I don't actually know where the events of Thor: Ragnarok fell on our calendar and at this point I'm not going to check, which is why the timeline in this fic is fuzzy and handwavey. You can also either say that this ignores the mid-credits scene or that more time passed between the end of the movie proper and that scene, which is entirely possible and isn't really the point here anyway. (The point is Thor and Loki talking, a little.) The title is from "Auld Lang Syne," of course, which is...pretty appropriate in this context and to their relationship in general, actually.

Anyway: Happy New Year, everyone; I hope 2018 sucks less than 2017 did. Have a short fic I wrote mostly in the last few days.

The first thing that becomes inescapably obvious after just a few days on the Sakaaran freighter is that life aboard a cramped ship full of refugees requires a great many compromises in order to keep everyone living more or less in harmony. For Loki's part, this includes supporting Thor and the Valkyrie's efforts to convince the Hulk to give Banner back, at least from a distance where he isn't in immediate smashing range, and then trying to limit his interactions with Banner to what is truly necessary to keep things running…which, unfortunately, is not as simple as he'd originally thought.

Of all the survivors, Banner has the most experience running a medical facility. He quickly ends up in an awkward leadership position in the ship's infirmary, and Loki spends rather more time than he would like helping to bridge the gap between Asgardian and Midgardian systems of medical thought. It's necessary, and it's what Thor wants, so Loki does it, but it makes him itch to be near Banner and know the beast lurks under his skin. His presence seems to make Banner nervous as well, which is not a comforting thought. In the interest of keeping his internal organs intact and preventing hull breaches, Loki restrains his usual impulses and keeps any conversation with Banner brief and professional. It's a little wearing, always being on guard around the mortal in a way he isn't with anyone else, but it's also better than the alternative.

Thus far, his plan seems to be working well enough. Banner tried to make small talk once or twice, in the beginning, but he seemed to take the hint after Loki (very politely) rebuffed him. So it's nothing short of ridiculous that Loki is the one to upset the arrangement a few weeks into their journey, and purely by accident at that.

It's still Banner's fault, arguably. Loki enters the medbay with a box of newly enhanced healing potions, created by very carefully and precisely feeding his own seidr into some of the ship's meager store of medical supplies. He intends to deliver the box and leave, but instead his attention is caught by what appears to be a large triangle on the wall, marked out in green medical tape, with a crumpled piece of red plastic on top. Loki sets down the box and blurts, "What is that?"

Banner glances at him, then at the wall. "What's—oh. It's, um, a Christmas tree. Kind of."

"A Christmas tree," Loki repeats.

"Yeah, it's one of Earth's biggest winter holidays, at least in the Western hemisphere—people put up trees, stick all kinds of ornaments on them, give each other presents, and depending on who you ask it's either a nice time for love and togetherness or a cynical orgy of consumerism—"

"I'm familiar with the concept," Loki says, because he is, but he also has no desire to let Banner wander onto the subject of any type of orgy, or in fact anything remotely related to Sakaar. "That doesn't explain why there is suddenly a Christmas tree, or at any rate a crude approximation of one, on your wall."

"Right." Banner rubs the back of his neck with a self-conscious little laugh. "I was poking around on the ship's computer and I started getting some of it to translate for me, and then I got into some recent news feeds from all over the galaxy and did some math and I realized it's actually Christmas back home. On Earth, I mean. Or—it was recently, anyway, probably a few days ago. I figured...I've already missed at least a couple Christmasses, while I was away, and I got a little homesick, and I figured I'd decorate a little. I just, uh, didn't have much to work with. So." He shrugs, and then brightens with sudden interest. "Hey, do you guys—you wouldn't have Christmas, obviously, but do you have Yule, or solstice celebrations, or anything? Something for the New Year, maybe?"

"We do," Loki says slowly. He isn't sure, thinking about it, how closely Midgardian calendars correspond to Asgard's, but after weeks on Sakaar and then weeks in space, his sense of time is muddled at best. And of course there is no longer an Asgard around which to orient any kind of calendar. But—yes, it could be almost the New Year. How odd.

"Back home," Banner says, "people like to treat it as a fresh start, try to reinvent themselves a little—you know, making New Year's resolutions about all the things they're gonna do better. Mostly it's all a bust and the resolutions don't last long, but it's kind of a nice thought. Starts things off with a little extra hope, I guess."

"Yes," Loki says, and excuses himself as quickly as marginal politeness will allow. But the thought won't leave him alone, chewing at the back of his mind throughout everything else he does that day, and eventually he retreats to a little-used observation deck that was repurposed for storage quite some time ago, and settles on a crate to stare out the porthole at the stars. Thor finds him there, a vague span of time later, and knocks on the wall to announce his presence; Loki starts guiltily (he's really losing his touch, too, if even Thor can sneak up on him now without hardly trying) and starts to rise. "Is there something else I need to—?"

