A/N: My gift for LMPandora as part of the 2015 Lokane Exchange on AO3. She wanted a soulmate AU, which I have been writing a lot of lately. In fact, I wrote up a whole idea for a Lokane soulmate fic on tumblr, which this story is based on.

Hope you enjoy!

On Asgard, there was no such thing as soulmates.

There didn't need to be. Anyone who wasn't committed to one person for their roughly five thousand year lifespan shacked up with any willing individual they pleased whenever the fancy struck them. It was simply the way of things for the Aesir, had been for as long as anyone could remember, and it worked well for them. There was no need to envy the Vanir, with their silvery tattoos that turned gold with the right touch. Nor did they care for Midgardians, who spent their early years bare, only to develop words on their skin upon reaching adulthood. Why would they need all of that when they could just go to the nearest tavern, start up a tab, and dissolve into a boisterous drunken orgy any time they wanted?

When love matches did happen, it was only after the couple spent a good number of years in each other's company. They had to live together, drink together, and most importantly, fight together. The Aesir were warriors by nature. They lived and died by the blade, and so everything else they did tied into it. To strike a blow for a comrade, or better yet, to take one, was the deepest, most meaningful expression of love any man or woman could give. It mattered not if some vague universal presence known as 'fate' decreed that it was so. The mythical talk of precognition and the three fates were just that: myths. The real Asgard had no dealings in such nonsense. They had created the most advanced and glorious civilization in the known universe through hard work and warfare. They made their own destinies, and over time, it became clear that they were the only race powerful enough to do it.

That was why Asgardians did not have soulmates.

Did not need soulmates.

And so, when Loki Odinson woke up on the morning of his coming of age to find a blank mark written across his arm, he knew that something very strange was happening.

Loki's first question was this: Why did he have writing on his arm?

His next question was this: What in Odin's name was a 'New York'?

The first question proved the easiest to answer. Upon finding the mark, he'd gone to his mother first thing. A glamour spell hid it from view, an unnecessary precaution since the sleeves of his tunic already covered his arms to the wrist. The extra protection just made him feel better, however foolish of him it was.

Frigga was in her private study with only one handmaiden present. The queen took one look at her son and dismissed her, sending her back to her quarters and leaving her and Loki blissfully alone.

"What troubles you, my son?" Frigga asked. She could always pick up on Loki's moods, sometimes even faster than he could. "I thought you would be happy today. You've become a man."

And she sounded so proud of him that Loki almost lost his nerve. He knew not how Frigga would react to this, if she would be shocked or angry or disappointed or all three at once. For perhaps the first time in his young life, Loki was unable to form a single word. He settled for undoing the strings of his tunic and letting it fall off of his shoulders, exposing the mark on his arm.

Frigga's smile disappeared.

Leaving her embroidery off to the side, she beckoned Loki closer, taking his arm in her gentle grip. Loki flinched at her touch. His mother was one of the few people (in fact, she was the only person) he would openly accept affection from. If she happened to hug him and kiss his cheek in front of an entire hunting party, and they happened to spend the entire trip ribbing him for it, then so be it. Frigga was the one person he would never deny.

And yet, here and now when her fingers brushed the mark, it burned him. He snatched his arm away, battling down a furious boiling in his stomach. It was completely alien to him, this irrational rage at the thought of Frigga touching the mark. Of anyone touching it except…

"It just appeared," Loki said, shaking himself of the thought. "I cannot explain how or why, but when I awoke this morning and began to dress, there it was."

Frigga eyed the mark, but didn't reach out. She seemed to have some kind of understanding that Loki didn't about what was happening to him. The tiny shake of her head, followed by an encouraging smile that even a fool could see the foreboding behind, only confirmed it.

"Loki," she said, standing up. "It appears you have a Midgardian soulmate."

