ƒ𝐚𝓃𝔡𝕣𝔞ᒪ (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} thedashing) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} noexits,@ 2021-08-01 12:26:00 |
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| Entry tags: | !log/thread/narrative, marvel (tv/movies): loki laufeyson, ₴ inactive: fandral, → week 018 (a quiet place) |
LOKI & FANDRAL
DAY 1, EARLY MORNING | LOKI'S DORM Before realizing what the new world post-reset has in store, Fandral goes to Loki's room in a desperate attempt to make sure he's alive and okay.
⚠
ANGST. LOTS OF ANGST.
The reset had come and gone and Fandral had woken up as he had the previous week -- gasping for a breath and trying to swallow down the taste of blood in his mouth where no blood existed. Memories of his last moments on Asgard flooded the front of his mind before memories of earlier that night seeped in.
No, no, no, no.
A wave of grief that he’d felt while kneeled next to Loki’s body washed over him and he struggled out of bed, desperate to get to him, to make sure he was alright now. Usually he would have changed out of his damaged armor, washed off the blood underneath, cleaned his face. This time he grabbed his device and rushed out of his room to Loki’s, knocking on the door to the dorm that he shared with Sam.
“Loki, if you can hear me, please answer.”
Nothing. Which was no surprise. It was an ungodly hour and perhaps if he was lucky, Loki was merely asleep. People came back every week, right? Death was only temporary in Derleth.
Still, the sight of Loki’s cold, blue-tinged body flashed into his mind again. His red eyes open and empty of any life. Fandral had known that Loki was ‘adopted’ -- not a trueborn son of Odin and Frigga, but brought into the palace as a baby and raised as one of their own -- but he had no idea of what his true heritage had been. Frost Giant. Enemy of Asgard. Yet Fandral didn’t care; none of that mattered to him. It wouldn’t have mattered before and it certainly didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that someone had driven what appeared to be a dagger of some sort right into Loki’s chest and ended his life.
As those thoughts swirled in his mind while he waited for someone to answer the door, his phone chimed quietly and he saw a message from Loki asking him to come back. The sight of the message helped him feel relieved, but he wanted to hold him, to feel him in his arms and know that he was alright.
So he waited, sliding down the wall in the hallway outside of their dorm, left with an hour to think about everything he’d only just seen. Things that felt like days ago and not merely minutes by comparison.
Loki was always an early riser. His death, the real one brought on by Thanos, always shook him awake. Afterwards he found it almost impossible to remain still. He often got up immediately and left the confines of Butler Hall to find someplace more open. More spacious. A place that didn’t suffocate him. This morning, however, was different. Loki was left gasping from two deaths. And even though he couldn’t feel the pain of the blade Julia had buried in his chest, he still had the memory of it. It was fresh and clear in his mind as thought it had happened moments before. It stilled him physically. He didn’t have the emotional strength to get out of bed. So he stayed there, turned on his side, face to the wall, pretending to be asleep, and waited for Sam to leave so he could finally feel like he had some privacy.
He lay there for hours this way before he was alone. It was a breath of fresh air. Loki truly didn’t care that he had to share a room, but there were moments when he wanted to be completely isolated from everyone. When he wanted to drop all of the facades and illusions he used to remind everyone he was Loki. That was impossible when someone was sleeping less than six feet away. And of all the tortures in Derleth that was the hardest for him.
Well, that and making friends, apparently. Clearly his judgment in that regard was lacking.
When he heard Fandral at the door he wasn’t ready to see anyone. Fandral least of all. Loki assumed he wanted to talk about their argument from the previous week, but Loki didn’t have the energy for that. It didn’t matter anymore. Maybe nothing mattered.
He couldn’t believe Julia killed him.
And yet, he could.
The thought of it, combined with the anguish of Thanos’s memory, made him sick. And were it not for the fact that he was lying down he might have retched over the side of the bed. But he knew Fandral would worry that he’d disappeared or was in a sleeping beauty rest if he didn’t say anything. So he sent him a message.
And then he continued to lay in bed, staring at the wall. He had to regain his strength. His confidence. His will to go on. And, well, that wouldn’t be easy. Every week chipped away a piece of Loki’s will. A piece of his soul, it seemed. And last night had taken off a big chunk. What did it matter anymore? Why bother trying at anything?