"No, no," Thor says, waving at him to sit back down and making his way through the maze of crates. "Even Heimdall's turned in for the night."

Loki arches an eyebrow at him. "So you saw me brooding and thought you'd interrupt?"

Thor shrugs and sits down on a crate of his own. "Are you brooding? I just thought I'd ask what's on your mind. Things have been so busy lately we haven't had much chance to talk."

"Open conversation is still not among our family's strengths."

"No, probably not. But maybe it could be. So. What's on your mind?"

Loki considers making something up, but it doesn't quite feel worth the effort. "Fate, I suppose. New beginnings, and whether anyone can truly earn one or if the idea is just another one of those comforting lies we tell ourselves so we don't go mad. That sort of thing."

"Well," Thor says after a pause, "I did ask."

"Yes, you did, so I'll thank you not to mock me for it."

Thor raises his hands in surrender. "No mocking. If anything, I'd have to mock myself for thinking you might be dwelling on something lighter."

"I could be plotting mischief instead, I suppose, but I've been a bit busy lately." He traces one finger across a small design on the crate that might once have been a label or logo but is now too faded to read. "It's almost the new year, apparently. At least on most of Midgard."

Thor blinks. "Really?"

"Mm. Banner mentioned it. Their winter solstice was…perhaps a week ago, by their reckoning. The new year begins tomorrow, I think. It's probably accurate; he seemed to have pulled dates from the ship's computer very recently, and it's been a while since we've made a major jump." And there's something else to worry about constantly, balancing the supplies needed for a long journey against the power required to cut the journey shorter, but he's not going to solve the problem tonight. "I'm…not sure how that compares to Asgard's calendar at this point, to be honest, but I suppose it's all mostly symbolic to begin with."

"Humans do make more of the New Year than Asgard ever did," Thor says. "Things change so quickly on Midgard, each year means more to them. I still don't entirely understand some of their traditions, but I do see the appeal of celebrating a fresh start."

Loki makes a noncommittal noise. "If there is, in fact, any such thing." His smile feels brittle. "But you know how I am, taking any excuse to be maudlin. Pay it no mind."

"I did ask," Thor repeats. After a moment he adds, "I meant what I said, you know. That you can change, be more than the roles you've been playing. I hoped you would prove me right and you did, Loki."

"Well, that's very nice to hear," Loki says caustically (because it is, actually, and he is not at all sure what he thinks about that, so he doesn't especially want Thor to know either), "but perhaps you shouldn't have trusted so much to sheer luck if you really thought I might come after you."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Thor says. "You made a choice, and I'm grateful for that."

"I mean," Loki says with exaggerated patience, "sheer luck that Korg found me when he did or I wouldn't have been able to come after you in time, and the Sakaarans might've taken this ship anywhere. Just beyond the general incapacitation, which I realize was rather the point, I'm not at all sure I would have been capable of making any decisions to begin with if that damnable thing had kept me convulsing for much longer."

"If a few minutes with an obedience disk is enough to scramble your brains that thoroughly," Thor says with a teasing smile, "your intellect must not be nearly as fearsome as you like everyone to believe."

That stings, which Loki definitely doesn't want Thor to know, so he rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize 30 minutes of sustained electrocution was the standard of toughness I should be trying to meet." Thor laughs a little, as if he thinks Loki's joking, and Loki frowns at him, something twisting painfully in his chest. "I won't say I didn't deserve that or worse, but it certainly wasn't pleasant."

Thor's smile fades. "Wait. You meant that literally? Thirty minutes?"

"At least 30 minutes," Loki says. "Under the circumstances I'm sure I wasn't keeping perfect track, but yes, I'm fairly confident in that estimate. Ask Korg. If he hadn't happenedto stumble across the controller, I suppose I might still be there."

"It should have knocked you out," Thor says. "That's what it always did to me, electrocuted me unconscious, and it was painful, but—I swear, brother, I thought it would knock you out and shut off, and then you'd be able to get the controller yourself."

"Well, it didn't," Loki says. "I assure you I was entirely conscious."

Thor looks stricken, enough that Loki starts to feel a little guilty, and then annoyed at himself for it. "I wanted to stop you. I didn't mean to—torture you."

I've had worse, Loki nearly says, but his brain catches up with his mouth in time to stop it. He is not ready to have that conversation with Thor, probably not ever, certainly not in the ridiculous context of slipping up with something vaguely intended as comfort that wouldn't be remotely comforting to begin with. Instead he says, "I suppose I could castigate you for leaving me like that anyway, but I do realize you were in something of a hurry."

