History.

History is just another word for story, because that's all history is; the best tales. The ones that last. They're like legends – lessons – they ring with truth. Not all of our history is accurate, but with the modern age and all its glorious technology, we're finding out more about ourselves as a race and the stories that make up us as a society and species today.

History is stubborn, and not always generous to its subordinates. The various sicknesses, discrimination, wars and suppressing rulers/countries have proven that. But like a good story, history enjoys not only its villains, but its heroes.

Muhammad. Martin Luther King Jr. Alan Turing. Mother Teresa. George Washington. Leonardo Da Vinci. The after effects of what people like these accomplished is still felt today. Heroes are people we can look up to, to aspire to. That's why stories love them so much. That's why history has loved them so much, and when you learn of a story with a grand hero from our own history rather than a fictional one, it makes that idea that becoming one and aspiring to be one isn't so impossible. Heroes are real people.

Steven Grant Rogers is a real person.

I hope so at least, because if he isn't and just some figment of my unstable imagination, then talk about the last two books being awkies.

"A symbol to the nation – a hero to the world. The story of Captain America is one of honour, bravery and sacrifice."

"You know, with things like these, it's a wonder to the world that your ego isn't as big as Tony's. I mean seriously, I can see at least four walls covered by your face at the moment."

Steve chuckles quietly, tugging his incognito cap down a bit further. That cap is about as successful at hiding his identity as Clark Kent's glasses. "Can't say I haven't been tempted," he jokes, taking in the vast information printed on the walls and interaction exhibits.

A tender, heart-warming blanket of emotions envelops me like a cocoon upon seeing all the kids running around bursting at the seams with excitement; true, unadulterated admiration for the man standing right next to me making them glow with indescribable joy and elation.

"Denied enlistment due to poor health, Steven Rogers was chosen for a programme unique in the annals of American warfare. One that would transform him into the world's first Super Soldier."

An almost inhumane squeal erupts past my lips, startling Steve enough that he actually jumps from the abruptness. I practically super speed over to the full body photo of pre-serum Steve Rogers on the wall, turning to face him with a dropped jaw smile. "Oh. My. God. This is yo—Captain America before the serum?" I catch myself just in time, yet my enthusiasm doesn't even plummet an inch.

One parent even lifts his child up to raise him to the same height as the pre-serum Steve Rogers printed on the wall, who, may I say, is stood so awkwardly yet in such an endearing and adorable manner that I think I'll come back to this place by myself on several occasions just to see it.

"Yeah, not much to look at huh?" He's rather dismal about it, yet the nostalgic smile ghosts his lips at the distant memories undoubtedly plaguing his head.

My jaw drops again, yet this time, it's not from the giddiness of the situation. "What are you talking about? You—he is adorable. All he did was acquire some muscles and peak athleticism. That serum didn't make him a hero, or a good man. He was given that serum because he already had the makings of a hero, a good man. I told you after we got ice cream; he was Captain America before the serum was even in his body. If I was around back then, I would've found it an absolute honour to have known him even if he didn't get that serum."

The manner in which his entire face softens with a – dare I say – cherishing, appreciative gleam glazing over those cerulean orbs is enough to make marginally weaken my knees. "Not many would have shared your opinion, and he wasn't exactly very smooth with the dames."

"Are you kidding me?" My eyebrows nearly disappear past my hairline in jarring shock. "Not only would I be besties with that guy, but I would—" Tap the shit out of him for starters "—date him and safeguard him from any other woman's eye. That is a man who you don't just date for the fun of it. He's the kind you would want to spend the rest of your life with."

Ah, subtly has always been a forte of mine.

"Plus, look at him in that uniform. Adorable."

Not so subtle, but I'm working on it.

Upon the worrisome lack of response and deadly silent grasping the air between us with it's uncomfortable claws, I turn back to face my favourite blue eyes only to be met with a stone hard chest in a very close proximity to my own shorter stature. Glancing up perplexedly, the expression he wears is a memory, a reminiscence, a ghost of how he stared at me when I used to lie on his chest as we relaxed in bed. "He would have been lucky to have you back then."

*all the fangirls in the distance* 'Awww! Now KISS.'

"Of course he would have. I'm amazing."

Annnddd way to ruin the moment Lilly.