After that, there was a well of information available to Loki. He poured over books that would have never interested him otherwise, reading about all the ways in which Midgard had approached soulmates over the years. There were tales of Kings disowning their heirs all for choosing to bond with their lower class mates. Some went as far as to have the soulmate publicly executed, leaving their sons to either carry on obediently or end their own lives to join their loves in the afterlife. Other stories mentioned people of differing races or religion coming together through their marks, only to be torn apart by those too blind to recognize the pull of destiny. Many of these tales also ended in suicide.

It was all dreadfully romantic, and even more dreadfully dull, and it didn't answer any of his questions. No matter where he turned or what book he perused, there was not a single instance before now of an Aesir having a soulmark, much less a Midgardian one. They were the weakest, most fragile creatures to ever exist in the Nine. It was just Loki's dumb luck that he'd end up bound to one.

And he still had no clue what this 'New York' thing was.

His mother had been supportive, telling him whatever she could and pointing out where he could find everything else. The only thing she couldn't tell him was why, and nowhere else he turned provided an answer. The most he'd come up with so far were a few instances of Midgardians and Jotunns becoming soulmates, but all that did was remind him that, as pitiful as the Midgardian race was, there was at least one other even more worthless than they. He felt a degree of pity for the poor humans who found themselves bound to such monstrous creatures as the Frost Giants.

As time went on with no new breakthroughs, Loki gradually lost interest in the matter. Now that he was a man, he had new tasks to fulfill and responsibilities to the throne that couldn't be ignored. His mark was not a hindrance to him in any tangible way. A glamour spell and some armor were all he needed to pretend it didn't exist, so over time, Loki took to doing just that. Now, he only acknowledged it twice: when he was dressing in the morning before a full length mirror, and when his mother asked him about it. The latter happened once every few years or so. Loki never had all that much to tell her. He hadn't actively thought of his mark in two hundred years.

"I still know not what this New York is meant to be," he told her over tea one year, "nor what I'm going to do to it that would so infuriate her."

"Perhaps New York is a person," Frigga suggested. "She might be defending the honor of a friend."

"Mother, I hope you're not implying that I would treat a woman in so callous a manner."

"Of course not, my love," Frigga answered, smiling. "I taught you better than that."

Loki smiled back, and stirred another cube of sugar into his tea. "That aside, I have my doubts that New York denotes a person. I have reason to believe that it might refer to either a people or a place, though that still leaves me at a loss for how I will have wronged them."

Frigga hummed. "If New York is a place, then it is possible that a battle may occur there at some future date."

"That cannot be possible," Loki scoffed. "No Aesir has set foot on Midgard for centuries. I wouldn't be surprised if they've forgotten we exist."

"Never say never, Loki," Frigga said gravely. "One can never know what the future has in store."

Loki looked into the swirling, steaming liquid in his cup. Light from the sky beamed down them, bouncing off of his armor that covered the tiny black words from view. Sometimes, even now, he caught himself reading them for too long in front of the mirror, and wondering…

"I know," he said softly, and he slowly drank his tea.

Inevitably, Thor did find out about the mark.

It happened on yet another of his ill-advised ventures into the deep forests of Vanaheim. After the wedding of Hogun's sister, during which the bride and the groom had joined hands and displayed bright golden tattoos curling around their wrists and forearms, there was very little to do other than drink, explore, or both. If Loki had his way, he would have forgone all of it in favor of a peaceful night reading in his tent. Thor, on the other hand, had different ideas.

That was how Loki found himself dragged through dense thickets, where the flimsy tree branches Thor pushed out of his way always snapped back into Loki's face. Sif accompanied them, trailing after Thor like the lovesick fool she truly was. Fandral and Hogun rounded out the group. Volstagg had unfortunately been unable to make the trip across realms. Two of his children had come down with mild yet persistent illnesses that required constant care and attention from their parents.

