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batsutousaiTitle: The Magic in Words
Fandom: Marvel (movie 'verse) & Real Person Fiction
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Tom Hiddleston/Loki (side: original male/original female)
Warnings: Amnesia, mute character, OoC Loki, awkward boys stumbling upon a relationship, Tom has Loki feels, original characters, memories of Asgardian imprisonment
Summary: There are magic in words, and he knows this. Knows it like he knows there's a life he's missing and people he's left behind who are surely as important as the family he's built around him. And there are words he needs to say, magic he needs to voice, if only he had the ability to do so.
Tom, as it turned out, was no coward, though let it not be said, either, that he was reckless.
When Locke woke, he found Tom leaning over him, hair ruffled and wearing an uncertain smile. When Locke smiled back, Tom gently touched his cheek, thumb brushing against the corner of his mouth.
Locke's breath caught and he tightened his arms around Tom, where they had apparently stayed all night. He wanted–
Tom's lips ghosted against his, careful, uncertain, and Locke closed his eyes, leaning just slightly forward, searching for that tease of contact, and Tom gave it to him, lips pressing tightly against his for a long moment, both of them holding their breath, as though waiting for an explosion of something to end the moment.
The opening strains of a song – Lofsöngur, Locke recognised after a moment, Iceland's national anthem – cut through the silence of the room, playing to their expectations.
Tom groaned against Locke's mouth, a sentiment he fully seconded, then pulled away far enough that he could grab his mobile off the coffee table. He shifted against Locke, leaning back against him and holding it up so Locke could see the text that had been sent, written mostly in Icelandic, so Tom couldn't have read more than a couple words, though it was likely he got the gist: Weather nasty. Karen's insisting we hit some museums, Emelía's throwing a fit. Ideas or assistance welcome
Locke moved one hand up and took the mobile, which Tom handed over willingly. He quickly typed, Emelía doesn't want to go to the museum. Ideas?
Tom chuckled, the sound warm and oddly comforting, and took the mobile back to close out of the messaging app. He pulled up the browser and showed Locke a folder he'd apparently compiled with ideas for a child in London. Some were museums, a few were plays held during the day, and a couple were parks.
Locke took a moment to look through them, jerking in surprise when Tom twisted in his lap and pressed a kiss to his jaw. He didn't even make a suggestion of stopping him, instead lifting his chin slightly to give Tom access to his throat. Tom chuckled and peppered his jaw and throat with kisses while Locke tried to focus on picking out something Emelía wouldn't pretend to hate just to be difficult.
Finally, he texted Gunnar back with a couple of ideas and promised he'd meet them at the hotel within the hour. Then he used the mobile to tap on Tom's cheek, distracting him long enough for Locke to lower his head and be in position to steal a kiss when Tom looked back at him.
Tom breathed out a laugh and rubbed his nose against Locke's. "Does this mean we need to get up?" he asked, words warm against Locke's mouth.
He nodded, regretful. If it wasn't for his duty as Emelía's watcher and Tom's job, he should very much have preferred to sit curled up on the couch all day.
It struck him, as Tom got up, that this was new. He'd never before – past included, he somehow knew – felt so comfortable with another person that he should want to laze about with them in bed (or on the couch) all day. He felt a little sad, for that forgotten him, who had never had what he'd managed to find in barely a year.
Tom lent him clothing again, but he instituted a tax: "One kiss for each article of my clothing you borrow, two if you forget to bring something back." There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, as though he was afraid Locke would refuse.
Locke let out a whistle of a laugh and leaned in to kiss off the fond little smile that crept across Tom's face at the sound.
They kept distracting each other, the added intimacy of shared kissed as new as it was comfortable. They were so distracted, in fact, that Tom finally admitted that they'd have to take the car, because they'd both be late if they tried public transit, at that point.
It was honestly a struggle to get out of Tom's car outside of the hotel; from Tom's expression, it was equally a struggle for him to shift the car into gear and drive away. It didn't make it any easier, to see Tom as unwilling to part as Locke was, but it did soothe the ache a bit.
