The first time she lost Loki, it only took her a day or so to accept it.

It was her decision, she'd told herself. He'd betrayed her. He'd led her on, then turned his back on her when she needed him. She'd done herself a favor, getting rid of him like she did, no matter how close she felt they'd gotten in the short time they'd known each other.

It's worse this time.

He sought her out, and she dismissed him. She was rude. She was combative. She blamed him for everything. She called him selfish; claimed he was doing this all for his own gain. She convinced herself he was doing it for his own gain. It made it easier to hate him. And she had to hate him, really, because if she didn't hate him, then she would have had to admit that she loved him, and she couldn't do that. Not after he turned on her like he did in the citadel.

He was selfish.

He was.

He was supposed to be selfish.

He wasn't supposed to give up his life to save the timelines.

He wasn't supposed to sacrifice his future to save her dream.

He wasn't supposed to prove her wrong, prove that she could love him, that she should love him, only to go the one place she couldn't follow.

But he did.

And she doesn't know how to move past that.

It's been two weeks, give or take, since she went back to her timeline, and the world still feels dull. Even giving children Happy Meals and fixing the chronically broken ice cream machine every other day doesn't bring her joy anymore. And it's all Loki's fault. If he didn't have to go be a stupid hero – if he would have at least let her say goodbye before he went to be a stupid hero – she wouldn't be feeling like this.

She's tried to talk to him, in her darkest moments. When she's felt most alone, when she's felt most hopeless, she's tried to talk to him. She'd like to think he could hear her. She'd like to think he heard her apology. She'd like to think he heard her goodbye. She'd like to think he heard the tearful "I love you"s she whispers at night when she can't fall asleep.

She doesn't deserve to hear it back. She knows that. She put up those walls. She pushed him away. She did this to herself, and she doesn't deserve to hear anything from him. But she hopes he can hear her. She may not deserve his love, but he certainly deserves to know the love she has for him.

Wherever he is now, she hopes he knows what he means to her. He hopes she knows that she's sorry.

She glances at the clock. Two minutes until the store closes. She can survive two more minutes. There's nobody even here. All she has to do is stand here and hope that nobody walks through that door in the next two minutes.

Somebody is going to walk through the door in the last two minutes. Somebody always walks through the door in the last two minutes.

There are other things she could be doing – other things she should be doing, even. A part of her is surprised Jack hasn't told her off for all the time she's spent doing nothing. She's no worse than most of the other employees, but he knows her and he knows that she's supposed to be better than this. But then, Jack's always seemed to like her, even if he did find her a little terrifying in the beginning. He must know that something's wrong, and he must know that she's too fragile to be pushed right now.

Her gaze falls to her hands as she drums her fingers along the counter. She's almost done. She's almost free. The store is about to close, and then she just has to help Jack get everything situated, and she should be home within a half-hour. She just has to get through the last two minutes.

And, of course, somebody walks in, because fuck her, huh?

She looks toward the door, her eyes narrowed in a steely glare in hopes that she'll scare this fucker out of her store, but then she sees him, and the whole world seems to melt away.

She doesn't know what to do, so she does nothing. She just stares at him, silent, unmoving, waiting for him to show her how this is going to go.

Loki looks around, a somewhat wary look on his face, and takes in the sight of the store. He's wearing his Asgardian clothes, she notices, and black leather certainly suits him (though a part of her misses that shirt he wore that barely survived the Void). His hair is slicked back, much neater than it's been in the time she's known him, and it's kind of cute (though she can't deny that she misses his little curls). He finally meets her eye, and he gives her a small, uncomfortable smile, and she gives him an awkward smile in return (though she misses the genuine smiles they once shared, what feels like a lifetime ago).

"Hello," he greets her, walking up to the counter.

"Hi," she replies, a bit shyly. She wonders if he can hear the way her heart is pounding in her chest. Is this how he felt, the first time he came after her? Was his heart racing in his chest the way hers is? Were his hands trembling in his pockets the way hers are behind the counter? The tides have turned, it seems. She much preferred to be on the other end of this.

"I'm..." He clears his throat, and he tucks his hands into his pockets. "I'm looking for Sylvie?"

Sylvie's smile fades. "That's..." She cocks her head to the side. "That's me." Why is he saying it like he doesn't know that? Is this a game?

