Work Text:
It had been years since Thor and Loki Borson had spoken. There was a falling out, a terrible fight that put an end to years of closeness, and Loki stormed out, vowing that he was done. Thor was the one who remained. So of course he was the one who got to see their mother crying over her sons’ broken brotherhood. Of course he was the one who got to hear their father’s grumbling that he hoped they would all be a family again sometime before he died, but that was before it became a real, looming threat. Before Odin was diagnosed.
Thor wasn’t doing this for himself, he repeated silently as he composed and sent the email, secretly hoping it was an address Loki no longer checked. He was doing this for their parents, so that they would have some peace of mind and be able to believe that all was well. For their sake, Thor would do it, he would go and “make up” with Loki, though he didn’t think he could ever trust his brother again. Or feel the sort of love for him that had once run through Thor’s veins as if it were his blood.
He hit Send at 8:53 p.m.
At 11:27, right as he was getting ready to turn in, his phone went ping, and his stomach dropped.
New email.
Thor read it in his pajamas, the blue light washing across his face in the darkness of his room.
It was as short as his own had been—and, well, emotionless. Formal. If one wanted to be generous, it was polite. Thor wasn’t expecting that.
He also wasn’t expecting the answer to be yes. Yes, Loki would be willing to talk to him. Somewhere neutral, so they would both be comfortable. Loki suggested La Parisienne, the fancy new restaurant in the city. It was quiet enough for talking, since most of the clientele were couples. Loki told him to pick an evening; he was free whenever for the next two weeks.
Thor replied before he could talk himself into accidentally deleting the email. “Thursday.”
Five minutes later, Thor was grabbing his phone off the nightstand at the sound of another ping.
“All right. I’ll make reservations.”
Actually showing up on Thursday night was strange, though. Thor had found himself getting nervous halfway through getting dressed—it had occurred to him an hour before that La Parisienne really probably wasn’t the place for khakis and a button-down, so he’d dragged a suit out of the closet, the navy blue with his favorite red tie, something that looked good without being too showy.
And then seeing his brother waiting there. Thor had arrived, given the maitre’d his last name, and the man had nodded at once and led him over to a table in the corner where Loki was already seated. Sharp black suit, well tailored, with a black shirt and black tie—Loki did always know how to dress to be the most eye-catching person in the room, even when he faded into the shadows—and with his hair slicked back, a little longer than Thor remembered him wearing it.
And he looked as nervous as Thor felt. He took a breath, his eyes not leaving Thor while he sat down.
There were actual candles on the table. A little vase with a pair of red roses.
“I’ve already ordered us some champagne. I was trusting that you wouldn’t be very late.”
That was the first thing Loki said, and Thor’s heart twisted a little in his chest. It had once been a joke between them, Thor’s bad habit of never managing to get anywhere quite exactly on time. At least five minutes late, no matter what.
And champagne, too, like this was supposed to be a celebratory dinner. Loki looking at him like this reunion was important to him, like he’d been dreaming of it, the way… the way Thor hadn’t.
Thor hadn’t been able to bear thinking about it, all these years. He had avoided the thought as much as he could. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t have a brother. His childhood, an endless collage of sunlight and the scent of fresh grass and laughter and a dark-haired boy always beside him—it hadn’t happened. His adolescence, books and football jerseys and that same dark-haired boy creeping up behind him on the sofa, throwing his arms around Thor’s neck, nuzzling against him and snickering over some mischief he’d done—Thor blotted out the memory as well as the uncomfortable warmth that it sparked inside him. His past was barren, a grey landscape. His mother and father and everything else that remained when you subtracted Loki from his life.
Loki’s eyes were still on him, bright in the candlelight. Waiting. The vaguest hint of a smile on his lips, like things could actually go back to the way they were.
“So what did you want to talk about?”
There was a ringing in Thor’s ears.
“Dad has cancer.”
This did not have the effect Thor expected, though. Loki continued to gaze at him, his expression only turning to a slight frown.
“And?” Loki asked when the silence stretched. “Did you just want to tell me that in person? Or was there any other reason for wanting to meet with me?”
Thor couldn’t help the huff of frustration that escaped. “Don’t you even want to know anything else about it? You could at least pretend to care whether he’s going to get better or not. This is exactly why I haven’t wanted to do this. You just don’t—”
“Or it could be that Mom already told me all of that last week when I called,” Loki cut in, voice sharp. “Just because you haven’t wanted to talk to me doesn’t mean nobody else does. Though I’m glad to hear she’s been respecting my wishes and not telling you all about my life.”
Thor stared at him. The room was too warm, the candles or his thick jacket or just the heat of something that was either shame or anger building up in Thor’s chest.
Thor was also, in the back of his mind, seeing the wisdom of having this conversation here, where it would be Making a Scene to raise his voice or to storm out, and they were both raised better than that.
“So are you only here because Dad wants the family back together and he’s decided that being pessimistic about his chances is the best way to make it happen?” Loki continued. This time his voice was softer, though there was still a dark edge to it.
Thor was not soothed. “More or less.”