They crossed miles of brush, felling small animals to be cooked up for dinner. Loki, deadly accurate with a dagger in hand, boasted the most kills with five to Thor's three. On the other hand, one of Thor's kills had been a horned serpent; inedible, but one of the realms more dangerous predators. Just one was capable of killing twenty men at a time. So while Loki skinned and gutted his kills to be cooked over a newly made fire, everyone else congratulated Thor on his successful hunt while waiting to be fed.

So it goes.

At the end of the evening, Loki retreated from another round of drunken campfire tales to remove his filth coated armor and wade into a pool of clear water. Under the moonlight, Loki bathed his body in the clear water. He washed grime out of his hair and off of his skin. In the process, his glamour spell wavered and broke. The dissipating magic registered briefly in his mind, but for now, Loki let it be. He could always fix it when he was through and it wasn't like anyone was around to see.

"Loki?"

He paused and looked up. Thor was entering the water, his armor and shirt removed, but his pants remaining. Loki paid him no mind as he went back to rinsing. If Thor wanted to call, the fool could wait, thank you very much.

"I see we had the same idea, brother," Thor said, "but you know we must be quick if we are to return before… what is that?"

Loki's body jerked to one side, pulled by Thor's meaty, oafish hand that wrapped around his wrist. For a moment, Loki took it for a joke. Or maybe Thor had seen a leaf on him and wanted to try and trick him into thinking it was vermin (he'd tried that so many times when they were children that Loki started pretending to be scared out of pity). But then he remembered: he hadn't restored the glamour yet, and that was his right arm Thor was grabbing. Loki closed his eyes, hoping and praying to Valhalla above that Thor hadn't seen it.

"What is a 'New York'?"

Dammit. That was the last time Loki ever asked those stupid, lazy Valkyries for anything.

"I'll thank you not to touch it," Loki hissed, jerking his arm away. "Please let me finish my bath in peace."

"But what is it?"

"Is it not obvious what it is?"

Thor blinked. He looked at the mark again, coming in close as if the answer was somewhere embedded in the skin. Maybe it was in a way, because as soon as Thor began to study it more closely, his eyes bugged out.

"Loki," he said with some trouble. "Not to alarm you, but I do believe you have a soulmark."

"Excellent observation, Thor," Loki deadpanned. "Truly nothing gets by you."

"Now when did you ever get a thing like that?"

Loki hesitated. "I've had it for some time. Since my coming of age."

Thor's booming laughter shook the trees and scared off a flock of birds.

"Some time indeed! Loki, it's been almost four hundred years since you came of age. I cannot believe that you have kept this secret for so long."

Rolling his eyes, Loki replaced the glamour spell to cover the words up. He turned away when Thor made a little sound of disappointment.

"Now that's not fair, brother. I didn't finish reading it."

"It says, 'Thor is an uncouth clod with the intelligence of a newborn bilgsnipe'. Now may I please have some peace and quiet?"

"You're just worried that I'll steal your lady from you if I know."

For something so stupid, Loki wouldn't delegate a response. While Thor continued his teasing from a safe distance, Loki muttered a spell to dry the water off his body. He checked his arm that the mark was still hidden, and found nothing but bare white skin behind a ring of protective magic. For just a moment, he let it drop, rereading the words that had puzzled him for years and mouthing along with the strange foreign dialect. His fingers brushed it. It was warm to the touch. It had always been warm, unless someone else tried to put their hand there. A court lady from Alfheim had tried to touch him there during a dance. She'd been intent on seducing him, but in that moment, she lost her chance. Loki left her on the dance floor without a word, fearing that if he stayed, he would cause a political upset by attacking a visiting dignitary.

Loki took a deep breath and wrapped his hand around the mark. Instantly, his heart rate slowed and his muscles relaxed. He pulled away reluctantly after taking a minute longer than he'd intended. He would never admit it, but it was a habit he simply could not let go of, not when it gave him the only peace of mind he had outside of his dreams of a small, faceless woman wrapped up in his arms, her body a perfect fit against his.

Thor told the others right away.

