Undying Fidelity

“Ah.” He thought for a moment at how to reply. “Do you know why I want you to look at me?” The thought honestly hadn’t occured to him for why he wanted her to look at him while they made love. He knew it mattered but didn’t know why until just now.

She didn’t speak, but her gaze held him steady, searching and shy all at once. Leaning her forehead gently to his, she let herself be vulnerable in that quiet moment.

She didn’t speak, but her gaze held him steady, searching and shy all at once. Leaning her forehead gently to his, she let herself be vulnerable in that quiet moment.

The two ascended the stairs, and the boy was sweating. Never had that stairway been so strenuous. They made a right hand turn into his room. One he unfortunately shared with Thor despite having the room for them to have separate rooms. Loki’s side was mostly organized with a few small messes of varying books, while Thor’s was messed with sports gear, jersies, and food wrappers.

A smirk as she decided on the burn. "It's not a burn from fire." He twisted his arm to show the full coverage. The years had faded it greatly, enough it no longer looked like the handprint it was. Thor was always good for an adventure, and trying to destroy all frost giants was an interesting adventure.

"My oaf brother wanted to prove he was mighty and worthy of.. something. Honestly not sure what of.. Anyways. We got into a fight and I managed to get this freeze burn." He looked her in the eye as he spoke.

"It was all a blur. The closest thing to compare is dry ice. That accidental touch that aches for a week, but this burn was held against my arm for about a minute and took a month or more to heal."

“Freeze burn?” she echoed, eyes flicking from the mark back to his face. “Okay, see, I was going to guess hair straightener or angry ex-girlfriend, but that’s much more dramatic.”

Her voice was light, teasing—but she was still watching him carefully, filing away the way he said oaf brother and worthy of something, like it was a story he’d told a hundred times but never quite casually.

She stepped forward again, letting the space between them shrink just slightly. “So that’s the kind of kid you were, huh?” she said with a crooked grin. “Picking fights with your brother and walking away with ice burns?”

“No more secrets,” she echoed softly, as if testing the weight of the promise on her tongue. Her eyes stayed on the water’s surface, unfocused, her voice barely above it.

“I don’t know if hearing it will make me feel better…” She exhaled slowly, then turned her head just slightly, brushing her cheek against his. “But I want to know. I want to try.”

She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there with him, their hands joined at last, like something fragile but still breathing. After a moment, she looked up—eyes soft, unsure.

“Come on,” she murmured. “You can help me with dinner.”

“You said you saw flashes. Little glimpses of what could be.” She paused, her breath catching for a moment as her thumb brushed over his knuckles.

“I know even those are rare. I know you wouldn’t have told me unless you truly believed in what you saw.” Another beat of silence passed. She didn’t pull away, but her shoulders didn’t fully relax either.

“I want to believe that’s where we’re headed… I do. But flashes aren’t the same as feeling them grow, day by day, wondering if every twinge is something slipping away again.”

She leaned her head back slightly, resting it near his. Close. Not fragile—just open. “I’m holding on the best I can. But I need you here. Really here. No more secrets. No more disappearing without warning.”

“Is this what you do with all your students, Professor?” she asked, trying to lace her voice with sarcasm, but it came out quieter than she meant. Not afraid. Just… too careful. She looked from his face to the knife again. Her hand closed around the hilt.

The second she held it, something flickered behind her eyes. Not a memory, not really. More like a smell from childhood, or a song you haven’t heard in years but still remember every lyric to. The feel of a blade. The way it should spin in the air. “I don’t… I don’t know why this feels familiar,” she said, more to herself than him.

She stepped back, exhaled, and let her body remember what her mind didn’t. The knife flew. It sang through the air—not perfectly, not clean—but it hit the target with a solid, undeniable thunk.

She startled a little. Half proud. Half unnerved. She looked over at him sharply, an almost impish smile on her face.

“One question, huh?” she said, voice low now, steadier than before. She walked slowly back to him and took the second knife from his hand, fingers brushing his.

“I want to know,” she said, eyes locked on his, “what's the most reckless thing you've ever done for someone?"