He spent the day with Emelía, crossing off a couple of Tom's suggestions while Karen and Gunnar got their museum time without needing to figure out how to bring along an uninterested child. He traded her back to them over dinner, also warning them that he'd likely end up sleeping at Tom's again.
Gunnar shrugged. "That's fine," he said.
Karen, however, had a spark in her eyes that suggested she suspected there was more to things than Locke was saying; Locke couldn't decide whether he should explain anything to them or not.
Fuck, he didn't want to think about what he was going to do when it came time for them to return to Iceland in a few days.
It seemed enough, that night, to just curl up on the couch with Tom, arms wrapped around each other and heads nudging with each minute twitch as they watched a film that, later, Locke wouldn't remember a thing about.
He was just starting to doze off when Tom murmured, "I do have a bed. As comfortable as this couch is."
Locke smiled and let Tom lead him upstairs. It should have been awkward to climb in to bed together, wearing nothing more than a pair of light trousers each, but it wasn't, and they fell asleep curled against each other in the centre of the bed, legs tangled together.
"There's no marks," Tom realised the next morning, after he'd woken Locke with kisses all over his face.
Locke cocked his head in a manner that he hoped showed his curiosity, even as he traced runes against Tom's bare side.
"Your throat," Tom explained, fingers of one hand carding lightly through Locke's hair. His expression turned a little sheepish. "I looked up complications with damaged vocal cords, and I'd have expected your family to have at least tried to fix it at one point. For your own physical health, if not mental."
Locke shrugged, having wondered about that himself. But, without his memories, he had no explanation.
"Maybe it's secretly a curse or something," Tom suggested, a light note to his voice.
Locke's stomach gave a disconcerting little flip, and he was struck with the certainty that curses were nothing to joke about; especially not–
Tom's mobile let out an angry buzzing sound and Tom grimaced as he leaned up to grab it. "I set a few alarms," he explained as he silenced the noise, "so we would actually make it out of here in time to take the tube."
Locke had to laugh, plenty aware that Tom disliked taking his car into the city.
In retaliation, Tom dragged him bodily from the bed, laughing loudly when Locke tumbled to the ground with quite a bit of voiceless cursing.
Karen pulled him aside after lunch, while Gunnar led Emelía into a shop just a bit up the street. "Are you coming back with us on Sunday?" she asked, voice kind.
Locke was too blind-sided to think to pull out his notepad, only mouthing a flummoxed, 'I– What?'
Karen smiled, a hint of sorrow in her eyes as she gently pushed a lock of his hair behind his ear. "Honey, you've spent the last three nights at Tom's, and you look as honestly happy as I felt when Gunni and I first started dating."
So, he didn't have to explain anything, after all. Still... He scrabbled for his notepad and scribbled, I don't We haven't really I don't know.
"You need to figure that out," she told him, a hint of sternness in her voice. "Tonight. Don't wait until the last moment to break Emelía's heart."
Locke swallowed and nodded, a sick feeling clawing at his throat. He felt like his heart was being torn down the middle, tugged in two separate directions, and he couldn't help but remember the time Gunnar told him he was glad no one had come forward for him.
The heavy cloud of his unmade choice weighed him down the rest of the day, though he smiled for Emelía; unlike Gunnar and Karen, she had no idea that there was a chance he wouldn't be returning to Iceland with them.
It had been unspoken that Locke would just make his way to Tom's home after he was free to do so. When Tom opened the door, his wide smile vanished in a heartbeat at the downtrodden expression Locke wore. "Oh dear," he said, an expanse of uncertainty in those words, and stepped back. "Come in."
Locke did so, barely waiting for the door to click closed behind him before he was curling against Tom, hiding his face against the hollow of his throat.
"Locke, darling, what's happened?" Tom asked, panic lacing the words.