The shade whispered beneath his bed and Loki held his pillow over his own head, pressing it hard against his ears.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!
And before he knew it an hour had passed. Then seventy-five minutes. There was no knock at the door, but Loki crawled out of bed and changed out of his Asgardian armor and into something more comfortable. A plain white t-shirt and a pair of Derleth jogging pants, Peasley Theatre specials. Then he washed his face in the bathroom sink, checked to make sure he looked composed. Hair brushed. Asgardian illusion in place. Deep breath. He could pretend like nothing had happened. He’d done that before.
He opened the door and peeked out into the corridor, quietly hoping Fandral had gone off to breakfast instead. But no. There he was on the floor.
Damn.
Fandral had dozed. Wandered a little, albeit briefly and not far, before finding his way back to his spot outside of the door where he waited. The idea that he might’ve seemed a little pathetic waiting like this hadn’t crossed his mind at all, despite the odd look he’d received from someone else in the hall earlier that morning. They hadn’t seen what he’d seen. They didn’t know.
Sleep had been trying to take him again when he heard the door and his head lifted hopefully, eyes bleary, though he blinked that away.
Loki.
“Odin’s beard,” he muttered as he climbed to his feet, looking at him. First in disbelief and then the sadness of everything caused his expression to fall, slowly. He didn’t even know what to say. What was there to say? He seemed alright, at least on the surface, and looking how he was used to him appearing.
Yet now he knew the truth of it all; this was simply an illusion.
So despite the fact that Fandral had no words to express his relief, he could at least show it, and without thinking too much about any potential consequences, he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Loki in a tight embrace. The grief he’d been feeling made him want to stay there like this for who could even say how long, but eventually, and reluctantly he pulled back to look at him.
His eyes shined with tears that didn’t spill over and his eyebrows were furrowed tightly in worry. Even if Loki refused to talk about what had happened the night before, there was no denying the fact that it had affected Fandral deeply.
Loki, for his part, had put on his best expression of nonchalance. He was entirely prepared to go through the rest of the week, the rest of his time in Derleth, never bringing up what had happened the night before. Julia was smart. Or, at least, Loki thought she was. She wouldn’t have left him for someone to find, right? She would have done her best to conceal the crime. Then again, maybe she didn’t see it as a crime. Maybe no one in Derleth would have. Maybe Margo was right and nobody liked Loki. Nobody would miss him. Regardless, he’d put on his calm, composed face. Completely prepared to start off this week with a fresh start. A new step towards being a new Loki.
And then he saw Fandral’s eyes and knew something was wrong.
Loki blinked twice. He’d expected to see some measure of solemnity in Fandral’s face. Loki thought he was here to speak to him about his feelings. He was prepared for Fandral to tell him what he’d decided to do about their relationship. About how he wanted to go further. Or not go further. And, yes, Loki could acknowledge it as a relationship even if it wasn’t a relationship. It was still something deeper than mere friendship, after all. It was still something binding. Even if Loki couldn’t give Fandral the love he knew he wanted. Or that Loki knew Fandral would want in the future. Eventually.
But that’s not the look he saw in Fandral’s expression. What he saw was something deeper. Something more brutal. An anguish that cut down to the bone. Fandral was looking at him like he might never see him again. He was looking at him the way he’d looked at him when Not-Ted nearly killed him.
Loki’s heart beat faster. Did Fandral know? Had Fandral seen what had happened?
He could feel his breath quicken and his nerves prickle beneath his skin. And then Fandral pulled him into an embrace. An embrace that Loki wasn’t prepared for. His throat choked up at the touch. No. No, no. He had to maintain his composure. He couldn’t allow himself to break. Not even a crack.
Loki tried to say something cheeky to lighten the mood, but before he could Fandral let go and pulled away. And that’s when Loki saw the makings of tears in the warrior’s eyes.
Fuck.
He stepped backward and back into the room, turning towards the small sofa in the cramped living area. He wasn’t ready to talk about this. He would never be ready to talk about this. Gods, why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?
There was a hesitance to Fandral’s movements; grateful to be able to see that Loki was, at the very least, physically okay. But he was still hurting. From their previous conversation, from seeing him dead on the ground, and the moments in between.
