CHAPTER 1

Loki woke slowly, warm and quiet, secure and still. There was silence around him. For a moment he was content to just lay, floating as he was, knowing he must be medicated up to his eyeballs because he had that absent-limb sensation, although when he wiggled his fingers and toes they were most definitely there.

"Loki?"

The voice was low and familiar, deeply familiar, and Loki tried to open his eyes, to rebuff the speaker for waking him, but his eyelids would only quiver.

"It's all right, Loki. It's all right now. Go ahead and sleep… we have all the time in the world."

That didn't seem right. He frowned, his skin pinching, but he was still floating and darkness slowly pulled him under again.

Darkness was his constant companion. Quiet black, soft night, a stream of unconsciousness. He dreamed. Mother's gardens, Father's stories, tall grass whipping past their small hands as he and his brother ran through the fields, laughing, chasing a bird. They never caught it. But it was fun to try.

He surfaced only slightly, enough to feel the softness of sheets and the warmth and weight of a heavy quilt. Earthy, spicy, musty scents filled his nostrils. Ozone. He was in the Healing Rooms, then.

He wondered which of their adventures had gone south this time.

The next time he surfaced he tried to open his eyes. He wanted to see if he was the only victim of their most recent escapade, or if Thor was in the bed next to him. His lids lifted a little this time, but it did him no good. His sight was bleary and all he could make out through the crack his lids allowed were vague, cloudy colors.

Well, someone must be there. Someone was always in the healing rooms. He moved his tongue, moistening his mouth, shocked at how weak even that motions made him, and then he attempted to speak. A sore, rasping sound was all that escaped.

Norns, how his throat ached!

Colors moved and blurred in front of him, and then a warm hand - a hand that he would recognize anywhere, calluses catching on the fabric of the sheets – laid on his chest, firm and strong, fingers spread.

"Be still." The low voice said gently. "Your throat's still healing." There was a huff. "All of you is, actually."

He swallowed, moved his tongue, licked his lips. "Thorrr…"

"I am here, brother. I am here."

The weight on his chest was comforting, but he was becoming aware of how much he ached.

What in the Nine Realms had happened?

"Do you remember anything?" His brother asked gently. There was the sound of crockery clinking together, of liquid pouring.

He shook his head. Moved it to one side, actually, but it was what he could manage.

His brother stilled.

Loki's alarms went off. He blinked and raced his thoughts, thinking, thinking hard… what was the last thing he remembered?! Fighting to think dashed away the mists of sleep and rest and floating faster than anything, and his mind quickly pricked awake, whirring at lightning speed.

Sakaar.

Hela.

Ragnarok.

Thanos.

His eyes flew open. Or at least, fluttered to half-mast, blinking desperately, trying to focus on the shape he believed to be his brother. The colors sorted themselves into groups and shapes, and soon he could see a very fuzzy figure that he was able to recognize as Thor.

"Thaan—" he rasped. "—osss."

The fingers on his chest pressed down slightly, but then the hand moved and held his arm, and rubbed gently. "Yes." Thor murmured. "Thanos happened."

"Whaaat—"

"Save your voice, brother." Thor said, carefully slipping his hand beneath Loki's head and lifting, gently. The warm rim of a mug touched his lips, and Loki tasted hot tea. It slipped across his tongue and down his throat with honeyed ease, and he drank gratefully. He felt much better after, and when Thor laid him back and put away the cup he swallowed experimentally a few times. His throat ached.

"How?" he whispered, unable to do more, but he looked meaningfully at Thor and waved a finger around.

The last thing he remembered, now, was his attempt to have Thanos kill him, so that he would not kill Thor. It had obviously worked… though why he was still here remained a mystery.

He blinked, his vision clearing even more, and now he could make out Thor's features. He stared in shock. Thor's face was almost gaunt, though not with thinness… Loki frowned, trying to pin it. Old. Not gaunt. Old. He bore lines around his eyes and his mouth that had not been there before, a heaviness in his blue eyes that only long age or deep experience brings. His hair still short, though buzzed with new designs on the sides, and his beard was trimmed short, like it had been many years ago.