"Oh, lovely." He forces a smile. "I hope this doesn't sound too strange, but I was asked to bring you this." He pulls out a small scroll of paper from his pocket and holds it out to her.

Sylvie furrows her brows and takes it from him. "Should I read it now?" Is he trying to tell her something? Is something wrong? Is that why he's acting like this?

"That's your choice," Loki says. "Truth be told, I haven't the slightest idea what it is. I was simply asked to bring it to you."

She eyes him suspiciously. "Asked by whom?" Somebody within the TVA? But they're not in charge of him anymore. He's on his own now – and more powerful than the TVA will ever be, from the looks of it. It must be part of his game – or a plan that's important for reasons she'll soon figure out. Maybe there's somebody watching, and they have to be discreet about this.

"Heimdall?" He almost says it as a question.

She blinks.

"I don't know if you know him," Loki admits. "He was very vague."

Sylvie is fairly certain she has not been this confused since the TVA kidnapped her as a child, so she unrolls this scroll of paper and begins reading. Maybe she can make some sense of it this way.

Sylvie,

You've intrigued me since your unexplained arrival on Midgard, and even more so since you met with Loki – a Loki who, by all accounts, should not exist, given that the Loki of this world was in the gardens of Asgard at the time.

I will not pretend to know what has conspired, nor will I pretend I understand what's upset you since your return. But Loki seemed to care for you, and, as such, I find myself feeling the same. As your night comes to an end, I've sent Loki, who I hope will be a welcome face, and with him, I present you a choice: you may go about your night as though this never occurred, and it will be the last my people reach out to you, or you can go with him. You can come to Asgard and speak to the King and Queen about creating a life for yourself among us. It looks to me that this is where you belong.

No matter your choice, Asgard will be open for you as long as I live, and perhaps longer, should the next person to take my place choose to keep watch over you as I have. I wish you nothing but the best, no matter how you proceed.

Heimdall

Sylvie takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Asgard knows about her, then. Her former home, the home that was stolen from her, knows of her existence, and they're giving her a chance to go back. She can go home and she can talk to the King and Queen – she can talk to her parents – and she can have a family again and she can have a real home again and she can have Loki again and...

And she'd have to leave McDonald's...

She'd have to leave Jack, and she'd have to leave Lyle from the record store, and she'd have to leave her truck and her little run-down apartment...

She sighs and rolls the scroll back up, resting it on the counter. She looks up at Loki, a sad smile on her face. "Tell Heimdall that I appreciate the offer, but I'm very happy where I am now."

"I imagine he's already heard it," Loki says, giving her a small smile of his own, "but I'll tell him nonetheless."

Sylvie nods once in appreciation. "Thank you, Loki." It's nice to see you again. Even just for a fleeting moment. Even if he doesn't know who she is. Even if they've never truly met before. It's just nice to see his face again.

Loki gives her a small, brief smile, and for a moment, it's silent, until he says, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, but would you mind if I ask what this was about? Heimdall was rather insistent I come, and I cannot fathom why."

"It's a long story," she tells him – longer than even Heimdall knows, whoever that may be. "We have a mutual friend." More than a friend, really, for her – and less than a friend, too, she fears, with how they left things. She tries not to think of that.

"Oh," Loki says, as though that explains anything. He tucks his hands back in his pockets. "Well, it was lovely to meet you, Lady Sylvie."

"You, too," she says.

And that's that.

He gives her a smile – still small, still awkward, as his every smile has been since he stepped foot in this McDonald's – and then he turns to leave.

She rests her hands on the counter, leaning against them as she watches him go. That was nice. Painful, certainly confusing, but nice. At least she can live comfortably knowing that somewhere out there, there's a Loki who's happy, who has friends, who's living his best life, free to make whatever choices he wants.

Just as Loki reaches the door, he turns around, looking back at her curiously. "Have we met?"

Sylvie feels herself tense at the question. Of course they've met. They met and they argued and they fought and they fell in love and they watched it fall apart. But he doesn't know that. He can't know that.

... Probably.

Can he?

She forces a smile. "Why do you ask?"

"You knew my name," he says. "I never introduced myself."

Shit.

"Heimdall said it," she tells him. "In his letter." It's technically not a lie. It's certainly easier than the truth.

"Did he say anything else about me?" Loki asks. "If you don't mind my asking?"

Sylvie shakes her head. "Just that he asked you to bring me this."