Loki made it back to the campsite to find the four of them talking and sharing a joke. He didn't know nor care what it was until Fandral rose to greet him.

"Ah, here comes the prince!" he said jovially. "Have you found your princess yet?"

The others laughed like they expected him to join in, and when he didn't, their mirth was undeterred and even grew. Loki received a few more jabs from Fandral, one or two from Sif, and even Thor threw in a few that made Fandral sound clever. Only Hogun was silent, but that was more a testament to his character than any love towards Loki. In his mind, he was just as amused as the others. He even smiled a little when Loki walked past him to collect his cloak.

The hike back to the party grounds was like a walking interrogation, wherein Loki was badgered into rolling up his sleeve and removing the magic to let them see what was written there. He kept two steps away from them, well out of arm's reach, but close enough that they could still see.

"What is New York?" Fandral asked. He glanced at the others, who were just as at a loss. "I've never heard of it."

"I think the better question is, what is Loki going to do that will prompt her to take revenge for it," said Hogun.

"Another one of his pranks, no doubt," said Sif. She eyed Loki, her face scrunching up like she smelled something foul. So had been her way ever since Loki's ill-fated joke that cost her her beloved golden hair.

"Prank or no, it is nothing for you to concern yourself with, Sif," Loki said. He shot glares at each member of the party in turn, saving an extra sharp one for Thor. "It is no concern of any of you. This mark means as much to me as a bug under my boot. It is nothing more than a mistake of some non-existent fate. I have no more need for a soulmate than any of you. Now, I would appreciate it if we could drop the subject, and if some of you can learn to hold your tongue about other people's private business."

He walked on ahead of them, making it back just in time to accept a dance from a slightly tipsy Vanir lady. She was tall and voluptuous, in all ways the opposite of his dream figure. He danced with her anyway, and invited her to his tent later in the night even though he would've rather been alone. Just to prove it that the mark meant nothing. If Thor had been there to see it, it would have been clear to him. Even his skull wasn't so thick that nothing could penetrate it.

Of course, Thor wasn't there, nor was anyone else. The woman rested in his arms when it was over, exhausted, but sated. He had been a little… enthusiastic, if only because he wanted to prove it to himself. For one sweet moment, as he woke her up an hour later for another round, he thought he had.

That night, he had another dream.

"I'm sorry, brother," Thor said outside the practice grounds back home. "If I had known you wished to keep it secret, I wouldn't have told our friends."

"You discover that I have had a soulmark for several hundred years that I always keep hidden from view, and it doesn't occur to you that I might not want anyone to know about it?"

Thor flinched, and Loki had no sympathy for him. He never did when Thor put his foot in his mouth.

"At least know that I have sworn them to secrecy. The truth shall never pass their lips or mine."

"Yes, they are so bound by honor, aren't they?" Loki removed his outer armor and conjured a small dagger. "Enough of this. I did not come here for idle conversation."

Thor grinned and took his stance. "Brother, you never use words idly."

Their sparring match went on for several hours. As always, they attracted a crowd of spectators, from passing servants to wandering citizens to busybody courtiers. For a time, they were all entranced, but as the fight dragged on without a winner in sight, they would eventually lose interest and disperse. By the time Thor called for an end to the exercise, they were as alone as they had been when they started.

"What I don't understand," Thor said while grabbing a rag to wipe the sweat from his brow, "is how you and our parents could keep something like this from me. I thought that at least you would have told me."

"Mother suggested that it wasn't important enough to mention, and I agreed with her," Loki said curtly. And here he thought they were done with this rubbish. "Up until now, it has only been the two of us who have known. I was hoping to keep it that way, but now that you…"

Loki trailed off. Looking at Thor's face showed a strange myriad of emotions that ranged from shock to guilt. The latter was especially strange. What did golden boy Thor ever have to be guilty about?

"You mean to say that Father didn't know?" he asked.