For once, Locke's disability didn't matter, because he wasn't certain he could have explained anything even if he could have. He'd wasted five sheets of paper trying to write the note he now handed up: We're supposed to leave in two days. I have to choose between you and my family, and I can't.
Tom's arms tightened around him, marking the moment he finished reading the note. They proceeded to just stand there for a long moment, sharing in each other's misery.
"I travel a lot," Tom said, the words sudden in the silence that had preceded them. "It's not unexpected for me to spend months out of London, filming out of the country or on a publicity tour." One of his hands came up and gently carded through Locke's hair as he bitterly added, "It tore Susannah and I apart."
He took a deep breath and tugged lightly on Locke's hair until he pulled back enough that they could meet eyes. "I'm not sure how well it would work, dragging you along with me on tour, and if you have to stay behind, isn't it better you stay behind in a place where you already have people who can look out for you?
"I'll buy a house in Iceland," Tom continued as Locke felt his cheeks get wet, eyelashes weighed with tears. "You can live there, or stay with Gunnar and Karen. And I'll come and stay between trips, and maybe drag you along with me, when something sounds interesting to you, or when Mum complains that she never sees me any more and 'Really, Tommy, Cambridge isn't that far of a travel' and–"
Locke leaned in to whistle a laugh against Tom's lips before stealing his words with a kiss.
"Go back," Tom whispered when they broke apart, foreheads pressed together. "Give me a home to come back to."
Locke kissed him again, hard and desperate, heart filled to bursting with something he didn't have words for.
He didn't remember how they got upstairs, shirts and trousers leaving a trail up the stairs, but he remembered the sensation of falling back on to the bed, Tom following soon after, blanketing him with warmth and acceptance and a deep ache of want.
He dug his fingers into Tom's hips, pulling him closer and letting out helpless burst of air when Tom rolled his hips down, sparking the most delicious pleasure through both of them (if Tom's groan against Locke's throat was anything to go by).
It was hot and messy, bodies writhing together in a dance they'd been born knowing, too-wet kisses trailing across lips and down jaws to dribble saliva down to the hollows of throats. Tom dropped words between them, stuttered and half-formed, some left to hang in the air between them, other breathed into Locke's skin, lighting his nerves.
He mouthed words, curses and pleas in a dozen different languages, digging the memory of his fingers into Tom's skin to leave a mark that wouldn't soon be forgot, because memories were fickle, fleeting things; he knew that better than anyone.
After, damp with sweat and ejaculate drying between them, they curled together in the middle of the large bed, taking up so little space, they might well have been one person.
"Tommy's got a giiirlfriend~!" a voice sang up the stairs the next morning, waking them both.
Tom groaned and buried his face against the crook of Locke's neck. "Emma," he whispered. "I didn't even think..."
Locke whistled a laugh, having heard enough about the youngest of the Hiddleston siblings to know Tom adored her, despite the way she often drove him mad with things like popping by unannounced first thing on Saturday morning and commenting on the trail of clothing they'd left the night before.
"Twenty minutes, Em!" he shouted down at her as he carefully pulled away from Locke, the proof of the night's activities dried between them. "Shower?" he offered Locke with a smile that suggested Emma was going to be waiting longer than twenty minutes if they climbed in together.
(It ended up being almost forty minutes, in fact.)
Emma was sitting at the kitchen table when they made it down, Tom's papers and computer moved carelessly to the crowded worktop to make room for the three place settings and the plates and bowls with various breakfast options still steaming within them on the table. She did a double-take upon seeing Locke, then turned a raised eyebrow on her brother and said, "Thomas William."
"Oh, shove off," Tom retorted, snagging a rainbow mitt from where it had been tossed on top of his computer and using it to swat her shoulder. He tossed it in the general direction of the hob and sat at the table with a snort. "Em, this is Locke. Locke, my younger sister, Emma."
Locke politely inclined his head even as he helped himself to the breakfast spread crammed against the wall.