"But he is extraordinary."

Nice save, I deserve a high five.

The warmth of his soft laugh finds comfort in dusting across my cheeks, and when his head faces to the side in the act of it, his smile seems to broaden at a new subject a few meters away. A star-struck, unblinking kid who couldn't be any older than ten in a stark, blue shirt with Steve's iconic shield is staring at Steve like he's a God – which, come on, isn't that wrong.

Steve's index finger rises to his lips in a shushing motion, and the kid – too astounded to do anything else – numbly nods his head as his eyes flicker to me briefly in question. I wink, a smile matching Steve's playing at my lips, before the kid's attention is back on his childhood hero, and it doesn't waver our entire trip into the next few rooms.

"Battle tested, Captain America and his Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes. Their mission; taking down HYDRA, the Nazi rogue science division."

I stare at the paintings of each Commando above their respective mannequin that wears their venerable, old suits. They're all in immaculate condition, and the adoration that Steve shares with the inanimate objects is simultaneously heart warming and breaking. Even more so, when we move on to the next exhibit.

"Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield."

I refrain from commenting; allowing Steve to live in the moment with his respective privacy as he wistfully watches old black and white footage of him and Bucky at various stages during their time in the army together. Bucky looks rather cute with his hair short, perhaps next time I see him I should just attack from behind and give him a haircut.

I'd probably lose a limb or two if I tried, but it's a nice thought.

"Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country."

"He got me out of more fights than I could remember when we were younger." Upon the near incoherent mumble, I blink owlishly at the opening up Steve abruptly instigates. He's not overly emotional, just solemn and pensive. A serious kind of brooding. "Even when my mum died, and dad started living with and seeing another woman, I really had no place to go, and he still offered me a home with him, even though he didn't have another bed. I thought it wasn't possible, but we became even closer once I joined the army."

"Once you share a battlefield with someone, you're bound for life. You're a brotherhood. Family," I understand in a day dreamy manner, body physically here but mind wandering in distant, faded memories alone. "Similar if not identical bonds form in other life and death crises. Learning that someone has your back on the brink of death tends to do that. The fact you two grew up together as well... you were lucky to have each other. He sounds like a great guy."

Not for the first time that day, Steve Rogers stares at me with nothing short of appreciation, and even understanding. "He was. Thank you."

"That was a difficult winter. A blizzard had trapped half our battalion behind the German line. Steve... Captain Rogers, he fought his way through a HYDRA blockade that had pinned our allies down for months. He saved over a thousand men. Including the man who would... who would become my husband, as it turned out. Even after he died, Steve was still changing my life."

The woman playing across the screen – Agent Peggy Carter – chokes up over her words towards the end. If I have anything to go off by the way she so fondly speaks of Steve –even at first saying his name instead of his formal title – and the little, tattering, venerable compass with an equally maturing, tired photo of her held in Steve's hands, the two evidently had a history with one another.

My face pulls into mask just as somber and melancholy. After Asgard, I woke up in a world I knew, but with people who didn't know me. He woke up in a world he didn't know, but with people who knew him. Yet in both instances, the people we care about are just out of our reach and moved on without us. I feel for them – this Peggy woman and Steve. Not only does she seem as badass as women probably came in the forties, but a good woman. A good woman for a good man.

But, in the wise words of Murphy's Law; anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

And for them, it did.

***

After having known the man through some of our hardest times – from the perspective of enemy, friend, colleague and romantic partner – I can tell when he needs some space. I myself prefer time alone when I can get it, and I don't even need to watch my either dead or incredibly old past love speaking fondly about me (and mentioning said love's spouse in the middle of it) on an old tape to appreciate that time alone.

I tried telling him I'd catch a bus or a cab to the Parks Hotel, but Steve, ever the gentleman, wouldn't hear any of it. I already know that when we grow old and have kids, our arguments are going to be ones for the record books.

Regrettably retracting my hands from their secure grip around his abdomen, I slip off the back of the motorcycle and remove his shield from where it is strapped on my back, placing a calming hand on Steve's shoulder as he attempts to stand up and smile gratefully at him. "No need to walk me up Captain; pretty sure no aliens or terrorists that need a good punching are going to pop out of nowhere from here to the elevator. Thank you, though." My thumb absentmindedly runs across the fabric of his jacket in soft, soothing circles. "For sharing that with me. It means a lot."