A small smile was growing on his face as he watched her. She was getting cocky. Her throw was off center, but she still his the target. "One question."

A dangerous question?

Maybe.

But the way he said it—low, rough, like it cost him something—made her pulse flicker.

Something about his eyes made her feel like she’d been here before. Like she’d stood across from him in a place that wasn’t this, wearing armor instead of denim, blood instead of nerves.

But she wasn’t that girl. Whoever she had been.

Veronica tipped her head just slightly, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “Then it’s a good thing I like dangerous books, dangerous poetry…” Her eyes dropped briefly to his mouth, then back up. “And apparently, dangerous men.”

She made a motion towards his arm with her finger.

Loki stood and towered over her. "You may not like me if I tell you." The knife was tossed without looking at the target. Dead center hit again. She was such a tease, and he wanted her desperately.

The knife’s hilt under her chin was cold, but the heat in his gaze burned straight through her. She didn’t flinch—just held his eyes like she was daring him to look deeper. To see who she was. Or maybe… who she used to be.

“A war?” she echoed softly, lips parting into a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s a hell of a first date confession.”

Her fingers brushed his as she took the dagger from him—slow, deliberate. Almost reverent.

“A war?” she echoed, eyes narrowing with a spark of amusement. “You’re going to have to be more specific. That’s a little vague, even for a melodramatic literature professor.”

She turned and let the blade fly—another clean hit, effortless—but her smirk didn’t fade this time.

“Well, I do like dramatic men,” she teased, turning the knife in her hand. “But you might be overselling the ‘end of the world’ bit. Little intense for a first date, don’t you think?”

She stepped back with a casual sway, eyes still locked on his. “So you’re luring me in with ominous warnings and sharp objects? Bold strategy.”

A wink, quick and wicked. “Gotta say... It's kind of working.”

She threw the knife. Another solid hit. Then she turned back to him, smirking.

A glance to the target showed several hits milimeters from each other and all in the center of the target. Several more blades about an inch or so apart with decent grouping. Those blades were just off center, with one in the bullseye.

His gaze shifted back toward her as she called him a villain. "Oh, you've no idea." A wicked smirk smeared his face. Without breaking eye contact, he sank the final blade into the center of the target.

“Well,” she said, voice teasing, “since you’ve opened the door… what happened here?” Her fingertip hovered over the burn. “Cooking mishap? Campfire accident? Or did you try to toast a marshmallow and end up nearly burning the world down then, too?”

Loki looked at his feet in shame at Sigyn's next comments. He chewed the inside of his cheek. Everything for his family fell apart and he blamed himself. "I never should have left..." His sorrowful green eyes looked up toward her hand. Loki didn't dare look her in the eyes. Her eyes reminded him of what he abandoned long ago and he was too ashamed to be reminded. Loki hardly looked anyone in the eye anymore.

Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Then don’t.”

She stepped forward—not enough to close the space completely, but enough that he’d know she wasn’t turning away. Not yet.

“I’m still here,” she said, throat tight. “Not whole. Not healed. But I’m here." Her gaze dropped to the space between them, then lifted, slow and steady.

Her arms wrapped around herself again, not in anger, but in longing. In mourning for what once had been so easy. But he hadn’t turned away this time. He’d stayed. And that… that mattered.

A heavy sigh escaped himnas he laid his head back and closed his eyes. Loki hadn't actually given children much thought since marrying Sigyn. He possibly had a child by now.

Tensions were high for Loki when he first came to Vanaheim to wed Sigyn. Tensions cause by more than just the ongoing wars. Angrboda, his other wife, was growing manipulative and controlling. Loki would never stand for someone trying to control him the way she was. Angi had grown angry and cruel, Loki spent very little time with her because of it. He only returned because he still loved her.

When he had seen Angrboda last, she informed him she was with child. Loki attempted to celebrate with her until he realized how upset she was. She was angry with him. She had threatened to keep him away, that he would never know his child, and she would turn it against him. That was if she let the child live past infancy.

