InsaneJournal

Who: Loki & Nebula.
What: Loki pops over from New Asgard to cast a spell on Nebula..
When: After Captain Marvel & Nebula visit the Museum here.
Where: Kitchen/Dining Room on the 39th Floor.
Warnings: Lack of colour in the decor? Witty repartee? Stubbornness x 2?

Loki had referred to it as the ‘commoner’s room.’ Nebula was directed to the thirty-ninth floor, which consisted of many ‘common rooms’ and was a space for all to share, not defined by whether or not you were of noble birth. It was just one floor above her assigned living quarters, so she took the stairs.

She chose the kitchen, which had a long counter, a dining area with a table and some chairs, an L-shaped sofa and an incredible splay of windows featuring a view of the city. Nebula paused to take it all in, noted the decor was in neutrals of black, grey and white and decided the green fruit in a bowl on the counter was ripe for consumption. She selected one and took a bite: apple. Juicy, sweet and tart. Much better than yaro root, which took forever to ripen and wasn’t anything special when it did.

Nebula and the apple were the only colourful items in the room.

While she waited for this man-god, who apparently knew her from before their current situation, she walked toward the windows, stood with her weight on one leg, hip thrust out and stared at the skyline. If Loki was telling the truth - and based on her research into Nordic myths, that wasn’t a given - he would be able to cast an illusion spell that would make her appear more Human to anyone not associated with the Avengers.

Part of her thought it was cowardly to hide behind a mask. Part of her was looking forward to the possibilities this camouflage could provide.



---



That Loki had an unused room in one of Stark's towers was a bit of a farce. He had spent only one night in it, and that was to use magic to mark a rune door that opened to the secret paths that he dared to walk upon. Not an easy task to force an opening, and it was dangerous due to instability. Much like life in general, things were prone to collapse, and sometimes the risks made it useful. He didn't want to rely on Thor, and having a backdoor into Stark's Tower could be useful he supposed.

Loki walked into the commoner's room with his head held high and looking every bit a regal prince wearing an expensive Midgardian suit. The outer facade of confidence was carefully keeping any inner turmoil hidden away. He spoke to the Valkyrie a little about what he endured. They each had their own demons, and at least things were getting better...but he still wanted to prove to her that he could be every bit as good as Thor was. Plans were already in motion to do that. He merely had to get through this. It should be easy since Thanos' daughter didn't remember anything about his 'stay' in Sanctuary.

He approached slowly with silent steps until he was standing by her side. Between his pale skin and black hair - mirrored in the suit he was wearing - he didn't add much color to the place. Nebula and her apple were still the most colorful items in the room.

"Hello," he said, tilting his head to one side to look over at her from the corners of his eyes. It was equal parts appraisal and wariness. "Midgard is a rather chaotic but dreary place, isn't it? Certainly nothing as grand as what exists in the vast reaches of the universe."



---



He was good, she had to give him that. If she hadn’t received certain upgrades, Nebula might have been startled to hear a voice beside her. Fortunately, she wasn’t, though she was impressed. Her head turned slowly to regard his profile and she took in the suit, the stance, the side-long look. So, this was a god, and Thor was his brother. She had read about him, too, on the mythos sites she’d explored.

Gods could be unpredictable creatures.

Nebula waited until the pause was almost uncomfortable before replying, “It has merits, but no, the universe dwarfs this place by comparison, in size and complexity. I have visited a museum, which was interesting.” She glanced down at his shoes: very polished. He looked handsome and sleek, for a man-god, and resembled some of the men she’d seen during her excursion with Car-ell, only he wasn’t speaking into a hand-held communication device or using tech attached to his ears, which made them look like they were talking to themselves.

Returning her dark eyes to his pale, pale face, she leaned a bit closer. “You smell of an ocean,” she said softly, as if loud speech would somehow be too much at the moment. Her statement was just that, without judgement, an observation. Nebula stood straight again, still watching Loki, brought the apple to her mouth and took another crisp bite.