He had two eyes. But the missing one was brown.

Loki frowned and blinked, curious.

Thor realized what Loki was staring at, his green eyes so intense, and a small smile touched his lips as he reached up and touched the skin below the eye. "It is a bionic eye." He said, and dropped his hand to his lap, his manner easy and relaxed. "It was gifted to me by a friend."

Loki pressed his mouth and turned the corners down, lifting his brows. It was an interesting look.

"Much has happened, brother." Thor murmured, settling on the edge of the bed, his hand still on Loki's chest. "First of all, it has been almost six years since the Snap. Thanos won, we lost, half of the universe disappeared, I killed him but it was too late, and five years passed. But then the Avengers discovered time travel. And we were able to go back and gather the stones from different times in the past and make our own Gauntlet. We undid the Snap, Thanos from the past arrived, we killed him, and I went off with a new group of friends called the Morons. They are captained by a Rabbit. My very good friend, who gave me this eye." He pointed needlessly to his eyes, and then went on. "We traveled all over the galaxy together, but then I heard a rumor. Rumors float around all the time, but this one I overheard in a bar from a guy who knew a guy who'd been friends with a guy whose brother had been brought back to life by the Grandmaster. So I left the Morons and went looking for proof."

Loki stared at him, blinking slowly, trying to process the flow of words. He was confused; if what Thor had just said was true, then he had been dead for over five years.

"I found many more rumors, but not so much proof, so I went to Sakaar and met with the Grandmaster himself. I'd barely dared to hope, couldn't stand to hope, actually, but it turned out… the rumors were true." His classic smile flashed. "So I went to the last coordinates of the Statesman, and there wasn't much left after this long. Almost everything had gone floating off or been scavenged. But I found you." This smile was quicker, and the hand on his chest moved again to his arm, strong fingers curling around his bicep. "I found you. Space is actually wondrously adept at preserving bodies." His voice caught on the last word.

Loki saw the age in the blue eyes, and wondered what else had been preserved in the wreckage.

"I looked for Heimdall, too. But he… he had not escaped the explosion of the ship intact. I could not… I could not."

Loki closed his eyes and swallowed. Thor's voice had trailed off in apology, and the hand on his arm tightened.

"I'm sorry."

Loki did not answer. Couldn't anyway, unless a croak sufficed. But he moved his hand (how weak he was), turned it over, and held the point of Thor's elbow.

The next time he woke it was day, and Thor was not there. A woman was there instead, draped in white sleeveless robes, and she fed him hot broth and more honey tea, and checked the bandages he hadn't realized he was wearing. She removed them, and he saw the remains of the damage he'd sustained on the Statesman.

It was a – grisly sight.

He was definitely healing, however, and by mid-afternoon his throat was sufficiently recovered to hoarsely whisper. The woman – she said her name was Maamen – gave him throat drops to suck on, which helped even more, and he was finally able to ask: "Where's Thor?"

Maamen was turned on her stool, sorting through a collection of ointments and salves. "He is at his work." She said, turning back with a jar, and she scooped some of the ointment and began to apply it to his throat. Her face was not pretty, but it was handsome in its own way, and it was lined with many, many years of life, though her bound-up hair held no grey in it yet.

"What is that?" he whispered.

"Entertainment in the Arena." She said simply.

As enamored as the Grandmaster had been of Thor's lightning abilities, Loki wasn't surprised he would make Thor part of his show. His eyes slipped shut, her hand smearing the ointment on his skin soothing. "How long… have we…" he paused and swallowed, moving the throat drop around in his mouth. "Been here?"

"Two weeks." She sat back, picked up a rag, and carefully wiped her fingers.

He liked the way her accent framed her words. It was like listening to music. Then he registered what she'd said, and he opened his eyes and turned his head, staring. "What? How?"

"Did your brother not tell you?" She lifted a soft length of bandage, and wrapped it loosely around his neck, to keep the ointment from rubbing off.

"I haven't been awake." His throat was beginning to feel raw from so much talking, but he sucked more on the throat drop and ignored it.