Thor shakes his head. "I'm still sorry. I don't know why it happened like that."

Loki sighs, but at least it's only irritation this time, with more than a little relief he isn't going to admit to Thor. "Because you used it wrong, you dunce. They're meant to attach to bare skin, but you stuck it on my leathers, which provided just enough insulation to keep it from delivering a full charge that would've knocked me out."

"…oh," Thor says. His face is a fascinating study in both guilt and embarrassment. "I…didn't realize."

"Well, no, I imagine the Grandmaster didn't exactly give you a user manual. And under the circumstances I probably did deserve it." He hesitates, not sure if there's any point to saying more, but— "You've no reason to believe me, I know, but I never would've let the Grandmaster kill you. I wanted the money from your capture and I wanted to regain his favor but I wouldn't have just…handed you over to be executed."

Thor's eyebrows go up, and then he winces at the motion pulls at still-healing skin where his eye used to be. "Then it sounds like I wasn't the only one putting too much faith in luck," he says mildly. "Did you really have that much influence with the Grandmaster?"

Loki stuffs down the impulse to squirm. "…possibly?"

"I suppose we were both lucky, in more ways than one." Thor is silent for a moment. "I am grateful that you came back. Even if you had…slightly fewer immediate options than I thought…you could've chosen to stay on Sakaar, or to go…almost anywhere. And instead you chose to return when Asgard needed you. Whatever else happened before, whatever happens now, I'm grateful for that."

"Yes, well," Loki says uncomfortably (how is it that he craves recognition to a degree that is often painful, but when he gets it so simply, he has no idea how to respond?), "I suppose even I can't rule a place for three years without developing some sense of responsibility for its people. Even if I was mostly indulging myself with statues and overwrought plays."

Thor half-smiles. "I've seen worse, honestly."

"High praise." Loki sighs. "It's gone now, of course, but…I had a statue built for Mother, too. In her garden, with a new tree I grew from a seed—it was native to Vanaheim but extinct there for centuries, so I thought…" He shrugs. "I don't know. It seemed appropriate." The tree is gone now too, the tree and all the rest of Frigga's gardens, her tapestries, her books, everything Loki had preserved in memorial to her, and the thought catches at him all over again: so much, lost for good, destroyed by his hand. Maybe someday the grief of it—of everything—will feel a little less raw.

"Father was right about one thing, anyway," Thor says. "Mother would've been proud of you."

Loki almost snarls at him not to joke about that, but as hard as he looks, he can't find anything insincere in Thor's gaze. He has no idea what to say to that either, so he says nothing at first; and then, awkwardly, "I was not…only thinking of Asgard when I came back."

Thor's smile is almost painfully fond. "And it isn't just Asgard that needs you, either. I'm very glad you're here, brother."

"Well, then," Loki says as lightly as he can past the sudden (and frankly ridiculous) tightness in his throat, "in that case I suppose I'll have to stick around." He pauses, then makes himself say, "I don't know that I can share your faith, that…I can be more. But…I'd like to try."

"That's all I'm asking," Thor says. "Well, that and a little less stabbing, ideally."

"I haven't stabbed you in years."

"Three years, Loki. Three. That's, like, five minutes."

Loki shakes his head, but he can't suppress a sudden smile. "I see your time with the mortals has corrupted your language and your ability to tell time."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," Thor drawls in a cringingly awful accent he must have copied from some Midgardian film. In his normal voice, he adds more seriously, "I don't think there's any magic to the New Year, at least not real magic. But I understand the importance of symbols, and I do believe in change. New beginnings. Maybe that just makes me naïve, I don't know."

"Optimistic, certainly," Loki says. "That's not such a bad thing." If Thor can remember how to have hope when Loki can't, well, maybe that will be enough.

"And it is a new year, after all," Thor says. "At least this one—"

"If you are going to taunt the Norns by declaring that the coming year cannot be any worse than the last, I really will stab you."

Thor huffs out a laugh. "That's probably fair. But no, I was only going to say—it will be different. After everything that's happened, the new year can't be anything but, for good or ill and probably a fair mix of both. Asgard grew stagnant too easily, but now…we adapt or we die, just like the rest of the cosmos. Maybe that's an opportunity."

"Maybe," Loki says.

No one ever gets a truly fresh start. But if even Thor can change, maybe Loki can too, if he wants it badly enough. He thinks, looking across at Thor and the new lines (of weariness and wisdom both) in his face, that he does. Maybe that's enough to make the difference.

The reference to Loki planting a tree in Frigga's honor comes from another fic of mine, "the quiet things that no one ever knows."