---



He nearly smirked at Nebula's observation. It was proof that there was more under the surface, just as there was with him. He was also fond of Midgard's museums. He'd pilfered some old Asgardian items from a few of them, things that were left behind long ago from a mindless succession of battles on this realm. He hummed thoughtfully and nodded, looking back out at the city that would be etched in his memories forever. Every one of those memories was foul and disjointed, slightly askew like a door knocked halfway off its hinges and barely hanging on to some semblance of normalcy.

Oh, how he hated the mere sight of this place. He made a slight scoffing sound and then turned around entirely, to go sit upon one of Stark's modular modern sofas. The way he sat was like a lean and profoundly lazy cat, that couldn't be bothered to sit fully upright.

"My wife smells of the sea far more than I," he said, hooking one arm over the back of the furnishing. He was less wary now since it genuinely seemed like Nebula didn't remember, and that offered him a small sense of relief. "We live by the water, as Asgardians always have. I suppose the scent does cling to us. My brother, on the other hand, reeks of petrichor."

He offered a little shrug and a roll of his eyes. Of course, Thor would have a pleasing scent of rain about him. Loki darkly mused that the only fitting scent for him might be fire and brimstone.

"Have you a preference?" he asked, breaking away from any dark thoughts. "Of what face you wish to wear, what hair color...or am I to choose for you? I promise to make you look aesthetically pleasing by Midgardian standards."



---



She turned her body to watch him as he crossed to the sofa and sat in a way that was more relaxed than his suit would imply. Not to the extent of being a ‘couch potato’, as Quill might say - assuming she understood the term correctly - but there was a languid quality that didn’t match the businessmen she’d seen on the street. There was still a tension to him, especially in the shoulders, but she didn’t know the reason, didn’t know his history with the city of New York. Maybe he was tense because of her presence. As a well-known assassin, that could be the case, though surely a god wouldn’t be worried about potential injury or death.

“Petrichor,” she said. “Your brother smells like rain? And your wife smells of the sea? Does your family have any distant ancestors who originated in a primordial ocean?” That could explain it.

When he asked about preference, how she wanted to look to most of the inhabitants of this planet, she slowly crossed toward the sofa, stopping a few feet in front of him, speaking as she walked. “I want to look like me,” she said, her gravelly voice still quiet. “This face, before it was altered, no metal in my head or anywhere on my body. As for what I wear… if I change clothing, will the illusion change to match it? That would be preferable.” That would add to her disguise and to blending in with the population. If she were to always wear the same thing, people might think her strange or worse, become suspicious.



---



"I mentioned prior that my brother controls the weather," Loki explained. "He can wield lightning and brew storms at will, so the scent clings at times. My wife is more at home in the air or over a battlefield. Her horse has wings, and she guides the souls of dead warriors to Valhalla. Her current work involves the sea, which she smells of. I bid her farewell ere I departed, and so too do I."

He looked her up and down and raised his eyebrows a little. It was an easy enough request, and he had no doubt of what torment she suffered from her 'father.' He had but a taste of it, but she may have been living it all of her life.

He waved a hand out at her. A ribbon of green and gold sparkles moved over her from head to toe. She would pass as a pretty redhead among the Midgardians, and would be free to wear whatever she liked and have it show.

"Your request is fulfilled. If you wish to use your phone to...take a selfie," and Loki developed a fleeting eye twitch upon saying it, "you may see for yourself. If displeased, I can offer adjustments."



---



“Of course,” she said regarding the scent of rain and salt of the ocean that seemed to be associated with Loki and his family. It made sense. That his wife had a horse with wings was interesting and something she might want to see in person. Nebula knew he was the God of Mischief, but currently had no reason to distrust him and she was trusting him, more than he might realize. The illusion he offered alone made her feel exposed, and she didn’t like that feeling.

