On the scale of Asgardians, Loki had never been an overly affectionate person. But it felt immensely, shockingly good to embrace Frigga like this. Perhaps because he knew, in his bones, that he would never do so again in Asgard. Not in this life. Another thing that had changed between them, perhaps; he knew too keenly the pain of having said hasty words he did not mean in hindsight, and then knowing he could never take them back or heal that wound because she was lost forever.

He would still speak hastily at times. He would still turn words to daggers. It was in his nature to do so. But perhaps now he might try to pause for a breath before he did so. And he knew that this was important. So important.

"I'm sorry, mother," he whispered. For this loss she'd felt, perhaps. But for so much more than that.