"Er, nice to meet you," Emma settled on before looking back at Tom with an expression that clearly conveyed more to Tom than it did to Locke.
"It hasn't been that long, don't even start with me. And, no, he can't do a dinner; Locke's going back to Iceland tomorrow."
Emma and Locke both heard the ache in those words, the former's brow furrowing, while the latter reached out and took Tom's hand, lacing their fingers together.
"Well, that's a bit shit," Emma decided, pale eyes narrowing on Locke. "Tom's not keen on quick fucks; he not good enough for you?"
Locke shook his head – no, of course it wasn't that – but he didn't have his notepad to explain, as it was somewhere in the pile of clothing Emma must have collected and dropped somewhere out of the way.
"He's got a niece to help care for, and a family in Iceland," Tom explained for him. "I can't ask him to cool his heels here for months on end when I can just as easily visit him when I'm not in the middle of something."
Emma drooped slightly. "I suppose," she allowed after a moment. Locke had time to eat not quite two bites when her head snapped up and she stared at him. "You know," she said, voice sharp, "letting Tom speak for you never ends well."
"Know that for a fact, do you?" Tom asked drily. Before Emma could form a retort, he added, "Locke can't speak."
Locke shrugged when Emma stared at him, considering.
"Has he managed to talk your ear off about Shakespeare, yet?" she finally asked, and Locke had to drop his fork so he could cover a grin and the itch of a laugh, his other hand still attached to Tom's.
"You make me sound like a danger to people's sanity!" Tom complained, grinning.
Locke held up two fingers, because, yes, he'd become acquainted with Tom's Shakespeare infatuation.
Emma laughed. "And you can't even talk him down. I'm so sorry, you have no idea."
"You are so full of shit," Tom insisted, lightly shoving her while Emma just laughed louder. Locke, for his part, ducked his head, mouth wide with a grin; he could see why Tom spoke so fondly of his sister.
I'm coming back with you, Locke's notepad said when he handed it over to Karen as soon as they met up. Tom's going to visit. And maybe buy a place near us.
Karen smiled sadly and handed the notepad back. "You're sure?"
Locke nodded and tapped his throat, then quickly scribbled, He doesn't want to involve me in his media circus, not when I can't defend myself.
"That is...actually an excellent point," Karen admitted. "I hadn't even thought about how much of a struggle it would be to deal with the media or his fans when you can't speak. Still, you're going to be missing out on a lot, being stuck in Iceland."
Not stuck, Locke insisted. Less stressful, more productive. He nodded towards where Emelía and Gunnar were laughing ahead of them, comically plastered against the window of a shop. And nothing says I can't come with.
"You just don't want to," Karen surmised.
Locke shrugged and wrote, I have no wish to lose the only family I have.
Karen wrapped him in a hug, voice thick as she whispered, "We love you too, Locke."
There was something in those words, some magic that spoke to Locke's soul, but he had barely realised there was a significance, before his thoughts were scattered by a small body running into them, shouting, "Tackle hug!"
Locke returned to the hotel after dinner just long enough to make sure his suitcase was packed up and hand it over to Karen and Gunnar's holding with the promise to meet them in the departures area at Heathrow before noon. (Their flight wasn't until almost three-thirty, but Gunnar approached any booked travel with the mind that early was better than rushing to make it on time. Locke suspected there was a story there, but hadn't cared enough to pry.)
Boarding ticket, passport, an extra change of underclothing, and an extra pen and notepad in his carry-on, Locke caught the tube back to Tom's place.
Tom met him at the door, smile a little crooked and a key ring in one hand. "This is for you," he said once Locke had removed his shoes and stolen a kiss, holding the key ring between them.
Locke took it and glanced at the two keys on it curiously. One of them had a red silicone ring outlining the top portion of the key, the other had a blue one. A third silicone ring was attached to the jump ring, waiting for a key.