He waved his hand in a manner that indicated he was doing something. Was it magic? She had come to accept that it was real, or at least that it was perceived as being real, which in a way didn’t make it magic. It was more like an ability. The way Thanos had so much power and could do so many apparently impossible things -

Thoughts of her father fled as colour shimmered over her and she felt… tingly. Not a word she considered part of her vocabulary, and yet - At his suggestion, she removed the device from a holder on her belt, entered a password, and activated the camera feature. She held it up to her face, reversed the view so she could see herself and snapped a photo -

The phone clattered to the floor. Nebula had seen but a fleeting image of someone she recognized, but who was also a complete stranger. She looked… Human. Pale skin, hazel eyes, freckles, long red hair and she was -

“Oh,” she said softly and stared at her hands. Still their familiar blue and further up her arms, metal on the left, but through the camera, she was different. Not a Luphomoid, but not a cyborg, either. Looking at the man-god on the sofa, she opened her mouth slightly to say something, but no words emerged. There was something wrong with her eyes. Nebula blinked as her vision blurred a little, and there was a dampness there which she hadn’t thought possible anymore. She swallowed and tried to speak again. Nothing happened. She was frozen in this stunned, stupid position, with a growing panic that she realized how vulnerable she was at this very moment.



---



That was...not at all what Loki expected. His eyes were round, and his eyebrows slightly raised as he froze in place, unsure if he did something wrong. He sat up a little straighter and watched her, looking from her hands to her face and back again. He found his own skin when it turned blue was disturbing, and he could imagine that this might be jarring and upsetting as well.

"If it is unpleasing to you, in any way, then say so. But I assure you, I did not seek to make you look unpleasing by Midgardian standards. They're incredibly vain creatures." No word on how vain Asgardians were, which was second only to The Sovereign. Still taking her silence as negativity, he tilted his head a little and cautiously asked, "I can remove it if you'd like?"



---



Her eyes were likely as round as his. Did he know what he’d done? Did he understand that she didn’t consider herself vain, but didn’t dislike her appearance, cybernetic replacements aside, though they provided a certain edginess that complimented her assassin status. Her look had a certain aesthetic and some people found her pleasing to the eye, even arousing.

But this - this was her, too. She still looked like herself, except not blue and -

“Whole,” she whispered, finally feeling capable of movement again and reaching down to pick up the phone. She stepped closer to Loki and held it out so the photo was visible, clearing her throat. “I am… whole.” She swallowed, checked herself. She’d felt her voice was going to crack and closed her mouth before it could. Nebula had no idea about the vanity of Asgardians, though she wouldn’t have been surprised, and as for The Sovereign? She wouldn’t help them if she were adrift in space and being sucked toward a black hole. Who cared what they thought of themselves?

She held Loki’s gaze and shook her head a little. “No, no it is fine. You have made me whole.” How could she make him see? As much as she didn’t like to be indebted to anyone, she felt she was now indebted to this man-god. She knew it was an illusion, but the possibility that perhaps someday, she could be free from Thanos completely and the agonizing torment he had inflicted upon her and be something more... Then the dampness around her eyes smeared her vision again and a single tear slid across her cheek and down to her jaw.



---



Loki looked from her face to the phone, feeling a faint twist in his stomach that was uncomfortable enough to make him visibly shift where he sat. To be made whole was a concept that he would have reveled in, even after that short time since the discovery on the Jotunheim. To not be a monster, inwardly or outwardly, instead of some broken creature that had to piece themselves back together. His scars did not show, unlike every piece of mechanization that Thanos added to Nebula's body, which no doubt involved excruciating pain. When he was in the Sanctuary, he heard more than his own screams. Who knew how many of them were from her?

He looked back at Nebula's face, feeling woefully inadequate to provide comfort even if he did understand. He was more familiar with cold comforts, often spat like venom tinged with both bitterness and sarcasm. It wasn't that he was heartless, but more that his heart was protected by layers of barbed wires, seeking to keep away any further hurts by all means possible.

"All's well then. Your father has not taken away everything," he offered, his words spoken slowly, as though carefully weighing out each one before offering them to her. "You can move freely, and I hope you do so to spite him. Norns willing, you'll have the opportunity for revenge against him in this universe, for making you feel less than what you truly are. A magnificent and deadly creature."