"Not unless Mother told him, and I doubt she would have," Loki said. "Not when she was the one who stressed the importance of keeping silent in the first place… why do you ask?"

Now, Thor's face changed again. There was only guilt present. Strong and unyielding as if he was personally responsible for starting the ancient war with the dwarves. Loki wished he could say what Thor was thinking.

Or more accurately, he wished he could say that Thor was thinking something else.

"Thor, what did you tell Father?"

It was another day before Loki was summoned. He was surprised. He had been sure that Odin would send for him the moment he heard. And yet, something else had taken precedence, and Loki had to wait an extra hour outside the throne room for his name to be announced.

When he entered, it was without fanfare. There were no scribes or court ladies or anyone at all save for the two of them. Odin on his throne was a large and imposing figure. His golden armor shined, blinding Loki momentarily as he sunk to one knee.

"All-Father," he said.

Odin rose to his feet. His two ravens sat on opposite ends of the mighty throne, their coal black eyes staring down at him with wisdom beyond their species. Loki raised his head to his father, who appraised him silently, his mouth a hard line.

Show me," was all he said.

Loki stood. With a wave of his hand, he stood bare chested, and jutted his arm out to show the words. Odin made no move to get a closer look. He trailed his one eye over the words with a grim expression. He hummed low in his chest, and Loki could honestly say he had no idea what that meant. That was not a place he wanted to be in, unaware of what someone was thinking. How could he steer things in his favor if he was going in blind?

Odin turned away, and Loki re-dressed himself and waited patiently for his father's verdict.

"Your mother says you went to her first."

Loki nodded. "I thought she would know best what it was."

"You are not wrong," Odin conceded. He turned around. "Of course, you know this mark means nothing, yes?"

He did know. He'd said the words himself to Thor and to himself countless times. And yet, coming from Odin, in so unfeeling a way, it was as irksome as if he had taken the mark and repeatedly run his cold, wrinkly fingers over it.

"That is a bit blunt, father, if I may say."

"You may," Odin said tightly. "The truth of it stands. This mark must mean nothing to you. It would serve you no good to pursue it."

Loki opened his mouth, then closed it. He thought carefully about his next words.

"Forgive me if I am at a loss," he said, stepping closer to the throne. "I know that the concept of soulmates has never applied to Asgard, but I wasn't aware that it was outright discouraged."

"You misunderstand me," said Odin. "It is not the idea of a soulmate that I disapprove of, it is the fact that there is only one species in the nine realms that uses words for marks, and they are not the sort that an Aesir, much less a prince, should be fraternizing with."

Loki pursed his lips. Once again, the obvious had been stated, and once again, Loki hated his father for it.

"I see," he said, flexing his fingers around the air. "I'm… surprised that you are so adamant, Father. Given that you yourself led our troops into battle with Jotunheim all for the sake of the Midgardians, I would've thought you held them in higher regard."

"I led the charge to save them because they were and are too weak to save themselves," said Odin. "It was an act of mercy, but I never intended to allow them equal standing with us. They have their realm and we have ours. That is the way of things, and that is how it must stay."

"So even if, for argument's sake, I did want to find my soulmate-"

"I would forbid it."

"Even though there are ways to grant lifespans equivalent to ours?"

"If it were a matter of only differing lifespans, we would not be having this conversation." Odin walked up to him, stood directly in front of him. He could no longer tower over Loki like he could many years ago, but his presence was as enormous as it had ever been. "Loki, you will forget that you have this mark, and you will not seek out the Midgardian behind it. I say this for your own good, my son, and I hope not to have this discussion again."

He turned away, his cape swishing behind him as he moved around the throne and out of the room. Loki stood alone for a time, pondering what had just occurred, and absently rubbing the space over his mark.

But Loki was nothing if not a good son, and if Odin said he was to forget about his soulmate, then he would forget her.