"Oh." He doesn't look convinced. She doesn't blame him. Still, he doesn't push, which is nice. She doesn't know what he'd say if he did.

Jack pokes his head out then, whispering her name loudly.

Sylvie glances back at him. "Yeah?"

Jack walks up to her, sparing Loki a wary glance as he does, and whispers to Sylvie, "Is he bothering you again? Because I don't mind kicking him out for you. We're technically closed."

Sylvie chuckles. "He's not bothering me," she says, "but thank you."

Jack's face lights up at that. "Oh, are you back together?"

Sylvie balks at him. "Jack!" she hisses.

All the color begins to drain from his face. "Was I not supposed to say that?"

Sylvie bites her lip, glancing at Loki warily. Maybe it's okay? Maybe he doesn't think this is weird?

One look at his face says that he definitely thinks this is weird – suspicious, even. She's not sure she can play this one off.

"Um..." Jack pats her on the shoulder. "Do you want to head out now? I'll keep you clocked in 'til I leave so you'll still get paid, if you want to..."

Sylvie hesitates, but when Loki nods once, his eyes glued to her own, she knows she doesn't have a choice.

She forces herself to tear her gaze away to look at her Manger. "Thanks, Jack. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yep," he says with a forced smile. He takes a step closer and whispers in her ear, "He's not going to hurt you, is he?"

Sylvie shakes her head. "I'll be fine," she assures him. "But thanks for looking out for me."

Jack gives her a smile, then slips away without another word. He's a good kid.

Sylvie takes a deep breath and turns her attention to Loki. She might as well get straight to the point. "Do you want the short explanation or the long one?"

"The long one, I'd say," he answers. "I assume Heimdall sent me here for a reason. I'd like to find out why – and perhaps learn about our 'relationship' as well?"

Sylvie grimaces. This is going to be awful.

"There's a bar down the street," Sylvie tells him. "Drinks on me?"