"This one is to this house," Tom explained as he pressed against Locke's back, arms coming up to point to the blue key, and Locke's breath caught. "This one," he added, tugging on the red one, "is to my place in LA. Which I can tell you the address of, if you'd like, but I suspect you won't be going out there without me, so..."
Locke turned his head so he could press a kiss against the corner of Tom's eye, finger tugging once on the green ring before dropping to the hand tracing patterns against his stomach where it had snuck up under his shirt.
"For Iceland, when I have a key to give you." He pressed his lips against the side of Locke's throat. "There's a yellow one left, if you wanted to change colours around or have a key to Gunnar's that you want to mark the same way."
There was a word caught in Locke's throat, causing it to tingle in a way that he was coming to realise meant he could speak, if he just opened his mouth and let it spill out:
"I love you."
Tom stilled against him for a breath before he clutched at Locke, pushing his face against Locke's shoulder. "Locke," he whispered, a well of emotion in it.
But Locke wasn't Locke any more, not really, because that sentence, that heart-felt truth, had the magic to unlock his past, his name, and over a thousand years of loneliness. He shook his head, a sob caught against the spell keeping him from speaking anything but the most honest of truths, and wished he had the words to forget again, because he didn't want to know.
"Locke?" Tom said, realising something was wrong. "Darling, what–?"
"Loki," Locke – no, Loki – got out, the spell accepting that as truth, but it wouldn't let him explain any further, and he grit his teeth against the restrictions Odin had placed on him.
Tom gently turned him around, and he must have seen something in Loki's face, because his eyes widened and he gently reached up to cup his face. "Loki," he breathed, acceptance and awe curling around the name that'd had little taste of either, and certainly never the two together.
Loki let out a strangled sob, the sound caught around the edges by the curse, and curled forward, pressing his forehead against Tom's sternum and crumpling his shirt between his fingers.
"You still can't speak," Tom realised, regret in the words, but the hands gently caressing his shoulders and back spoke of love, of a refusal to walk away, no matter how silenced Loki was.
Loki needed his notepad – or Tom's computer, would actually serve better – so he could explain, could catch Tom up, because if the actor was going to stay in a relationship with him, he deserved to know the truth, the whole truth.
It took another five minutes before Loki could let go enough to drag Tom with him into the kitchen, where the laptop was open to his email. Loki gestured towards the computer, asking for permission, and sat down as soon as Tom nodded. He struggled for a moment to find some sort of writing program, until Tom leaned forward, arms caging Loki's head, and opened one for him. His arms stayed wrapped around Loki when he pulled back, hands splayed over his chest.
I killed Baldr, Loki started, the facts dry and uncaring on the page, hiding lifetimes of spite and an eternal depression that he'd finally found a way to put to rest. I covered my tracks, and helped Thor lead the search for his murderer. It took almost a century before I was caught. Loki snorted, and Tom's fingers rubbed soothingly against his chest.
I thought they would have given up by then. I was too careless. Too trusting of Æsir blindness, he didn't write, though it was certainly true. Father - Odin - told me it would be my last lie, and I was gagged and imprisoned for... Loki shuttered, remembering an eternity of loneliness, starved in equal measures for food and speech, forcing himself to cry so he could catch what little liquid leaked past the gag and wet his too-dry mouth for just a moment.
"It was a long time," Tom guessed when Loki didn't continue, fingers posed over the keys, unable to move.
I don't know, Loki admitted, because time passed strangely when you had only yourself for company. When they dragged me back out to receive my sentence, Father cast a spell on me, and told them to take off the gag. I could no longer speak, and he told me that I could only ever speak the most honest truths, the ones that come from the heart, until the day I died.
Tom let out a sound of quiet misery, and something damp soaked through Loki's hair. He left the keyboard to reach up and touch Tom's face, fingers blindly tracing lines of tears for a moment before Tom turned his head to kiss first one hand, then the other. "That's a long time to be silent," Tom whispered, forced levity in the words.