She also wondered if Loki had children with his ex wife already. He hadn’t talked about her much, and she didn’t want to pry, but she was curious. She also wondered how often his ex wife would come into her life, if at all. She knew divorce was unheard of in their upbringing, but Sigyn wasn’t really too keen on sharing if she didn’t have to. Especially if she didn’t end up liking the other woman. Now, if she were likable… perhaps a different story.

However, her thoughts were shaken as she felt Loki relax underneath her, almost falling asleep.

"Loki, Gyn-- You guys, have to see this," the young girl exclaimed, grabbing her sister's free hand and dragging them towards the equine stables. "Nimona finally had her foal!! He's beautiful!"

“I need you two to go gather as many apples as you can. Nimona and her babies deserve a special treat after all of this, don’t you think,” she said, feigning a smile, one she knew her sister wouldn’t see through but Loki would.

“Hurry now.”

The horse whinnied and chuffed again, trying not to be distraught in front of the small girl.

“What are you going to do if I don’t make it, my queen? Little Syn is going to be devastated, and my foals?” Nimona spoke to her goddess.

||

Despite being centuries old, the last few years up until now had been one of the greatest challenges that Sigyn had ever faced. In her first encounter with the Mad Titan, Sigyn had lost her husband, most of her people, and worried that she might even lose her sons. Luckily, the latter had not come to fruition. However, the next five years were not easy. In a few days, she had become a single mother who also had to take care of her brother-in-law and herself, all while fighting off the ever-lurking depression of her own after losing who had once been the love of her life. That and helping out where she could in figuring out how to come back from the phenomenon now known as 'the blip."

After the second battle with Thanos, Sigyn was lost, without a purpose. That's when she met Stephen Strange. They had worked together on healing the wounded after the final fight and hadn't actually talked much then. However, once he'd decided to journey with the Guardians, Thor wanted to ensure Sigyn had someone looking out for her and the twins, who were just now starting to discover their own magic. So, he'd formally introduced Sigyn to the Doctor.

It happened to be the luck of the draw that the Sanctum Sanctorum was still looking for a weapons master and combat instructor to replace the one before her. Sigyn had no other choice but to accept, as it was the perfect opportunity for both her and her sons. Today was their first official day after moving into the sanctum, and it would be evident to anyone who laid eyes on her that the goddess was nervous as she watched her sons move about excitedly as she moved to stand beside the Doctor on the far corner of the room.

Stephen can still recall with some dry amusement his introduction to Sigyn and her children by the thunder god. Thor had not been garbed at all as fit to be a king, and he'd made it clear that he wished to abdicate the position to which his lineage would have entitled him... in ostensible favor of thrill-seeking. The notion had certainly come off as irresponsible, although as the survivors of the Blip were telling it, a lot of the last five years had seen Thor behaving far more like an unleashed college student than a world leader. If he refused to take the throne, perhaps it was for the best that Brunnhilde sat in it instead.

But that, in itself, did seem a confusing aspect of the hierarchy. Were there no other heirs to the throne within the house of Odin?

And it was as Stephen had been pondering this question that Thor had beckoned the doctor across the throne room, to stand opposite a woman with platinum blonde hair and an ethereal aura about her. Even in the court of her own people, she had seemed a touch uncertain, not quite out of place but not at ease either. Stephen had taken note of her on that final battlefield outside the grounds of Avengers Mansion, tending to the wounded and the dying among her people. The touch she'd had in those moments reminded him of his own at his peak: confident, determined, perhaps even arrogant but entirely justified. He prefers to believe he still has an eye for the kind of talent, discipline, and compassion it takes to be a good doctor -- and it had not seemed at all out of line then to think that she might have been one, or at the very least, well trained in whatever the equivalent of field medicine was for Asgardians.

It had been that look on her face which Stephen had felt an odd kinship with... a sense of unbelonging in a place that was supposed to be home. When Thor had introduced her as the Lady Sigyn, his sister-in-law, it had given Stephen a long moment's pause to consider the ramifications of that familial title. Wed to Loki, then, and the mother of his children. What must that be like? At the very least, she must know a thing or two about subterfuge. And having been a survivor of the Battle of Earth, it was fairly obvious she had to know her weapons and fighting techniques.