He wasn’t expecting the words to land like a slap to Loki’s face, though.
Things might have gotten bad if the champagne hadn’t arrived just then. But La Parisienne was just the sort of place to put a little drama into the uncorking, and Thor had to act like he was enjoying himself and like everything was fine. Like this was really just a celebratory dinner of some sort.
And pretending it was, that made the tension of the previous moments bleed away, just a little, so that by the time they both had a bubbling flute in hand, Thor was able to almost smile.
“To us,” he said, wryly, lifting the glass toward his brother.
Loki clinked his own glass against it, and he met Thor’s gaze, sadness in his eyes, the candlelight a glow between them. “To us.”
Thor hated this, even after so many years. It was still fresh. How things had been so perfect between them, and then all at once it seemed they had both pulled back, and everything about Loki became an irritant. Thor had been 23, and bro nights with pizza and beer and sitting piled together on the couch watching horror movies and cuddling had turned suddenly into not being able to be in each other’s presence for five minutes before things would go to shit and end up in yelling, or that one time into a physical scuffle, bruises and everything. All of a sudden they just couldn’t stand each other anymore. And then Loki had started it. The final fight. The bad one.
“Thor,” he’d said, “we need to fucking stop this. I think we both know—”
Thor hadn’t let him finish. And he’d said things. Things he might have regretted if he’d ever really thought about it again without it turning into a blur, and anyway Loki had said worse things right back at him. And then Loki had left. Had grabbed his jacket and his keys and gone.
“Don’t worry, you won’t ever have to deal with having me around again,” Loki had yelled from the doorway.
“Good!” Thor had roared back. And then the door had slammed.
And Thor had been fucking glad.
But, well… he looked across the table at his brother, taking in the sight of him. They were both almost 30 now. They weren’t kids anymore. Surely they could be mature about this. Could rebuild some sort of relationship, if for no other reason than to put their parents’ minds at ease.
Thor resolved to try for the rest of the evening. To be better. He wasn’t going to let this devolve into another fight.
And the champagne helped, especially by the second glass. And then the food, which was worth the staggering bill this was likely to end up with, and the bottle of wine they ordered with it.
Loki had ordered some sort of creamy pasta with lobster and truffles, and Thor had gotten a steak, and it was hard to find a wine that paired well with both of those but Loki just shrugged and picked out a good red.
“I know you prefer them anyway,” he said.
And that… wasn’t like Loki. Or it wasn’t like how Thor had convinced himself Loki had always been. For years, whenever Thor couldn’t stop himself from thinking about his brother, he had always pulled out the worst of his memories. Loki’s self-centered streak and how most of his pranks and jokes were always just on the edge of cruelty and how he had mastered the little-brother art of being able to dish it mercilessly but tearing up when Thor answered in kind.
Maybe Loki had grown up too. Or maybe he hadn’t really been that bad.
After two glasses of champagne and a glass and a half of red wine, with a belly full of very good steak, it was easier for Thor to talk to Loki. To tell him about his work and his life. To listen when Loki gave up a few details of his own, hesitantly mentioning his successes, eyes flickering to Thor’s as if for approval. And even when Loki started moving the conversation toward more personal things between them. Bringing up good times they’d had in college together—they’d been so close back then, Loki had made sure to get into the same school—and then…
“I’ve really missed you,” Loki said, and he reached across the table and took hold of Thor’s hand, squeezing it.
Thor pulled his hand away.
Three and a half glasses was also enough for Thor to take the excuse to run to the restroom, needing to clear his head.
This would have worked somewhat better if it hadn’t been for the older gent next to him while he washed his hands.
“I hope you two work things out,” the fellow said. White hair tied back in a ponytail, he looked like their dad would have looked if he’d had both eyes and spent most of his life on a motorcycle before retiring into fine wool suits and gold watches.
“Huh?” Thor was not at all used to restroom conversations.
“You should have seen how nervous your date was when he was waiting for you. Whatever happened, he looks like he wants to make things right. I’d say let ‘im.”
“My date?” Thor answered, stumbling over the words.
The guy gave him a wink. “I may be old, but I’m not old-fashioned. Not in the bigoted way, at least.”
The gent had been finished drying his hands at that point and he’d disappeared before Thor could say anything. Not my date. My brother. And he’s never tried to apologize for anything in his life. Thor didn’t have time to say it. And when he thought it…
Thor stumbled back to the table, and as he wove his way back he couldn’t help glancing at the other patrons. A few glanced back at him.
They all thought that, didn’t they?
And worse, at the table, the waiter was just then setting down two glasses of delicate white chocolate mousse, with raspberries and chocolate shavings, which he informed Thor were on the house.
… c'est tres romantique…
And Loki was, without a hint of shame, taking a taste of the mousse as Thor sat down across from him.
“Everyone here thinks we’re lovers,” Thor said, his head full of white noise.
Slowly, Loki licked the spoon clean, until it was shining silver again. He met Thor’s gaze, and the candlelight was in his eyes.
“I know,” he said, voice sad, a soft smile on his lips. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”