Hesitantly he settles back on his bike, mirroring my grin. "Eh well, I needed to think. It was nice not doing it alone for once." He's nonchalant about it, but even through his nonchalance, his encouraging, virtuous tone showcases a still slightly raw side of his emotional vulnerability. "You have a good balance in you Lilly; you know how to have good time like Stark with a humour as sharp to match, but you know when situations need to be handled seriously as well. Though that seriousness does only take up close to 12% of the time."

My jaw drops in heartbeat, an open mouth grin barely suppressed. "I know how to be serious! I just prefer to avoid a thousand and one chick flick moments. In fact, I've had far too many recently. Stark would be appalled."

His deep, breathy laughs always make my mood lighten. "I'm sure he would be. Maybe even disown you."

"Boy do not think I am above setting Captain America on fire. You're lucky you're pretty."

A dark eyebrow arches on that goddamn perfect face, a lopsided grin attached to accomplish that boyish look. "You think I'm pretty?"

"You ignore the death threat but catch the compliment?"

"What can I say; you're rubbing off on me."

"Don't know if that's a good thing. I don't want to be mobbed for tarnishing Captain America's purity."

"It's only in a good way, don't worry."

The comfortable silence that falls as we sappily stare at each other progressively turns awkward once eye contact is broken, the iconic shield catching the flash of a couple cameras going by from time to time as I fiddle with it nervously.

"Well, uh, here's this."

Awkwardness at 100% capacity.

He reaches back to help me strap it on his jacket, which I'm rather grateful for, because I don't want to be held accountable for the iconic Frisbee of Freedom falling off and imbedding itself in the windscreen of a car behind him as he drives. Maybe they won't sue him for it, but moi is always liable to get in trouble for crap like that.

Stepping back from the curb, my hands anxiously press and slide down the front of my pants, tapping on them restlessly. As words scramble and grasp for structure in the back of my throat, Steve's own confidence transparently wavers, mouth forming a couple soundless words and eventually speaking his mind. "I had fun getting ice cream with you back in Brooklyn. Did you," his pause is milliseconds long, but feels like an eternity, "want to get a cup of coffee some time?"

Oh. My. God. Adorableness at 1000000% capacity.

"So long as we don't have to traumatise a couple criminals until one of them has an accident in their pants again, then I would love to," I respond as encouragingly and cheerfully as I can, an attempt to reassure the near undetectable inflation of uncertainty on his behalf. See? Even Captain America gets nervous asking someone out. It's a universal thing. "Actually, I think traumatising douche bags was pretty fun, we should do it on the way to coffee."

His chuckle is one of entertainment woven in with a sliver of relief. "I'm sure we can find some kind of trouble along the way."

"I'm a magnet for trouble Cap; it'll happen one way or another."

Saying farewell didn't take too long after that, and the entire walk through the lobby and into the elevator wasn't so much of a walk, but rather an Oh-my-God-I've-been-asked-out-on-a-date-by-Captain-freaking-America kind of skip. With a surge of warmth building in my chest, and a disgustingly girly giddiness overcoming all else within me at that moment, I thought that there was nothing that could wipe that sappy grin off my face.

But then, being the number one subject of Murphy's Law, of course something just had to happen. For when I exit the elevator, do a little dance over to my door and unlock it, I didn't really expect there to be anyone on the other side.

Especially not my biological father.

Smile dropping quicker than the speed of sound, I lean back against my now closed front door at the nonchalant God of Mischief and Lies who is quite comfortably sprawled out along the expensive looking couch like a self-satisfied cat, wearing an expression that could only resemble something along the lines of 'took your time'. The penthouse itself is rather expansive, modernised with all its fluffy rugs, immaculate marble flooring and various leather, felt or timber decor in the open floor plan. He looked contently at home amongst it all.

"You took your time."

Told you.

"And you're late."

I sniff, sticking my nose into the air. "A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to."

Using the moment of his confusion to my advantage, my features mould into a frown and I push off from the door, storming strongly over to him and slapping his feet down. "Shoes off the table! Have some manners, you spoilt, Asgardian princess."

