyed sigh and told him “I don’t care what time it is I am not going to sleep.”
“I would certainly hope not,” He grinned devilishly when she looked up at him. “I have only just gotten here.”
Of all the things he had imagined her doing when he finally returned, he had not imagined her crying. He had imagined laughter or shouting, even once when he was captured he had thought she would forget him entirely, but the tears sliding down her pale cheeks surprised him. She sat on her bed transfixed weeping for him. Loki rushed to her as best as his aching body would allow and she reached for him. They held each other for a long while without speaking. The storm picked up whipping the leaves on the oak outside against the windowpane, thunder boomed, and for the first time in Loki’s long life he didn’t think of Thor.