And he did forget her. He forgot every thought he ever had about her, whoever she was. He forgot about the dreams, about the soothing warmth of the mark, he even forgot about the enigmatic 'New York', a mystery he had never been able to solve no matter how many times he looked in on Midgard. There simply wasn't any sort of New York in existence, be it a person, a place, or a thing. There wasn't even an Old York.

He spent many more years just… forgetting the mark. His glamour spell went on one day, and never again came off. Eventually, he didn't remember even that. He let himself get immersed in other things, more important things. He advanced in his study of magic, and he mastered the use of his daggers. He trained with Thor and he attended banquets and he took any willing, beautiful woman to his bed that he pleased. And whenever he felt shuttled off into the shadows in favor of Thor, he seethed and he envied. Over time, that envy became the driving force behind everything he did.

If he put snakes in the wine glasses of a hundred drunken men, it was only to ruin the party Thor threw to celebrate the day of his birth.

If he created an illusory predator to scare off the birds and deer, it was only so that Thor's hunting expedition came to nothing.

If he was a childish and petty fool for all of it, he couldn't care less.

Nothing he ever did blotted out the sun around his brother anyway.

He found, one day, that even spoiling his coronation couldn't do it. Granted, that one was just as much about teaching Thor a lesson as it was about bringing him down a notch. How funny was it, then, that in the end, he succeeded only in the former, and it wasn't even really him who did it.

At the time, he thought little of Jane Foster, the plain Midgardian scientist whom Thor had inexplicably taken a liking to. She was something for his brother to distract himself with while he was banished, and nothing more. While Loki might allow that she was a mite more intelligent than her brethren for almost understanding how the bifrost worked (and almost was a very key word), in the end, she was as worthless as any other Midgardian.

As Loki stood upon a floating rock in deep space with the grotesque Other at his side, he paused to wonder what part of her planet she would be on when he arrived. Would she be among the first to die? Would Thor even mourn her? Or will he have moved on to the next reasonably pretty face like he had in all the days of his youth?

Loki combed through the whole of Midgard, searching for the best place to begin his invasion. If all went according to plan, he would be sitting on a throne of his own making in just under a month. The strongest power source that could be used to open the portal was located on top of a garish tower owned by an even more garish man. It stood tall in a city filled with equally tall structures. A city called…

"What say you, Asgardian?" the Other croaked, its putrid breath blowing in Loki's ear. Were he not a warrior with centuries of training under his belt, Loki would've shuddered. "You have been silent. Speak. What is your plan?"

Loki looked away from the image of the city. It took a great deal of willpower, and he felt colder without it in his sight. All except for that one spot on his arm.

"I know precisely what to do," he told the Other, smiling for a reason far greater than the creature could ever know. "I know just where to go."

Of course, he was not successful.

In a lot of ways, he never expected to be.

The ensemble of so-called 'heroes' who rose up to stop him were a surprise, but even without them, it would've been only a matter of time before Loki made a mistake, a misstep of some kind. Ultimately, Agent Coulson was right: he lacked conviction.

Well, no, that wasn't true. He had conviction. Just not the right kind.

He had attacked and all but destroyed a place called New York, and for it, he had been dragged back to Asgard in chains. That… had been unfortunate. It wasn't likely that he'd meet any Midgardian woman while locked up in a cell, any more than it was likely any Midgardian woman would want him after what he did.

At least now he finally knew what New York was. A timeless mystery that had taken up more than half his life, solved at last. He might have to content himself with only that.

Or so Loki thought until the Dark Elves came.

On that day, they traipsed through the prison, releasing all manner of captive beast, but leaving him to his four glass walls and a stack of books he'd never read. He held one later when a guard showed up to give him some news, only so that he could pretend that he wasn't toiling away looking at rock formations. When the guard left, having torn apart what remained of Loki's heart, those books were the only things his rage would spare. They had been Frigga's after all.

The only thing that surprised him about Thor coming to him for help was that he had taken so long. Not even Thor seeing through his illusions was all that shocking. For all that Loki sneered at him, Thor was always smarter than he gave him credit for.