"Gladly."

~~~

"While I have the utmost respect for your ability to hold your liquor," Loki says, "I would appreciate it if you would begin talking before you lose the ability to form a coherent sentence."

Sylvie just looks at him for a few moments, her fourth shot of the night (a night that has only lasted approximately five minutes so far) halfway to her mouth, then sighs and puts the glass back down on the bar. "Sorry." She's just... not sure she can do this sober. She's starting to feel a little buzz, though. She might not get drunk as easily as a human, but downing four shots is a good way to start herself off.

"No need to apologize," he assures her. "Though I'd like to hear what this is about, if you don't mind."

God, he's so polite. Is this what he's like when there's no world-ending catastrophe? It doesn't surprise her too much. The way he treated her in the Void, crafting a blanket for her because she said she was cold? Or when he sat with her on Lamentis while they waited for what they'd thought was their inevitable doom? Even the way he talked to her in the citadel, trying so desperately to calm her down, to talk to her. He's always been polite, when she really thinks about it. If she wasn't pissing him off, he's always been polite.

Maybe it's a good thing that she pissed him off more often than not. It was those softer, gentler moments that made her fall in love with him. It was those softer, gentler moments that made it so hard to lose him. She's not sure she could have handled more of them.

She must be more transparent than she thinks, because Loki's look of curiosity shifts to what almost looks to be one of sympathy. Somehow, that makes this worse.

Sylvie downs her shot, then raises her hand off the bar to get the bartender's attention. "Another?"

The bartender doesn't seem thrilled with that idea, but he nods once. She appreciates that. She's going to need this.

She takes a deep breath and turns her attention back to Loki. Here she goes.

"This is going to sound strange," she begins. That's probably a good thing to preface this with. At least she won't be giving him the impression that she thinks this is a normal situation for two people to be in.

"Believe me," Loki says, "I've noticed."

You don't know the half of it.

"I'm not from here," she begins. "I'm from another timeline – another universe."

She pauses, waiting for his reaction. She doesn't really get one. He doesn't speak. There's no expression of disbelief. This is a good sign. This wasn't too much for him. She tested the waters, and it went well. She can keep going.

"I was taken from my universe as a child by the Time Variance Authority," she continues. "They destroyed my timeline, and I'd been on the run ever since – until a few months ago, when I killed the man in charge, and then I moved here."

Loki nods slowly, a sign he's listening, but still, he's expressionless. He's listening, but she doesn't know what he's thinking. But there's no blatant distrust in his eyes, so she'll take it. She can work with this.

Unfortunately, this is where it gets a little weird(er).

"But I didn't do it alone," she says. "I worked with another you from another timeline. Heimdall knows that because he came here once; that's why he sent you. I guess he knew you'd be a familiar face." A somewhat painful familiar face, but one that's nice to see regardless.

Loki's brows furrow as he tries to puzzle that out. She gives him the time he needs to do it. This is a weird situation and she's not a great storyteller, so she can't imagine what this sounds like to him.

Finally, he says, "You know me, then."

"I know a you," she says. Not this one, though. She wishes it was this one. She wishes she could talk to her Loki again. But it's too late for that. She missed her chance to talk to him, to tell him she's sorry, to beg him to come back and be with her. It's been weeks, but it still hurts every time she thinks of it.

Loki nods slowly. "Was this other me... like me?"

"I think so," she says. She doesn't know this Loki enough to be sure, but it looks like it to her. "He was a good person. He had a good heart." She smiles sadly at the memories. He really was a good person – something she could never say about herself, but for her Loki, it just came naturally. She didn't always see it, but it did.

Loki gives her a small smile for that. "Where is he now?"

Sylvie lets out a long breath.

She knew this was coming. It doesn't make it any easier.

Fortunately, the bartender sets her new shot down on the bar, and she downs it without thinking. She's going to need this.

"Gone."

She puts the glass back on the bar and pushes it away. Maybe she should just ask for a bottle. Is it socially acceptable to drink straight tequila from the bottle? And, perhaps more importantly, would the bartender let her? Probably not, she reasons; not if he thinks she's human, and of course he does. Why wouldn't he?

Loki frowns. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"Yeah," she says. "Me, too." The pain will go away eventually, she's sure. The grief can't follow her forever. Probably. Can it? She's never really lost anyone before. She doesn't know how this works.

"Were you close?" Loki asks. "With this other me?"

"Mm-mm." She shakes her head. "I barely knew him. We were just..." She shrugs helplessly. "Teammates? Partners?" She sighs. "I don't know. I don't know what he was. I'd never had a partner before. I've been alone for as long as I can remember, and then he showed up and he was just..."

Loki just looks at her, and she can see the sympathy on his face. She's just dropped this bombshell on him about multiverses and Variants and the shitshow that is everything ever, and his first thought is her. He feels bad for her.

She feels bad for herself, too.

She groans, folding her arms on the bar and burying her head in them. "I miss him," she mumbles. "I never even got to say goodbye." She has to think he can see her now. She has to. Because if he can't, then he might now know that she's changed. He might not know that she's sorry. He might not know that she loves him. And she doesn't want to live in a world where Loki doesn't know she loves him.