Loki shook his head and returned his fingers to the key: I'm mortal. Earlier thirties, from what the doctor said when Gunnar found me. I have the same lifespan as anyone else in this realm.
He remembered screaming silent denials when Odin cast that part of his punishment: There was nothing more agonising than feeling thousands of years ripped from your future; nothing more ruining than feeling a death sentence hung around your neck, to be delivered by someone who didn't even know who you were.
"Oh, Loki," Tom whispered, hugging him.
It's fine, Loki typed, only half a lie. "I don't want to outlive you," he got out, so honest it ached. Because he didn't. He didn't want to have to bury Tom and Gunnar and Karen and Emelía and be left with nothing. He didn't want to be alone with his tears and his own forced silence again, not now. Not after he'd found something that was worth living for. Something that wasn't tainted with Baldr's mocking smile and Thor's unknowingly-cruel jokes, or having his children torn from him while people who didn't believe he was capable of feeling the way his heart was shattering laughed at the 'monsters' and 'freaks' he'd helped bring into the world.
Tom pulled on the chair, legs screeching against the linoleum until Loki was facing him, blinking back memories of a world beyond his grasp. "I love you," Tom breathed, as true as anything that passed Loki's lips.
Loki couldn't stop a sob, his soul having waited a thousand years to hear those words, and he reached for Tom, clinging to his arms and his shirt and his lips and his very heart, where there was already a spot reserved for him, just the right shape for his jagged edges.
There was a spot in his own heart for Tom, he realised, filled before he'd been aware enough to realise it had been empty.
It was Tom's idea to overplay Loki's disability so he was allowed past security with him.
I would like to file a complaint about being dubbed "too stupid to comprehend any language", Loki wrote once they were past the guards.
Tom snorted, eyes sparkling. "You played it brilliantly."
Loki rolled his eyes; of course he had.
Tom rubbed his thumb over Loki's pulse point, holding his arm in such a way that it could be easily mistaken as Tom leading him through the terminal. It was comforting, in that way that only Tom seemed to be.
Loki heard Emelía before he saw any of them, babbling excitedly about all the things she was going to tell her friends about London when she got home and was Pabbi certain she couldn't have that one last thing that she had just seen in the shop they were standing near and when was Locke going to get there because wasn't he late?
Loki whistled a laugh and nodded towards where the voices were coming from when Tom gave him a curious look. Tom let him lead them over, clearly still in the dark as to the source of Loki's amusement, but his expression cleared once Gunnar came in to view, the tallest of the three. "Gunnar! Karen!" he called for Loki, because the other two adults were looking in the opposite direction.
Gunnar and Karen turned, but it was Emelía who shouted, "Locke!" and darted into the stream of people separating them.
Loki shook off Tom's hand so he could rescue the girl before someone decided she was an easy target, or ran her over without realising she was there; Norns, but human lives were so ridiculously fragile. He gave her a disapproving look once he had her in his arms, and she had the grace to look ashamed for approximately ten seconds before she gave him a wide grin and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging tight.
"You're so late," she informed him as Tom guided the two of them over to where Gunnar and Karen had remained out of the flow of traffic. "Pabbi keeps checking his watch and you could have missed the flight and then you'd have to sleep here all night and it's really noisy, have you noticed how noisy it is?" And then she let out a loud squeal as Loki, quite deliberately, leaned forward and stuck his tongue in her ear.
"I'm not sure why you thought that was a good idea," Tom commented when Loki made a face at the taste of earwax.
"Not that we're not glad to see you," Karen said to Tom, suspicion in her eyes, "but how did you get past security?"
"I told them Locke was an idiot who couldn't manage any form of language," Tom admitted with a sheepish smile.
Loki set Emelía down so he could write, He wanted to see if he could. I told him he's paying his own bail.
Gunnar snorted while Tom frowned at the Icelandic words.
Karen gently patted Tom's arm. "You might want to start learning our language."