Swallowing roughly, his Adam's apple bobbed as he quietly followed him into the room and shut the door behind him with a soft click. He wasn’t here to corner Loki. That wasn’t the case at all. In fact, he wasn’t even sure what to say. Who stabbed you? wasn’t appropriate -- besides, there was always the off chance that Loki hadn’t seen his assailant. Somehow. Despite where the stab wound had been.
But a part of him still needed to know, though he wasn’t sure what exactly it was that he needed to know.
“You are… under no obligation to tell me, or talk to me, though I would appreciate it if you did, but I needed to know that you were al--” Alive. “Alright.” Though how alright would anyone be after that? The situation with Not-Ted aside, that had to be traumatizing on some level.
Loki kept his back turned to Fandral. He placed one hand on the wall and leaned into it, using it to ensure he stood upright. His other hand clenched at his side. This was not how he’d expected to start the morning. This was not how he wanted to do this. He didn’t want to do it at all. He just wanted to put it behind him. He wanted to forget that anything had ever happened. He just wanted to move forward. He wanted to move on.
But everything always pulled him back into the past. Everything and everyone. Loki was constantly being dragged down to the darkest moments of his life. He was suffocating under the weight of his own misery. Of the things he’d done and the grief he’d experienced.
Why couldn’t he have what everyone else had?
Oh, because he was Loki. Destined for pain. Fated for unhappiness.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he brought his clenched hand to his chest, pressing hard against the spot where the dagger had sunk into him. He couldn’t trust Julia. He couldn’t trust himself. Could he trust anyone? Was everyone going to betray him? Was Fandral next?
Loki clenched his teeth and tried to center his thoughts. He needed to calm down before he broke down. And he would break down. If Fandral said the wrong thing — or maybe the right thing — or if he got too close or touched him in a certain way, Loki knew he would lose all sense of sanity he had left. He’d be a lost cause. In truth, he probably already was. But at least he wasn’t falling apart. Or, at least, he didn’t look like he was. But all of his strength was going into maintaining that appearance.
He turned around and gave Fandral a smile. “I’m fine. I appreciate you stopping by though. But there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing to really talk about either.”
Lies, lies, lies.
And the smile grew wider. “I’ve never felt better.”
His body language before he turned said otherwise about just how fine he was and Fandral gave him a sad look, his eyebrows still furrowed and his mouth turned downward into a frown. Part of him wanted to move over toward the sofa, to bring Loki with him so that perhaps he’d be more willing to open up to him.
Yet he stayed where he was. Firm in his stance, still in his bloodied armor, his hair something of a mess. Truthfully -- Fandral did not appear his best and he didn’t really care. This wasn’t about him. His shoulders slumped a little though and he glanced off to the side for a moment, turning over what he could possibly say to Loki. He knew the smile, the words -- it was all a ruse. Which wasn’t uncommon for Loki. On the contrary, it’s exactly what someone might expect of him. But at least this time, Fandral knew better, so he didn’t take Loki at his word.
“I saw you last night,” he finally said after a beat, his voice quiet, his throat tight. There was a waver of emotion to his words and he kept his gaze averted for just a moment before finally looking back to him. “You were…”
Dead. He was dead. He’d been dead. And cold, and blue, and unmoving, unblinking. Fandral closed his eyes then as that image came to his mind again and he tried to push it away.
Loki knew that Fandral wouldn’t let it go and that was fine. He just hadn’t decided how he was going to respond. Part of him had wanted to remain in his room. And he very well might have done exactly that were it not for the fact that Fandral had started the morning banging on the door. He thought he’d have more time to prepare. More time to come up with an excuse as to why he’d suddenly had a change of heart about his behavior. Then he realized that Fandral knew and Loki had to backpedal. He needed a new tactic. Disinterest and nonchalance seemed the best option.
Because the only other option was the truth.
And how many times could Loki bare his soul to a single person? He’d already done that once with Fandral. Almost twice. Three times, in this case, would not be the charm. He was already so vulnerable in this place. So weak. So full of conflicting emotions. He didn’t think he could handle having another breakdown in front of Fandral. Nor did he want Fandral to have to witness that again. Fandral deserved someone who had more control.
And Loki was supposed to be a king.
“Well, I’m not now,” Loki said. He averted his gaze to the floor. There was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down and his eyes burned behind his illusion. “It’s no big deal. It doesn’t matter here. You know that. I’m sorry you saw what you did, but…”
Loki held out both his hands in that signature pose of his. “I’m fine!”