He hadn't taken her on as merely a lark, of course. There had been conversations. Demonstrations. Sparring on various fronts, both with weaponry and with magic. It couldn't simply be because Sigyn needed a change of venue for herself -- that could have been obtained pretty much anywhere she pleased. But he had seen a particular delight sparked in her from being able to show off what she knew and what she could do... as though she hadn't often been afforded the opportunity. And it wasn't difficult for Stephen to imagine that being precisely the case.

Job interviews weren't just about finding the candidate who fit best -- but also what would best fit the candidate.

She'd said yes, of course. But she'd also drawn the line at making sure her children stayed with her. The Sanctum isn't forbidden to children, and Stephen would have only his own status to stand on should he decide they aren't welcome here, but obviously it would mean their mother wouldn't be, either... and if there's anyone in the universe who knows what it means to roll the dice on a hope and a prayer, it's Stephen Strange.

He's confident enough in the spellwork surrounding the display cases in the armory that he's not particularly concerned about magical mishaps leading to doors that shouldn't be opened. Not every weapon of the Sanctum is kept in this room; the conventional wisdom of not keeping all one's eggs in the same basket is not at all new. Still, he keeps his eyes on Vali and Narvi as they scamper about the room, noses pressed against the glass, staring at the variety of tools and trinkets populating it.

"That’s... kind of you to say," she replied, her voice even and courteous, as though still speaking in the careful cadence of diplomacy. "I’ve no illusions about how easily the presence of children can upset the balance of a place like this."

Her posture was perfect, still, but something in the way she held herself—too light, too carefully arranged—betrayed the exhaustion beneath.

"I will make sure they understand the lines that are not to be crossed. I only ask for patience in the meantime. We’ve been... between places for a long while now. Rest has been a luxury." Her mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "And rest does not always mean peace."

She hesitated, then added more quietly, as if the words had to pass through something raw just behind her ribs, "They lost their father. I lost… more than I had words for. But they need normalcy. Some kind of structure. If this Sanctum can offer that, then I’ll see to it they rise to meet the standard."

She exhaled through her nose, steadying, eyes now forward rather than on him.

"I appreciate your willingness to accommodate us, Doctor. I know it’s not a small thing, inviting grief and chaos to share your walls."

After a pause—long enough for it to feel like maybe that was all she’d say—she added, just a touch lighter, a whisper of wryness beneath the practiced poise:

"And for what it’s worth, you’ve already impressed them. I caught Vali trying to mimic one of your spell gestures with a spoon earlier.

Across the room, Narvi pressed his face to the glass around a dark, forked glaive—its twin blades shimmered with faint gold veins, pulsing like breath.

“Mom!” he shouted. “Did you see this one? The spooky one with the glowing cracks? I think it’s calling to me. Can I touch it? Just a finger?”

“Not today,” Sigyn replied evenly from across the room. “Or ever.”

Narvi huffed dramatically and turned to Vali. “Back me up.”

Vali didn’t speak. Instead, he watched the weapon for a moment longer, then quietly signed in their mother’s direction:

“Is this what you do with all your students, Professor?” she asked, trying to lace her voice with sarcasm, but it came out quieter than she meant. Not afraid. Just… too careful. She looked from his face to the knife again. Her hand closed around the hilt.

The second she held it, something flickered behind her eyes. Not a memory, not really. More like a smell from childhood, or a song you haven’t heard in years but still remember every lyric to. The feel of a blade. The way it should spin in the air. “I don’t… I don’t know why this feels familiar,” she said, more to herself than him.

She stepped back, exhaled, and let her body remember what her mind didn’t. The knife flew. It sang through the air—not perfectly, not clean—but it hit the target with a solid, undeniable thunk.

She startled a little. Half proud. Half unnerved. She looked over at him sharply, an almost impish smile on her face.

“One question, huh?” she said, voice low now, steadier than before. She walked slowly back to him and took the second knife from his hand, fingers brushing his.