"Don't I know it," Tom muttered, even as he reached out and caught Loki's hand, lacing their fingers together comfortably. "If it's not an intrusion, I'd like the chance to hang around until your flight."
Karen smiled warmly. "I don't see a problem with it. Gunni?"
Gunnar shrugged. "I have no complaint."
"And you, Miss Emelía," Tom said, looking down at where Emelía had curled herself against Loki's leg, hands fisted in his borrowed shirt and looking curiously at Loki and Tom's joined hands. "May I stay for a bit?"
Emelía took a moment to consider that before glancing up at Locke. He smiled at her and she nodded. "Okay!"
"Excellent!" Tom declared, squeezing Loki's hand. "In that case, anyone peckish? My treat."
They all agreed some food would be appreciated and went in search of something Emelía wouldn't dislike on principle, and lucked out with a restaurant clearly designed with children in mind.
"You are coming home?" Emelía asked of Tom at one point, motioning between everyone else at the table. Apparently, she'd come to the conclusion that that Tom joining them in Iceland was the only reason he would have joined them at the airport.
Tom shook his head. "No, not right now. But I'll be coming for a visit as soon as I'm done in Toronto."
"Canada," Gunnar clarified, recognising the uncertain expression Emelía made.
Emelía nodded and ate a few more bites, before looking at Loki and insisting, "But you took the spare bedroom! He'll have nowhere to sleep!"
Gunnar burst out laughing, while Karen covered her mouth, trying to finished chewing without choking and Tom stared on blankly, Emelía having spoken in Icelandic. So it was up to Loki to pull out his notepad and write, Tom will stay in my room.
"Like a sleepover?" Emelía asked, making Gunnar choke on another laugh.
Loki gave Gunnar an unimpressed stare and left it to Karen to hit him while he wrote, Exactly like.
Emelía brightened. "Me too?"
Loki sighed. Maybe one night. Remember what Pabbi said the time you wanted to invite Jón over to stay the night?
"Oh." She deflated, looking disappointed, so Loki tapped her chin and pointed to the first part again, which got a smile.
"What are we doing?" Tom whispered as they all returned to their food.
Having a sleepover, Loki replied, because it was the simplest explanation he could manage on the spot.
"Ah." Tom nodded. "Well, as long as we don't stay up all night watching cartoons and having pillow fights; some of us need our beauty sleep."
Loki snorted and shook his head. Fífl, he wrote.
"Are you insulting me now?" Tom asked, amused.
"Yes!" Emelía helpfully chirped.
"Eat," Karen ordered her before turning a stern look on Tom and Loki. "We'll miss our flight if you keep distracting her."
Loki bowed his head in apology while Tom offered an extremely contrite, "I apologise."
The rest of the time until the flight was spent window shopping, Emelía occasionally trying her best to talk someone into buying something shiny. Tom almost fell for it the first time she tried him, but Loki got in the way, giving the girl a blank stare of such a strong calibre that she was sent scurrying back towards Gunnar.
At last, however, they made their way to the gate. Tom stopped Loki just a bit back from where the others had queued. "Two weeks," he promised, fingers of one hand caressing Loki's cheek, the other tangled up in Loki's hand. There was a strain to his expression, like it hurt to have to walk away.
Loki leaned forward, knocking their foreheads together. "I love you," he whispered, and it was easier to say, smoother to come out, as though the repetition made the curse more willing to let it go.
Tom smiled. "I love you, too, Loki," he whispered back, using Loki's real name for the first time that day.
A shudder went down Loki's spine and he pressed forward for a firm kiss, Tom's lips already familiar against his own.
"Tell them," Tom whispered against Loki's lips when they parted. "Tell them something, before I come."
Loki nodded; he knew. It would be near impossible to hide his occasional sentence, and he could hardly expect Tom to always call him by the false name he'd pulled off the cover of a paperback novel a year ago.
"Two weeks," Tom repeated with a last brush of lips before he pulled away, keeping hold of Loki's hand until he'd have to either let go or pull him with.
