Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Because…well, back on Lamentis…” Loki falters, clearly fumbling for words, and tries again. “This is…new for me.” His awkwardness would be at least a little endearing under almost any other circumstances, Sylvie thinks, but there’s not much room for anything else alongside the numb hollowness of defeat. After another pause he raises his hands, hesitates again (like, what, he’s afraid one of them will get hurt if he touches her?), and tentatively rests his hands on her shoulders—a light, barely-there pressure. “Do you feel that?”

The nerve endings in my arms are working just fine, yeah, Sylvie almost says, but the snark doesn’t come so easily with the fake Time-Keeper’s head on the floor nearby, and that makes her pause long enough to realize that yes, there’s…something else, something deep inside the core of her magic that she’s never felt before. Something like—the recognition of a touch, or an echo, or both at once even if that really doesn’t make sense. Like she’s reaching out in the dark by instinct, and she knows someone else is reaching back.

She frowns. “Are you doing something?”

“I think we’re doing something,” he says, and now she can feel it, a flicker of suppressed excitement that isn’t just hers.

Sylvie’s eyes widen. “You are not in my head.”

“I’m not,” Loki says. “We’re just—listen, I’ve read about this. It was only ever a theory, nobody’s ever been able to do it properly, but there were scholars who suggested that two people could link their magic together, if—if their souls were similar enough, I think that was how it was discussed at the time, and create something like a feedback loop, continuously amplifying each other’s power. But strangers could never do it because they didn’t know and trust one another, let alone deeply and openly enough to allow that kind of connection, and even for people who did, mages who were lovers or lifelong friends, even if they both genuinely wanted to make the link, their magic wasn’t quite compatible. Not enough for that. A couple pairs of twins came the closest, I think, but all they could really do was boost each other’s power a little, so it was never worth the energy expenditure.”

“Because they weren’t the same,” Sylvie says. She’s pretty sure she can guess where he’s going with this.

“Two variants of the same being—we’re different people, we learned magic differently, we use it in different ways, but it’s still—the root is the same. The energy signature.” He grins. “They did say our temporal aura was the same. They just didn’t realize why it mattered. Or maybe they did, and that’s one reason they made sure only one of us could exist at a time.”

Sylvie is used to drawing power from her core and reaching out with it to take control of other minds. It’s easy enough, most of the time, because she has the process down, but it was exhausting when she was still experimenting—is exhausting, if she spends enough time fighting a strong mind or trying to control too many people at once. She pulls on a tendril of magic and feeds it into the little knot of Loki’s power, and—

It doesn’t disappear. It comes back stronger. In her mind’s eye, their magic glows brighter together, like a fire growing as it finds more to burn. “Okay, yeah, that’s new.”

“The theory was—an exponential increase for both mages. Doubling their power at minimum, like…like two wavelengths amplifying each other, or maybe a lot more than that.” He pushes power into the connection, more than she’d tried, and she can feel it: magnifying her power, which feeds back into his and strengthens it again, which expands hers in return, and they’ve barely even started.

“A lot more,” Sylvie says, staring at him, her mouth suddenly very dry. “Like nuclear fusion levels of a lot.”

His eyes gleam in the dim light. “Exactly. And I think that’s what caused the nexus event. I think our magic would have done it at the last second to save us, and I think we would’ve saved what was left of Lamentis-1 in the process.”

A burst of involuntary magic from both of them at once, at the moment that would otherwise be their deaths, doubling again and again as it passed back and forth between their joined hands—yeah, actually, she can see it. It doesn’t sound so absurd when she can still feel their linked power multiplying right now and they’ve hardly tried. “That’s insane.”

“Goes without saying.”

“We could—” She swallows. “We could do anything.”

“We could do anything,” Loki agrees.

“And do we? Trust each other that much?” she asks, but to be honest she already knows the answer. She reaches back for him, finally, settling her hands on his forearms, and his skin twitches under her fingers—like when she first put her hand on his arm on Lamentis, and he flinched like the last thing he expected was a gentle touch.

Loki’s mouth twists in a faintly sardonic half-smile. “I’m not…good with trust. Gave too much of it for a long time, maybe. And then—” He hesitates. “We might…share some memories, and I haven’t—the TVA knows what happened, I suppose. But there’s a good reason I’ve made sure nobody can get into my head again. You might see why, and it’s…not pretty.”

Okay, yeah, she can imagine a few different reasons for that and none of them are very pleasant. That flinch could hint at an ugly story too. She pulls his hands down, just far enough to interlace her fingers with his, and meets his gaze squarely. “My memories aren’t a laugh riot either. Do you trust me with yours?”

Loki squeezes her hands, just a little. “Yes, actually. You?”

She cocks one eyebrow at him. “Be a little inappropriate to say I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, right?”

He coughs out a laugh. “Maybe a little. So—do you want to try? See what kind of universe-disrupting chaos we can make?”

She tightens her grip. “Yeah. Hell yeah.”