He wasn’t fine. There was no possible way he was actually fine, not after that. And maybe it didn’t matter -- temporary as it may have been -- but the fact of the matter was that someone had done that to Loki. Had he really made someone on campus so angry that they’d driven what appeared to be a knife or dagger into his chest?
Fandral continued to stand there though. Loki could keep telling him he was fine, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever believe him. “Are you though?” he asked after a moment and then shook his head a bit, as if answering the question himself. Fandral certainly wasn’t fine.
Truthfully, he wasn’t sure that Natasha was, either.
He pulled his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, chewing it nervously; there were things he wanted to say and yet he didn’t want to make any of this harder for either of them. So instead he opted for something that left it open as to whether Loki would want him to stay or not. “Aye, I suppose if you are fine, then there is no reason for my being here longer.”
No, Loki wasn’t fine. Loki wasn’t anywhere close to fine. But he hadn’t been fine before Julia stabbed him in the chest. He hadn’t been fine for weeks. Years. Loki could place the blame on Derleth all he liked. And he did. Derleth was easy. It was convenient. It was a scapegoat. But Loki had been crumbling for the better part of a decade. Ever since he’d made that damn deal with the Titan. Ever since—
Maybe just ever.
But he’d always been able to deal with it because it only affected him. Thor and Frigga aside, no one cared enough about Loki to worry. No one held him in enough esteem to be concerned. Fandral was getting too close to becoming someone who did. Natasha, too. This was a new experience for Loki. He didn’t know how to accept it and he didn’t know how to deal with it. So he was trying to figure it out as he went along.
But he still carried all of his brokenness with him. And it made it impossible for him to make the right choices.
Loki crossed the short distance between them and placed his hands on Fandral’s shoulders, forcing the warrior to look him in the eyes. “We parted on unfortunate terms last week. That was my fault. I regret not explaining myself better. You didn’t deserve that. And you didn’t deserve seeing what you saw.”
Loki licked his lower lip thoughtfully. “We have a lot of things to talk about, and we will talk about them, but not now.” Loki’s palms slipped down to Fandral’s upper arms, holding him in place. There was a nervousness in his expression that accompanied that touch. A sort of lingering fear that affection might become something else. Something deadly. And Loki carefully allowed his hands to drop to his sides.
“I’m sorry, Fandral. And I promise you … No, I swear to you. You will never see anything like that again.”
“How can you swear something you would have no control over?” he asked quietly, looking Loki in the eyes. His body had relaxed a little under his touch, but now he felt rigid again, tense, and desperate. For what? He wasn’t sure. Maybe to keep the other man safe. There was a sense of duty in protecting him as he had for the last several hundred years, but now there was an added emotional layer that simply made Fandral want to keep Loki from getting hurt by anyone.
Fandral shook his head a little and then lifted his own hand, bringing it up to briefly cup at the side of Loki’s neck, the pad of his thumb brushing against the curve of his jaw just for a moment before he slid it further down to squeeze his shoulder in return.
He was searching Loki’s face, his eyes, contemplating if he should bring up exactly what he saw. It was a delicate topic, he knew that, but he swallowed the newly formed lump in his throat before speaking. “Your…” Fandral bit back a sigh and looked off to the side before looking back at him, almost nervously. “It was not just that I saw you lifeless, though that truly did pain me. Your… well, I can only assume it is an illusion…” There was a beat as he gestured carefully with his other hand toward Loki’s face. “It… fell, as well.”
But he didn’t move, didn’t waver as he spoke, and gave Loki’s shoulder what he hoped was another comforting squeeze. “I will not tell anyone, though Natasha is the one who found you and asked me about it.”
Then he was quiet for another moment before it dawned on him that perhaps he was talking too much, bringing up things that Loki wouldn’t want to discuss and he gave him an apologetic look. “I am sorry. I should not be discussing these matters right now.”
Loki could make that promise because he knew. He knew now that he couldn’t trust anyone. He knew that, given the proper set of circumstances, anyone could turn against him. It didn’t matter how much they might admire or respect each other. It didn’t matter if Loki had feelings for them or if they had a history or a friendship. Anyone could betray him. And, if necessary, he could betray anyone back. And that truth he could have control over. If he assumed everyone was willing to jab a knife through his gut then he would be more prepared. He wouldn’t be taken off guard.