Whilst one eyebrow arches, the rest of his face remains undisturbed bar the playful smirk tilting at his lips. "How I've missed my favourite daughter." His sarcasm is painfully transparent.

"Don't bullshit me, you have six other kids and gave me a little sister which should be biologically impossible because, dick prick, you told me mum died in child birth!"

"She did. But it's not my place to tell you how Adelaide came to be, she should do so herself," he waves off my little rant, and it's only now that I realise the little box of food held in his hands.

"Did... did you open my Pop-tarts?"

He innocently nods with the same glint in his eyes as a snake, obnoxiously and loudly crunching down on another, knowing it would piss me off. "What a delightful Midgardian treat these are, I now understand my adoptive brother's obsession with them."

"But—But they're my Pop-tarts!"

"I helped your mother make you, so technically whatever you own also belongs to me. Don't glare at me like that daughter of mine, you'll set my garments on fire."

I aggressively snatch the box from his greedy little hands, stalking towards the sophisticated, gunmetal grey kitchen and tossing them in an empty cupboard. "Note to self; child-proof penthouse with child-locks. That way neither Sam nor Lokimotion can access my goddamn food."

When I turn back to face the intruder, I come close to inhaling his clothing and armour upon the discovery of him standing right behind me and leaning over to open the cupboard, swiping the food again. "I don't understand why you would put it in a cupboard you can hardly reach; you certainly didn't get your height from me."

"Goddamn it Loki, give me my food!"

I've noticed this to be a common ritual for us to partake in; we dance around the problem or our true intentions upon the first few minutes of greeting one another, rather as if it is our own form of greeting. Mockery, sarcasm, throwing shade. At the time of entering the penthouse, the most logical and fitting reaction would have been to ask 'Why are you here?', 'Where have you been?' and even 'You still haven't washed your hair. When are you going to wash it?', but as you have probably figured out by now, we are not a normal family.

Childishly, as I reach for the Pop-tarts yet again, he holds them above his head far out of my reach. "My my, your height really is as short as your temper."

"I'm not that short!"

"My dear, in the Midgardian American height measurement system, I have discovered you are, as they say, five feet one inch. I am an entire foot taller than you. However I really am perplexed about the entire 'foot' measurement. Why use the extremity of the human limb to measure your height? Your height involves more than just your foot. It includes your legs and—"

"If you don't hand my food right now, I will kick you with said foot in the balls so hard you'll feel them every time you swallow."

There's a pause.

"You have become much more violent as of late. I don't know whether I should be proud or concerned."

"You've never been a model father; I would suggest the former."

"Quite true."

Handing me back the box of food delicately, I once again snatch it from his grasp and properly store away what remains in the cupboard, only fixing my attention back on him once I have done so. With pensive crossed arms and my back against the counter, I openly stare at my father who was retreated to the other side of the island kitchen counter and taken a seat at one of the provided chairs. To come now, of all times... why?

As if reading my mind, his weary sigh travels across the kitchen towards me before the announcement of his appearance reaches my ears. "After our grand endeavour to escape Thanos, I awoke back on Asgard to find it in the same state it had been in when I feigned being Odin after my supposed death. Confused, it took me a couple months to discover the state of the cosmos and the merging of our original universe with this other one. My plan was to find the infinity stones before returning to you and Adelaide, but the only stones I know the whereabouts of are in the hands of the Collector or that espionage agency you have become so fond of."

"So what, you're here because the other stones turned out to be a bust? The only stones you can get your hands on are your own two daughters?" My laugh is bitter and dry. "Father of the year you are."

His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head from rolling them so hard. "Always jumping to conclusions. Actually, I'm here to ensure that six infinity stones remains as six. Light and dark were never meant to be."

I blink, mouth ajar then pressing into a line thinner than a strand of hair. "Bull. Why would you care?"

Another sigh departs his lips. "You've been killing recently. You're only feeding it Lillian, and whilst I may not be, as you so eloquently put it, 'Father of the Year' I still would prefer if my own daughter didn't turn into an evil abomination that could potentially cloud the galaxy in darkness."

Is he serious right now? Now is when he decides he wants to be all fatherly? Surely there is an ulterior motive to all this. Feeling conflicted and at war with myself, I fidget uncomfortably with the hem of my shirt. He hasn't been like this since I was a kid. He hasn't been like this since he used to visit me in my dreams. He hasn't been a father since then, and now? Trust does not come easy.