And, in true "girl who just did five shots in less than ten minutes" fashion, she feels like she's going to start crying. She's not – she's not going to let herself – but she feels like she is. If somebody had told her a year ago that she'd one day want to cry over a Variant of herself, she would have stabbed them. Loki really ruined her, didn't he?

Loki's stool creaks as he slides it across the floor, and then there's a hand on her back, making soothing circles with his palm.

Leave it to Loki to make a liar of her, because she sure does start crying. Loudly. In the middle of a fucking bar. Where everybody can see and hear her. And she doesn't even care, which might be the worst part. She's making a fool of herself in her favorite bar, and she doesn't even care.

She just misses Loki.

Quietly, she hears Loki ask, "May I have a glass of cold water, please?"

She'd like a glass of cold water. Maybe she'll get one for herself when she stops sobbing like a fucking baby. Hopefully this won't last long. It's not like she's in bed. She'll cry for hours in bed, off and on and off and on, but that's different. There's nothing else to do when she's lying in bed besides thinking about Loki (and moping about Loki and crying over losing Loki and just being a pathetic mess in general because of Loki).

But she's in public now. She's in front of her peers. She's in front of people she'd almost consider friends – like the bartender, whom she sees at least twice a week, if not more. And, worse, she's in front of another Loki who really didn't ask to be dragged into this mess and is definitely going to have some words with Heimdall when he goes home. So she needs to pull herself together.

It's just... really, really hard.

"Sylvie?" Loki says quietly, and she can almost convince herself that it's him, that it's the Loki she fell in love with, but it's not. She knows all too well that it's not.

She just hums. She's listening. She's alert. She's just being a pathetic little loser who ruined her own life and wishes more than anything that she could take back everything she's ever done in the history of ever.

"You should have some water," Loki says quietly.

Sylvie reluctantly lifts her head, wiping the tears from her eyes. Loki's looking down at her, and he gives her a soft smile that makes her want to crawl into a hole and die. Here she is, having a mental breakdown over a guy who's basically him with extra steps, and this poor guy has no idea who she is or what her issue is. The fact that he hasn't just walked out already is either a miracle or a curse.

He glances pointedly toward the bar, and it's only then that she sees the glass of ice water in front of her. He ordered it for her, then. That was nice of him. She gives him a small, appreciative smile and takes a few small sips. It really is cold water. It's refreshing after her grossly embarrassing sobfest. She's glad he asked for it; she fully would have just ordered another shot or two to chase down the tears if he hadn't.

"Sylvie," he says quietly, gently, resting his hand on top of hers on the bar. "Is my being here hurting you? If you'd like me to leave, I will – and if you'd like me to stay, I'll do that as well."

She hates that he's so polite. She hates that he's making her think, making her decide what she wants. She doesn't know what she wants. She wants her Loki back, she wants to do this all over again and do it right, and that's never going to happen. Why does it matter what she wants when the one thing she wants most is something she can never have?

She must take too long to answer, because Loki speaks again.

"I want to help you," he says. "I can't help but feel that's why Heimdall sent me here: because he knew you needed help." He takes Sylvie's hand in his, and she gives him a small, tearful smile for it. "I can see that I meant a lot to you. And though I know I am not the me that you knew, I seem to be the only me that you have, and I have to hope that there is something I can do to help you."

Sylvie shakes her head helplessly. "I'm well past saving now." There's only one knight in shining armor that could fix her, and he's gone, lost to time and space and the responsibilities of his charge. This Loki is lovely, but he's not hers.

"Is there truly nothing I can do?" he asks. "Even just lend an ear? Or leave you be, if that's what you'd prefer." He sighs, looking at her with sad eyes. "I know we've only just met, but Heimdall cares for you, and it sounds as though I did, too, in another world. I don't want to see you like this." He squeezes her hand gently. "I just want you to be okay."

Her heart stops.

And then she's crying.

Again.

Fuck.

She pulls her hand back, burying her head in her palms as though she could possibly hide from him the choked sobs wracking her body. She was just starting to get herself together. She was just starting to feel better. He just had to fuck it up, didn't he? He just had to throw her Loki's words right back at her.

I just want you to be okay.

She hopes her Loki can see her now, because she sure as fuck is not okay and he better fucking know it. He better feel awful. He better feel like absolute shit for abandoning her without even saying goodbye. This is his fucking fault, and he better know that.

(It's not true, of course. It's her fault. All of this is her fault. It's just easier to blame it on him instead. If she can convince herself she hates him, maybe she'll someday forget how much she loves him.)

"This is not quite what I'd meant when I said I didn't want to see you like this," Loki remarks, a lightly teasing lilt to his otherwise concerned, sympathetic tone.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles. She sniffles, a failed attempt to regain her composure.

"You need to stop apologizing," he says gently. He rests his hand on her shoulder. "You're hurting. I can see that. There is nothing worse than hurting and having nobody you feel you can talk to about it. I don't want you to go through that."