It was a promise to himself as much as anything. A promise that he would never die again.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll handle it. My eyes are wide open now,” Loki said, full of real confidence. None of that fake bravado he sometimes pretended. This was the tone of a man who knew exactly how to handle this situation. He might have been fuzzy on the details. It would be a slow burn revenge. But he would have it. And he wouldn’t be fooled again.
Loki flinched when Fandral put his hand to his face, but he didn’t back away. That was a reaction even Loki hadn’t prepared himself for. Fandral had caught him by surprise with the hug, but it had been so strong it didn’t stir any anxious feelings in him other than the obvious—feelings of how he was going to respond. But the touch to his face was more affectionate. More intimate. And that intimacy reminded him of the way he’d touched Julia just before she’d killed him.
He shook the thought away as Fandral’s hand slipped down to his shoulder. An eager part of him wanted to touch Fandral back. Wanted to hold him and to be held. But his stomach was in knots. And he felt like he was going to be sick.
But then Fandral spoke and any desire to be touched was completely washed away.
“What?” Loki blinked. He hadn’t realized that his illusion had fallen. Granted, he wasn’t surprised. But he hadn’t even thought of that possibility. Hadn’t considered it. Nor had he considered Fandral’s reaction. Because Loki assumed that Fandral already knew. He assumed they all knew. All the Warriors and Sif included. Loki frowned. “Thor … didn’t tell you?”
That struck a chord in Loki. To think that Thor had held that secret in confidence all these years. Loki was surprised by that. And it overshadowed his own shame and embarrassment. And his own self-hatred, of which Loki had plenty.
“No, no. Let’s just get it out in the open and say it.” Loki took a deep, steeling breath. “I am not of Asgard. I was born of its greatest enemy. And this face … this facade … is both the greatest lie and the kindest gift anyone has ever given to me. And if that changes things, I understand. It would not be the first time my true self has been looked upon in disgust or contempt.”
That was how Loki saw himself, after all. Whenever he caught a fleeting glimpse of his Jotun features in a mirror or in his mind, he felt an overwhelming rush of revulsion.
Fandral shook his head a little in response to Loki’s inquiry about Thor telling him. “No, he told us that you were not flesh and blood of Odin and Frigga, but that did not change the fact that you were their son to us. A royal prince of Asgard.” He’d known for a while now that the other man had been brought into the palace at a very young age from elsewhere, it was only last night that he realized where that ‘elsewhere’ was.
He kept his hand on Loki’s shoulder though and continued to look at him, his expression softening just a little. “I care not that you are of Jotunheim. ’Asgard’s greatest enemy’ or not, you are still Loki to me and your heritage makes no difference.”
While he was saying these things in a hope to ease the other man’s mind, it was still obvious in the way that he said them that he meant it. Every word. It didn’t mean anything to Fandral that Loki was born of the Frost Giants -- especially considering they weren’t on Asgard now, though it wouldn’t have even if they were. He’d been raised a son of the Allfather and Allmother, a prince, and an Asgardian. So to Fandral, he was Asgardian.
Period.
“Your skin being cooler to the touch makes more sense now though, I will admit.” A random observation but one he’d certainly noticed. His grip on the other man’s shoulder loosened and he lowered his hand, though without really thinking he let his fingertips graze against Loki’s almost too affectionately.
Loki didn’t know what to expect from Fandral’s reaction. He supposed that deep down he didn’t think that it would matter to Fandral. The others might have taken it more personally, especially if they’d learned about it directly after Loki’s first major betrayal of Asgard, but Fandral had always had a more levelhead about personal matters. He’d never belittled or begrudged Loki. So, it didn’t surprise him that Fandral was able to dismiss the fact that Loki wasn’t one of them. But there had been a layer of unease as he waited for Fandral’s answer. Because even though Loki thought he knew how Fandral would respond, he couldn’t be certain.
But once it was spoken a weight fell from Loki’s shoulders. In truth it didn’t change who Loki was. It didn’t change his history or perspective. He was still Loki. He still saw the Allmother and Allfather as his parents. Thor was still his brother. Asgard, his home. It just explained certain family dynamics better. And it explained some of Loki’s rebellious nature as well.
It had taken him quite a few years to accept the lie Odin had made of him. The first lie of his life, really. And it wasn’t even Loki’s falsehood. It was no wonder he became the god he did. Odin had basically set the standard for him.