“I want to know,” she said, eyes locked on his, “what's the most reckless thing you've ever done for someone?"

A small smile was growing on his face as he watched her. She was getting cocky. Her throw was off center, but she still his the target. "One question."

A dangerous question?

Maybe.

But the way he said it—low, rough, like it cost him something—made her pulse flicker.

Something about his eyes made her feel like she’d been here before. Like she’d stood across from him in a place that wasn’t this, wearing armor instead of denim, blood instead of nerves.

But she wasn’t that girl. Whoever she had been.

Veronica tipped her head just slightly, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “Then it’s a good thing I like dangerous books, dangerous poetry…” Her eyes dropped briefly to his mouth, then back up. “And apparently, dangerous men.”

She made a motion towards his arm with her finger.

Loki stood and towered over her. "You may not like me if I tell you." The knife was tossed without looking at the target. Dead center hit again. She was such a tease, and he wanted her desperately.

The knife’s hilt under her chin was cold, but the heat in his gaze burned straight through her. She didn’t flinch—just held his eyes like she was daring him to look deeper. To see who she was. Or maybe… who she used to be.

“A war?” she echoed softly, lips parting into a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s a hell of a first date confession.”

Her fingers brushed his as she took the dagger from him—slow, deliberate. Almost reverent.

“A war?” she echoed, eyes narrowing with a spark of amusement. “You’re going to have to be more specific. That’s a little vague, even for a melodramatic literature professor.”

She turned and let the blade fly—another clean hit, effortless—but her smirk didn’t fade this time.

“Well, I do like dramatic men,” she teased, turning the knife in her hand. “But you might be overselling the ‘end of the world’ bit. Little intense for a first date, don’t you think?”

She stepped back with a casual sway, eyes still locked on his. “So you’re luring me in with ominous warnings and sharp objects? Bold strategy.”

A wink, quick and wicked. “Gotta say... It's kind of working.”

She threw the knife. Another solid hit. Then she turned back to him, smirking.

Loki looked at his feet in shame at Sigyn's next comments. He chewed the inside of his cheek. Everything for his family fell apart and he blamed himself. "I never should have left..." His sorrowful green eyes looked up toward her hand. Loki didn't dare look her in the eyes. Her eyes reminded him of what he abandoned long ago and he was too ashamed to be reminded. Loki hardly looked anyone in the eye anymore.

Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Then don’t.”

She stepped forward—not enough to close the space completely, but enough that he’d know she wasn’t turning away. Not yet.

“I’m still here,” she said, throat tight. “Not whole. Not healed. But I’m here." Her gaze dropped to the space between them, then lifted, slow and steady.

A heavy sigh escaped himnas he laid his head back and closed his eyes. Loki hadn't actually given children much thought since marrying Sigyn. He possibly had a child by now.

Tensions were high for Loki when he first came to Vanaheim to wed Sigyn. Tensions cause by more than just the ongoing wars. Angrboda, his other wife, was growing manipulative and controlling. Loki would never stand for someone trying to control him the way she was. Angi had grown angry and cruel, Loki spent very little time with her because of it. He only returned because he still loved her.

When he had seen Angrboda last, she informed him she was with child. Loki attempted to celebrate with her until he realized how upset she was. She was angry with him. She had threatened to keep him away, that he would never know his child, and she would turn it against him. That was if she let the child live past infancy.

She also wondered if Loki had children with his ex wife already. He hadn’t talked about her much, and she didn’t want to pry, but she was curious. She also wondered how often his ex wife would come into her life, if at all. She knew divorce was unheard of in their upbringing, but Sigyn wasn’t really too keen on sharing if she didn’t have to. Especially if she didn’t end up liking the other woman. Now, if she were likable… perhaps a different story.

However, her thoughts were shaken as she felt Loki relax underneath her, almost falling asleep.

"Loki, Gyn-- You guys, have to see this," the young girl exclaimed, grabbing her sister's free hand and dragging them towards the equine stables. "Nimona finally had her foal!! He's beautiful!"