There’s a moment where Loki’s not really sure what it is she’s looking at as she fumbles with the package, her hands shaking. It’s metal, and the shine is gone from it, black and brown and rust eating its edges; after a few seconds of uncertain staring, she realizes that it’s a sai.
Why would he give her a sai, let alone one so worn by time and use—from the strong scent of iron, perhaps by blood? Why would it be significant enough? But she knows, of course, that Lester’s not only the part of him that she knows. Yes, she remembers, he’s one of the Hell’s Kitchen crowd, and this sai—she recognizes the make of it, now. It must have belonged, at the very least, to Elektra Natchios, and god only knows what was done with it for Lester to treasure the deed. Loki has her immediate suspicions, but that still leaves the question of why he’d give it to her.
Loki doesn’t even take it out of the box. Instead, she closes it again carefully, and takes it to her dresser, setting it down carefully. It’s still a gift, even if one that she doesn’t understand. “Thank you,” she says, still subdued and quiet, though there’s a faint curiosity there now.
He stays silent for a while longer.
He knows what to say, he just doesn’t know how. He’s not even sure if he should, but he also knows he’s in too deep to go back now. His shoulders rise as he takes in a breath, falling slowly as he exhales it.
“I love watching her bleed,” he starts. “At first I thought it was because she belonged to the Devil. I loved knowing I could take things away from him. He might beat me every time we cross paths, but when it counts, I can take away his heart.”
He pauses, reaching up to rub at the faint stubble along his jaw.
“But it’s more than that,” he continues. “She could have been so much more if not for that soft hearted fuck. The way she moves in a fight, and god, the way she opened up to me that day.” He closes his eyes, leaning back on his hands as the ghost of a smile crosses his lips.
“Even now I can still feel the heat pouring onto my hands...” He opens his eyes, leveling his gaze right at Loki. “There’s something beautiful about opening someone up and watching their life spill out into your lap. It’s art.”
He stands up, moving across the room. His fingers brush the outside of the box, and his gaze never leaves Loki’s face.
“I tucked this away in a closet because I always thought no one else could be so beautiful when I used it on ‘em,” he says. He reaches up to brush fingers against her cheek, noticing as if for the first time just how green her eyes are.
“If Elektra is a piece of art,” he says, “then you’re a goddamned masterpiece.”
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