Being raised in Asgard instilled some sense of chivalry and politeness unto Loki. He was still Frigga's son, after all. He conjured up a green handkerchief and held it up to her if she wanted to dry her tears.



---



There was a possibility that some of those screams had been hers, not that she remembered Loki’s presence on Sanctuary. Thanos enjoyed watching her and Gamora fight and with Nebula’s inevitable defeat, he would savour the options before him for what piece of her he would choose to remove next. Though she tried not to, she would inevitably scream.

Nebula wasn’t sure what to expect from Loki, but he didn’t sneer or laugh or take advantage at all of her vulnerability. His words were careful but kind, as if this approach was still new to him. The God of Mischief. The God of Lies. Chivalry was not dead, though, and even a proud god seemed to be capable of sufficient understanding to offer kindness. She was still getting used to kindness and felt a sudden loss because Gamora was missing.

Looking at the green piece of cloth, she stiffened, thinking she didn’t need or want his pity. She nearly reverted to her default reaction, which would have been to smack his hand away,.I am weak. I am a fool. Then she let her body relax a little, knowing she was neither. She had been shocked by the illusion, but was finding her footing again, and he had called her -

“‘A magnificent and deadly creature’,” she echoed softly, but without a quaver to her voice. She accepted the green cloth but didn’t use it. Holding it tightly in her hand, she firmly, “I will spite him. I will find him and I will kill him. My hatred for Thanos burns in me like a thousand stars and is never far from my thoughts, but…” She lowered her hands, handkerchief in one, phone in the other, and briefly bowed her head in respect. “I will not squander what you have given me. Thank you for this gift.” Nebula lifted her head then, a small smile present on her lips. “It will assist me as I strive to… to be more than the sum of my father’s parts.”



---



Loki only knew Sanctuary from a very narrow perspective. A cell, being dragged to a chamber, being thrown in a cell again. Screams. The scepter. The Other pulling a string and sending his mind countless light-years away to Sanctuary, on a whim, threatening him if he failed.

That was all. The most horrifying and degrading moment of his life was a fragmented blur, pieced together in nightmares and jarring realizations as he started to move back to his center. It made one step forward feel like three very frustrating steps backward.

He could see now that the same slippery slope was one that Nebula was trying to crawl out of. The same as it was with his Valkyrie, too.

"Oh, I sincerely hope you are successful. That same hatred for Thanos dwells within me, as it does in the hearts of many," he assured her, slowly drawing his hand away. He stood up, looking down at her and hesitating. "You're welcome, and for what it is worth?" He leaned forward to look her in the eyes, a mischievous smirk on his lips. "I will enjoy proving my fathers wrong about me. As I'm sure you will."



---



Nebula didn’t ask why Loki felt he needed to prove his father wrong. She had gathered over time that many children disappointed one parent or another, or both, at varying stages of their lives. Sometimes she wondered what her birth parents would think of the person she had become, but she didn’t dwell on it too much. She doubted they would be proud of her accomplishments.

In the end, the only person she really had to prove something to was herself.

“Oh, yes,” she said, her smile now with an edge of promised revenge. “I know I’m not alone in this when it comes to Thanos. Should the opportunity arise, if it is possible to alert others, I will do so. As long as his death rattles last for a long, long time.” Nebula slid her phone back into the holder on her belt and offered him the handkerchief, should he wish it returned.



---



At best, Loki hoped his birth father, Laufey, was rotting in Hel. At worst, he knew that Odin was in Valhalla, probably judging him from the beyond. He was tired of the loss, to be honest. That his mother was dead in this timeline meant that his mourning hadn't abated. It was unlikely to. The bond with the only mother he ever knew was special and unbreakable. It transcended every lie.

He held up a hand and smiled, although it could only be described as world-weary.

"You may keep it," he told her. "Should your father find my whereabouts, then it may well become a token to remember me by. Kindly shove it down his throat before you stab him to death."

He curtly nodded and began to retreat, heading back toward the path point so he could go home.

"Let me know if you are in need of my aid," Loki offered, as he was leaving. He held up one hand in the air, as a farewell.