Maamen sighed and settled her hands in her lap and looked at him, blinking her brown eyes. A lock of curly hair escaped the ribbons tying up the pile on her head. "Three weeks ago he came here, demanding to see the Grandmaster. He wanted to know if the master could truly bring back the dead." She said, and it struck him how much she reminded him of his mother, and Eir the Healer, and Idunn in her orchard. "They talked for a long time. I don't know what was said. But the Grandmaster can, yes, revive the dead if the circumstances are right. It depends on how the person died, what was damaged. You understand."

Loki did.

"But he only ever does it for a price." She continued. "A deal was made, and your brother left to retrieve your body. You were frozen when he brought you in. It's what made it possible, after all this time, for you to be saved. You had been so well preserved."

That made a sick jolt go through his core. He tried not to imagine Thor picking through the bodies, the pieces of bodies, the ruins, floating there in the nothing of space.

"It took a few days, but you were revived, and then you had to be supported while the injuries that killed you were repaired. Your throat had been crushed, and your neck snapped. It took over a week for those to heal enough that movement was safe again and the braces could be removed."

No wonder his throat was sore. But at least now he knew it was a healing pain. "Any lasting damage?" he rasped.

She shook her head. "No."

Weariness was pulling at him, reminding him that he had only truly been awake for about a day, that he was far from completely recovered. His life-threatening wounds may have been healed, but the rest of the injuries had been left to heal on their own. "When will Thor return?"

Maamen's expression was gentle, like the warm look of a mother cat, and she leaned over and carefully pulled the sheet and quilt up, tucking it comfortably around him. "When it is dark." She murmured. "Now sleep."

There was more he wanted to know, he was sure of it, but his thoughts were slowing and muddying and his eyes were slipping closed, and the bed was warm and soft, and he fell asleep.

The bed moved, dipping and tilting next to him, and he opened his eyes. Yellow-orange lights glowed on the walls, turned down low, and Thor was there, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He looked tired, but he smiled when Loki woke. "I'm sorry." Thor whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Loki swallowed and found his throat not as sore as it had been. He could talk above a whisper, though his voice sounded hoarse. "You were gone a long time."

Thor's hair was wet, and he was in loose, sleeveless pajamas, shirt and pants. His hand was on Loki's arm, fingers curled around his bicep, just as they had been before. "I'm working in the Arena." He said.

Loki didn't dare nod, but he moved his chin a little. "That's what Maamen said."

Thor smiled again, his features obscured and shadowed in the barely-lit room. "She's a good person. She volunteered to stay with you while I'm at work."

Loki blinked. "I thought she was a healer."

"She is." Thor lifted one knee, hooking the foot under his other leg, and settled again, relaxed. "I met her my first day. I had to visit the infirmary, and we ended up talking, and she offered her services. I was glad. Before it was just whoever was free, but she went to her manager and took over permanently. I think he was relieved."

"She is kind." Loki paused, glancing at his brother's form, looking for any injuries. He was surprised to see none. "She told me what happened."

For a split second Thor's face darkened, but it was gone as quickly as it had arrived, and he smiled, his mouth pinched together. "Did she?" he asked quietly.

"Thor," Loki watched his face closely. "What was the deal you made?"

Thor looked down at his other hand, resting on his knee, and then he looked up again and there was his smile. Again. "I agreed to work in the Arena, every day, till you're well enough to leave."

Something about the answer didn't seem right, for some reason. Loki knew the Grandmaster, had spent weeks currying favor with him not that long ago – actually, years ago – he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around that. But he knew that as genial as the Grandmaster was, he always got the most out of everything. There was no way the man would have agreed to something like this without a price.

A high one.

"What do you do in the Arena?" he asked, his glass-green eyes unblinking. Watching every shadow, ever flicker of Thor's face.

The smile stayed. "I told you," Thor said, gently squeezing Loki's arm. "I work there. I'm the entertainment. Now," he let go of Loki's arm and twisted, checking the quilt, straightening it, tucking it anew around Loki's shoulders and under his chin. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"A little thirsty."

Thor nodded. "I'll get you some tea." He said, and stood up.