Sylvie swallows back another sobs, but she doesn't dare take her head out of her hands just yet. "Thank you," she murmurs. For being here. For listening. For putting up with her pathetic ass during her not-nearly-drunken-enough mental breakdown. He's much more like her Loki than he is like her, that's for sure.

"Of course," he says. His thumb rubs against her shoulder, gently, calmly, soothingly. "Would you like me to take you home? It's alright if you don't want to."

She shakes her head.

"No?"

She sniffles quietly. "I don't want to be alone right now." It's embarrassing to admit aloud, but not nearly as embarrassing as the thought of going home, curling up in bed, and spending the next few hours sobbing all alone until she finally exhausts herself enough that she falls asleep.

"That's alright," he assures her. "I'll stay with you – here, or outside if you'd like some air, or at home if you'd feel more comfortable. Whatever you need."

She wipes her eyes, and when she finally takes her hands away from her face, Loki reaches across the bar for a napkin to hand to her. She murmurs her thanks and uses it to blot away her tears, and then to blow her nose before it starts leaking snot like a faulty McDonald's faucet. She puts it down on the counter – gross, yes, but right now, it's the last thing she cares about – and looks back at him.

He gives her a small smile, and now that she's really looking at him, she can see his uncertainty. He doesn't know what he's doing. He's doing it well, but he doesn't know it. Of course he doesn't know it. She's still a wreck. He must think he's doing everything wrong. He must not see that he's trying to help someone who's truly, genuinely unhelpable.

"Loki?" she says quietly, and he hums in response. "There's one more thing I should probably tell you, for transparency's sake."

"What is it?" he asks. His voice is so soft, so gentle, like she's a wounded animal he's trying not to scare off. Maybe she is a wounded animal. She feels like one.

"I am you," she tells him. "In my timeline. I was also a Loki, a long time ago."

Loki furrows his brows. "You were a Loki?"

She just nods. She's glad she saved that little bit of information until last. To her, it's the most normal part of this all, but to a Loki who knows nothing of timelines and the TVA, it's probably the strangest part to him.

"You can't be me," he says.

"Because I'm a girl?" As if she hasn't heard that before.

But that only seems to confuse Loki more. "No, because you're blonde. I would never be blonde." He gives her a strange look. "Are you sure you're not a Thor?"

She can't tell if he's joking – it almost seems like he is, though this does seem to be a genuine concern he has – but she can't help but crack a smile nonetheless.

Loki smiles, too. "For what it's worth," he tells her, "though I would never have blonde hair, I think it looks wonderful on you."

Sylvie can't tell if the heat in her cheeks is a blush or just her sobs catching up to her.

"And you seem much too smart to be Thor," he adds playfully.

She huffs, a quiet laugh of a sort.

"I like when you smile," he tells her. "You have a nice smile."

"Yeah?" she says, a halfhearted attempt at playfulness. "I'm sure it brings out my bloodshot eyes and gross, splotchy cheeks."

Loki just smiles, and the way he's looking at her, she has to smile, too. He's not her Loki. She knows he's not. But her Loki is gone, and this one... He's sweet. He really is.

"What do you want to do now?" Loki asks her. It's nice of him to phrase it like that; to leave out the "now that you're done crying" and the "now that you're done making a fool of yourself."

She shakes her head solemnly. "I don't know," she admits.

"Do you want to stay here?" Loki asks.

She shakes her head. "Not really." Because, again, she did just make a fool of herself. She would like to maintain some dignity by leaving.

"Do you want to go home?" Loki asks.

Again, she shakes her head. "Not yet." She's only just gotten herself together. She's still fragile enough that she would definitely fall back apart the moment she tried to go to bed.

"Hmm..." Loki glances around, and she can see the gears in his head turning. "Do you want to go to Asgard?"

She balks at him. "What?"

"If you used to be me, you must be from Asgard," he says. "Would you like to come back?" With a smile, he adds, "I imagine nobody will complain about one more Asgardian in Asgard."

For the briefest, unthinking moment, she can feel herself light up inside. She can go home. She can go back to her first home, her real home. The life that was stolen from her can be hers again. It's right at her fingertips. All she has to do is reach for it.

But...

She sighs.

"I can't."

Loki cocks his head to the side. "Why not?"

"Because I have a life here," she says. "I have a job. I have a home. I can't just... disappear."

He's undeterred.

"Come for the night," he says. "For an hour, even. Come look at the stars with me, or come to the Palace, or we can go to the garden." He stands up and holds out a hand. "I think you need the break."

She hesitates.

This is opening the door to a lot. She hardly remembers Asgard. She doesn't remember what the stars look like, or the Palace, or the garden. She doesn't know what she'll be getting herself into. And, worse still, she doesn't know if she'll be able to get herself out of it.

But as Loki looks down at her, a gentle smile on his lips and his hand outstretched, she's not sure she cares. Loki wants to take her to Asgard. Loki wants to. He's here and he's waiting for her and all he wants is for her to go with him.

She can't go with her Loki. He's gone somewhere she can never follow.

But before her stands another, that same little smile on his face, that same sparkle in his eye, just waiting, hoping she'll go with him. It's not the same. He's not the same. But she's already hurt one Loki. She can't do that again.

So she takes his head, a small smile on her lips. "You go," she says, "I go."