Heart aching, Loki returned to his family, picking up Emelía and hugging her just because he knew she wasn't going to complain.
Emelía's fingers traced the downward turn of his lips. "Locke? Are you okay?" she asked, concern bright in her young eyes.
"Goodbyes are hard," Karen offered, rubbing Loki's arm. "Especially when you have to say goodbye to someone you care for."
Loki almost corrected her, because he loved Tom, but this was neither the place, nor the time.
He did spend the flight writing up an explanation, struggling to make it something that would make sense without having to go into a great deal of explanation about his crimes and the way his punishment had been delivered, because it was enough that Tom knew it all; he didn't want to burden Gunnar and Karen with that information.
As soon as Loki had finished a quick unpack of his belongings, he took out his notepad and walked down to Gunnar's room. Officially, Karen still had her own place, but she only really stayed there when she and Gunnar wanted a night without chancing Emelía sneaking into bed with them, so it was absolutely no surprise to see her sitting on the bed, Emelía in her lap and both of them giving Gunnar conflicting orders for where to put things as he unpacked their suitcase.
They all looked up when Loki stopped in the doorway, smiles welcoming him to share in their fun. He smiled back, a little uncertain around the edges, then handed the paper he'd torn from his notepad to Karen, since she and Emelía were closer to the door than Gunnar.
Gunnar knelt on the bed, bracing his hands against Karen's shoulders as they both read the note. Emelía stared it for a long moment before frowning and looking between the three adults, clearly confused by something in it.
"Cursed?" Gunnar asked, the first thing to break the silence. He sounded like he wasn't certain if he wanted to believe what he'd read.
Loki shrugged and nodded.
"Loki," Karen interrupted before Gunnar could vocalise whatever he'd opened his mouth to say next. "Like from the Avengers film? The part Tom played?"
Loki wiggled his hand a little; his origins weren't far off from the films, but his childhood more closely fit with the comics canon – from what Tom had explained to him – with everyone knowing what he was, and Asgard hadn't had much of anything to do with Earth after the Christians converted most of their worshippers. Until Odin had decided to banish him here.
"What sort of things are 'heartfelt'?" Gunnar asked in a rush, eyebrows raised.
"Love!" Emelía immediately called, giving her father an unimpressed look.
Loki nodded and took a breath, steadying himself against the tingling of his throat as the curse apparently approved of what he wanted to say. "Thank you," he started, and the three on the bed started, all turning to look at him with awe. "For–" he struggled for a moment, the curse refusing 'everything' and 'giving me a chance' "–accepting me into your family. It–" the curse again, cutting off the first four things he wanted to say, before he finally settled on, "I love you all."
He was sure it wasn't enough, but the curse had silenced him again, deciding he'd had his say. And when Karen reached out to him, welcoming him forward for a hug from her and Emelía, Gunnar's hand squeezing his shoulder tight, he guessed the curse was right:
The greatest magic was in the simplest words.
-0-0-0-
A/N: I haven't visited London in over a decade, so I apologise for any inaccuracies. I did research the fuck out of tourist attractions, but I didn't start keeping particularly good notes until around 10K words. (Which was also about when I realised that my original reason for Loki/Locke's muteness would have left him unable to breathe. Whoops. ^.^")
Research was also done into Heathrow (because, again, it's been a decade) as well as Icelandic airports.
The city Loki/Locke cites as his home was chosen for its population, more than anything else. (I didn't really want them living in a hugely urban area, but I also didn't want it to be so far out in nature that they'd have trouble getting to hospital.)
Original characters were named from the list of most popular given names on Wikipedia (and 'Gunni' is a common nickname for 'Gunnar'). The name Locke was pulled from the first book of Scott Lynch's Gentleman Bastard series, The Lies of Locke Lamora. (If you've never read the series, I highly recommend it.) The first book, at least, has been published in Iceland, so I can totally get away with this, shut your faces. ;P
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