Like father, like son?
“Thank you,” Loki said. And he meant it. He was grateful that Fandral accepted this information without bias or criticism. Not that Loki could have done anything about it if he had.
When Fandral dropped his hand, however, fingers gently touching his skin, Loki pulled back. It was a quick, instinctual motion. The touch was too soft. Too delicate. Loki regretted that he reacted that way and that regret showed in his eyes. It just felt too soon.
“I’m sorry.” Loki cleared his throat and took a step backward. “I didn’t sleep well.”
He was glad he saw that sense of relief come over Loki when he realized that Fandral was genuine in his saying that his being a Frost Giant was, essentially, not a big deal. Because it wasn’t. He gave a small nod of acknowledgement to his thanks, but then felt his smile falter a little when Loki pulled back.
Dammit.
A hint of shame came over him and he looked at him apologetically in return, pulling his own hand away and clasping it behind his back. That would at least prevent him from doing that again.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he replied quietly, glancing down at his feet for a moment. “I knew better than to do that, but did not realize what I had done until after the fact, so I am sorry.” He’d just been caught up in his emotions, of which he was still feeling plenty. Needing time away from Loki had gone out of the window as soon as he’d joined Natasha the night before and now he simply didn’t want to leave his side.
“But is there anything you need? Anything I can do to help?”
He could only imagine how poorly Loki had slept after everything. Waking up from whatever the reset brought him only to be flooded with memories of his most recent death. That thought made him frown. “If you need to be left alone, I can do that, too.”
“You don’t have to apologize. Please don’t apologize.” Loki was just edgy. Jittery. He was still trying to get Julia’s face out of his mind. The look in her eyes just before she’d buried that blade in his chest. She was true to herself. Loki couldn’t fault her there. She didn’t care about him. Or, perhaps, she cared about him far less than her mission to kill the god in her world. Loki had deceived himself into thinking she might have felt something for him. Into thinking he might have penetrated her shadless interior. He hadn’t. He was wrong. And he paid the price for it.
But he knew better now.
“It’s okay, really. I just wasn’t prepared for it.” How else could he explain why that soft, affectionate touch sent a sickening shiver through his body? Loki wasn’t naive. Fandral had seen him. Loki knew it must have been a very compromising scene. It wouldn’t have taken much deduction to realize what had occurred. And he might have been more embarrassed were it not for the fact that he was still reeling from the experience. From the memory. Both of Julia and of Thanos. Two deaths compressed into a single wakeful thought.
He hoped that the memory of Julia’s blade would slowly dissipate over the coming weeks. But he wouldn’t be surprised if Derleth did something to make sure it stayed with him. And regardless, with her shade still tucked under his mattress, he wouldn’t be rid of her any time soon.
Loki shook his head. “No, I don’t need anything. I just need some time to think things through.”
He paused for a moment and then gave an awkward laugh. “I need time. Wow. That came full circle, didn’t it?” Loki sighed. “That’s not what I meant though. I just need to think about how I intend to deal with this situation. Figure out what I plan to do...”
Fandral gave a small nod, his fingers twisting together anxiously behind his back as he stood there. He hated seeing Loki like this — he desperately wanted to hold him again, kiss his face, tell him he would never let anyone hurt him again if he could help it. Perhaps that was a stretch but it didn’t stop him from wanting to do that.
“You do not have to be alone in this, I hope you know that.” He’d gone from grief to anger during his time waiting for Loki, thinking how if he found out who had done that, he wouldn’t hesitate to run them through with his sword. Death may have been temporary here, but that didn’t mean whoever had driven a dagger into Loki’s chest didn’t deserve to feel the pain that came with it.
The look on his face shifted from one of momentary concern to something softer and he finally let go of his own hands to let them fall to his side. “May I touch you?”
Because he didn’t want to cause him distress by surprising him. Clearly there was some sort of trauma there now and as much as it hurt him
to see that flinch at his touch, he wanted to be respectful and careful.
“I know,” Loki said. Loki also knew that Fandral would have done anything in his power to protect him. Possibly even avenge him, if necessary. Which was one of the reasons why Loki intended to keep the name of his murderer secret. It wouldn’t have done any good to have Fandral go after Julia. While Fandral was a capable warrior, Julia was a very devious witch. And Loki wasn’t entirely certain how long her power boost might last or what the lingering side effects were. It wasn’t a chance Loki was willing to risk.