"You're making it sound like you know how to stop this thing forming inside of me," I state rather than question, grasping at the straws of hope.

He nods, hands clasped in front of him. "It... is not a pleasant process."

Using my silence as an indication to elaborate, he clarifies "Your capacity for how much power you can wield is like a glass of water. With the four elements, your glass was full, so Thanos had to drain that glass of two elements to half way in order to fit the beginnings of the Dark stone. Your other two elements are needed as a base of power; otherwise there is too much space in the glass for the stone to fill, because Thanos did not complete his experimentation with you. Take away one of those quarters, and the glass is too empty for the Dark stone to form, draining it completely until it is only the last quarter of the glass that remains."

I breathe heavily, swallowing down greedy gulps of air with the information. "You're telling me... that in order to remove this stupid infinity stone... I need to sacrifice another element?"

If I didn't know him any better, I would say that he almost appears regretful. "Unfortunately so. By removing this element and subsequently the infinity stone forming within you, that still leaves three quarters of the glass empty, which means that the last element remaining will eventually develop to a sizeable level of power that you would never have been able to accomplish with it before. Besides that small comfort, all I can say is that if you don't remove it now, you'll begin experiencing symptoms."

"Symptoms?"

"Blood lust, apathy, sinister thoughts, dark related powers. Essentially, the embodiment of all things evil. And if you keep going at the rate you're going, that's what you will become."

"How optimistic of you."

"I'm merely concerned—"

"For me?"

"—about the power cultivating inside of you, and Thanos seizing that power for himself. He can't take a hold of either stones."

My face is the epitome of a deadpan. Fury would be proud. "Glad to see I'm still ranked so highly on your list of concerns. Ah family, we would make such a good reality show."

"What is a reality show?"

"Nothing to be concerned about, rather like me apparently."

Now I can identify the tell-tale signs of growing irritation beginning to brew over his features. "You are only making this more difficult than it needs to be. Stubborn like your mother."

"I prefer the term tenacious, and it's not my fault that you're a bad father," I point out, my patience also withering like a flower under the oppressive heat and aridity of a desert.

"Out of all eight of my children, you are the one I have not only spent the most time with, but have been the kindest to. Do not take it for granted." The warning and exhaustion is apparent in not only his tone, but how he wears his emotions. I almost have half a mind to believe him.

With an exhale as sharp as my father's silver tongue, I massage my forehead in an attempt to ward off the oncoming migraine, steering the conversation back on track. "Forget it, I'm in a semi-good mood still, I don't want to argue. What you're telling me though, is that if I give up one of my last remaining two elements now, I can save myself and others around me from a shitstorm of problems and complications in later chapters?"

His eyes narrow, puzzled. "Chapters—?"

"Later on down the path of life," I amend, scoffing at his lack of awareness of the fourth wall. "I could save everyone from potential pain, misery, broken relationships, etcetera etcetera?"

"Yes."

A bitter taste seems to reside in my mouth. "Fine. No need to be an annoying protagonist that denies help only to regret it later on after they've screwed everything up. I assume you have spoken to Adelaide about this as well?"

"This morning, actually. She has already undergone the process, only leaving her with the element of earth. Nevertheless, I didn't appreciate the eight books and that caffeine generating contraption she initially threw at my head upon first finding me in her abode."

I snicker, telepathically giving my sister a high five. "If you did it this morning it mustn't have taken long."

He shrugs, in a 'more or less' kind of way. "Whole process takes less than five minutes, the pain, however, feels like a couple eternities."

"I know how it feels," I scathingly remark. "I've felt it before. Twice."

"Then you'll do great!" His enthusiasm painfully feigned, like a dentist before they yank your teeth out. "Let me just..." he trails, reaching into one of the pockets in his iconic garments and retrieving a.... Tiffany's jewellery box...?

"Is that Tiffany's?" I inquire, astounded at why he would own such a thing, let alone who it would be for.

He frowns, eyes flickering between the jewellery box and me cautiously. "No, it is mine. Who is Tiffany?"

"The name of store!"