He was so much smarter, that he was even able to get him back into shackles later. He wore a smirk that Loki would swear mimicked his own after a successful prank. For the first time, he understood why so many over the years had wanted to kill him for it.

But in a way, he was enjoying himself. He was out of his cell, he could bother Thor and know that his brother would do nothing against him, and even for all that he had lost, Loki had a positive feeling in his chest. He felt like something good was about to happen.

That certain spot on his arm—ever shielded by magic—had never been warmer.

He waited with Thor for Sif to arrive. She came promptly, with Jane Foster trailing behind her. How odd to see her here after all this time. It seemed that for once, Thor might actually be serious about someone. She looked quite nice in Asgardian finery; the colors suited her well. They were a far cry from the mannish rags he had seen her in through the Destroyer's eyes. Though she was no doubt still unrefined and weak, he thought she might be someone that he himself would have on his arm during a party. Her hair was her best feature, the way it flowed around her face and over her shoulders. Or maybe it was her eyes; the ordinary brown that nevertheless made him freeze when she turned them on him.

Come to think about it, Jane Foster really wasn't so plain at all.

She was actually quite pretty. Beautiful, even.

He couldn't help but smile when she darted towards him with fire in her eyes.

"You may have heard of me," he said.

What happened next came to him slowly. Not quite slow motion, but slow enough that his senses seemed to triple. He could see Thor's expression change, his skin blanch as if he knew even before Loki what was about to happen. He saw Sif step back, instinctively knowing not to get in the middle of a fight between the brothers. He saw Jane rear back her fist, and throw it with all her might into his face. It didn't hurt, but his head spun anyway. She had caught him by surprise. Only by surprise.

But what she said next was no surprise at all.

"That was for New York!"

Loki closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply and out even deeper. He felt as though all the hate and anger in his body—all the sludge and bile and bitter darkness—was expelled just for a moment. In that moment, he was happier than he had been in all his thousand years of living. It was only a shame that it couldn't last.

Because now, Jane had come down from her high and realized what he had said. What she had said. She backed away from him, unable to speak any further as horror ran through her. Her hand went to her wrist, covered by the thick layers of her coat. Loki didn't need to ask what was written there. He reached out. Thor grabbed Mjolnir and took a threatening step forward, but Loki paid him no heed.

"Forget it," Loki hissed at him, so that nobody else could hear. "I've stolen her from you."

He savored the look on Thor's face, the palpable, yet impotent rage that seeped through his grit teeth and flaring nostrils. He buried the image away in his memory, to take out again whenever the fancy struck him.

He took Jane's wrist as her face unscrewed itself. She sighed, perhaps involuntarily, leaning into his touch. Loki gently peeled back her sleeve, revealing the thin scrawl of a sentence stamped upon her otherwise flawless skin. He wondered what she had thought of those words in the years since they had appeared. What impression she might have had of him then compared to now. He wasn't so blind as to think that reality would be superior to her dreams.

No matter, he had plenty of time to make it up to her.

He took her hand in his. Raised it up to his upper arm. His heart raced right before her fingers closed over his mark. Even through the armor, the sensations were real. Loki fought not to moan as Jane stared at him in awe. It had long been forgotten by the both of them that they weren't alone, and that there was a war to finish. For now, they existed in their own separate plane. No one else could break through, and though she would no doubt hate him later, Loki knew she could never deny this; this connection that they shared. It was as eternal as Asgard and beyond.

And now, Loki finally understood why he had loathed the touch of any other on his mark.

It was because he wanted no one but Jane Foster to touch him ever again.

'Odin,' he thought viciously to himself, 'it's a good thing I no longer care to please you.'

Loki smiled at Jane, the first real smile he had worn in years, and though his next words held no weight as dictated by fate, they were as true and meaningful as if they had been. He took his soulmate's hands in his own, and held them up as if to kiss them, and he said:

"I like you."