"Oh, that indoor market that sells the ridiculously overpriced womanly ornaments and jewels?" He asks for clarification, rather flippant about it all. "I was only in need for something to store it in; I did not require the original jewel it held."

Despite never being the most womanly woman of women kind, even I feel the outrage of throwing away jewellery from Tiffany's. "You threw it away?"

Cue another scoff on his behalf. "I was in no need of such a trinket, if you would like it so much however, it is yours." He digs around in a separate pocket carelessly, not much concern exhibited in his movements, tone and expression. Seconds later his hand reappears with silver necklace, and hanging at the end of the beautiful silver chain, is a pure silver snowflake pendant embedded with many small real diamonds.

"The Midgardian working there seemed to be flustered." His brows knit together, unable to comprehend why she would be. "Asked if I was thinking of marrying the 'lucky girl'. I said I did not think it was well received to marry your daughter as a custom on this planet, and she remained rather unresponsive until ridiculously gushing over how I'm a role model of a father."

The hilarity of the last comment nearly has me bursting at the seams in laughter. "Just gimme it, you have no appreciation for the finer things in life."

Another eye roll as a result of my reply is directed at me, handing me the necklace heedlessly and commenting "As you wish. I'm not clasping it around your neck though, you have hands."

"I can do that myself you twat," I caustically respond, unclasping it delicately and turning it around so I can do it up at the front, before adjusting it until the pendant rests gently on my chest. I've never really had nice things before, they tend to break or get lost as I work. I'm not one for sentimentality when concerning materialistic things you can own, yet there's something almost comforting about receiving a gift from my father that isn't a dagger with an infinity stone given to me at the age of four.

Parenting 101 with Loki Laufeyson.

Moving past all of it – despite the brief compliment of "Hm, it actually suits you," which is about as close to a compliment my biological father gets, he opens up the real subject of his concern, the Tiffany and Co. box, to reveal a purple ingot I am far too acquainted with.

"You just said you couldn't find any other infinity stones. How the hell did find the Power stone?"

He shrugs, toying with the box but not touching the stone. "I broke into Nova Corps – the intergalactic police—headquarters and borrowed it. Though, I imagine they viewed it quite differently—"

"Don't want to hear it," I shake him off, flailing my hands trying to stop him talking. "I'm morally questionable and a criminal enough as it is, don't want to hear about my own father's escapades."

"But you would be proud!" He playfully tries to convince, but with one more look on my behalf, he immediately concedes. Must've given in to my mother on more than one occasion just as easily. "Very well, as you wish. All you have to do is clearly picture the element you wish to give up—"

If I don't, you think I'll take a turn down Knockturn Alley?

"—and lightly hold the stone. Lightly. If your grip is too tight, then it may consume you and you'll combust into oblivion."

"Wonderful."

"I'm serious, Lillian." His voice is low, cautioning, admonitory. "Feed it your power. But once you feel nothing more of that element, let go."

It isn't really that much of an arduous decision; water and ice has been a part of me the longest out of any of my elements, and I'm also a quarter Jotun so that helps. Not to mention I just accepted a snowflake necklace, so if I went for fire right now that would be rather contradictory and ironic.

I hold my left palm upright, allowing the warm, familiar flames to float and play between my fingers. Another element. Another heart. Sorrow and grief already has its long, spindly claws imbedded in my chest, for my powers aren't just a tool, they're a part of me. They mould into my flesh, are entwined in my DNA. To only feel ice for the rest of my life is a very cold world.

Steve has endured the ice before though, enduring through the cold. I can do the same.

Lightly holding my now extinguished palm over the illuminating, lively, vivid stone, I share one fleeting, vulnerable look with my biological father, before grasping the Power stone as loosely as possible.

And all that I feel is an indescribable, excruciating, flesh searing amount of pain.

A/N: Writing Lillian-Loki scenes are always rather enjoyable. Please let me know if Steve or Loki (or any other character for that matter) appear too OOC (out of character) at any stage though.

P.S. I recently edited chapter five of Falling for the Enemy, if you would like to check out the new version of that chapter! Close to finishing the edited version of chapter 6 as well.

QOTD: First Marvel movie you watched?

AOTD: The first Iron Man. Casually saw it in my DVD cabinet and decided to watch it. Best decision of my life.

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~ T.L