Besides, this was Loki’s battle. He wanted to be the one to make the cutting blow, if there was to be such a moment. As of yet, he hadn’t decided. He was angry with Julia, of course. And he was hurt. Possibly even a little heartbroken. But he couldn’t blame Julia for her actions. Not completely. And Loki could have prevented it. Well, at least, he thought he could have. If he’d given her the shade she might not have been able to go through with her experiment. And really, if he’d been in her situation, he might have done the exact same thing. So while he was incredibly upset, he couldn’t entirely fault her.
But that’s what made it even more difficult. Was this what it felt like to be one of the good guys?
Loki furrowed his brows at Fandral’s question, his lips drawing into a thin thoughtful line. He wished he’d taken more time for himself before opening the door. He wished he’d showered or drank a glass of water. Anything that might make him feel more composed. More in control. Because control was the last thing he had. And that was something he desperately needed.
“I’ll touch you,” he said after a long pause. Then he took a step forward and placed his hands on either side of Fandral’s face. His fingers slid through the wispy strands of his hair until his thumbs fell on his temples. Loki slowly bowed Fandral’s head forward until their foreheads touched. He held that pose and closed his eyes, nose occasionally brushing against Fandral’s. His breath was rigid but soft against Fandral’s face. This time Loki didn’t hide the fact that it was cooler than that of a normal Asgardian. And after what seemed more like a silent prayer than a lover’s touch, Loki let him go.
He hadn’t expected Loki to take the reins on the moment like that, not after how he’s moved away from Fandral’s touch before -- but perhaps it was better this way. Let him have the control he needed; he knew what would be comfortable for him and Fandral had no inclination to overstep any boundaries.
There was a brief period of time when he wasn’t sure what to expect from it, but he didn’t move from where he stood, instead allowing his shoulders to relax and his eyes to watch him carefully as his hands moved to his face. The touch was gentle, almost caressing him, and his eyes threatened to close as his fingers moved up and into his hair. Everything about it seemed calculated and yet instinctive; he wasn’t sure which.
When he pulled, gently, he moved and let his eyes drift shut as their foreheads met. The urge to close the distance and kiss him was strong, but he resisted, instead letting it be what Loki wanted it to be. He nudged his nose to his once or twice when he felt the gesture first and then smiled a little, almost to himself more than anything, at the coolness of Loki’s breath. It was an odd sensation and yet one he found more desirable than he would have thought.
Except there was a rush of emotion as he stood there with him like this and Fandral felt his eyes well with tears under their lids before quietly spilling down his cheeks. A heavy sense of relief had hit him, mixed with the grief and anger he’d been feeling since waking up, and suddenly he couldn’t keep himself composed any longer. But he said nothing of the tears as he pulled back enough to look at Loki once the moment had ended, that small, sad smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
Loki tried to offer a small smile in return, but it looked tired on his face. He would have preferred if Fandral hadn’t cried, but at least they were silent tears. That was something Loki could deal with. Silent tears were normally happy tears, right? Although Loki was almost certain Fandral was harboring some hurt behind them, he appreciated that the Asgardian warrior managed to rein in some of his frustration and grief. Loki played a good game of being cool-headed, but inside he knew it wouldn’t take much for him to split apart into a zillion pieces. He was hanging on by a thread. One wrong move and it would fray, sending him into a pit which he might never be able to climb out of.
Loki wiped his thumb over Fandral’s cheek, drying off the tears. “I want you to do me a favor. If it’s easier for you to follow through with it, I’ll make it a demand. But I’d rather you just do it as a courtesy.”
He used the bottom hem of his shirt to dry Fandral’s tears off his hand. Then he took a step away, back in the direction of the couch.
“I don’t want you to pursue anything related to what happened yesterday. I know I can’t ask you to forget what you saw, but I want you to respect my decision to leave it alone. I don’t want anyone looking into it or trying to figure out what happened. If I decide to talk about it one day, then we can reassess whether something needs to be done. But for now I just want to move past it in my own way.” Loki hadn’t decided yet what that way would be exactly. But he knew it was something he wanted to resolve on his own. This was between him and Julia. There was no need for senseless collateral damage because of overheated emotions. “I can assure you that no one else here is at risk. If I thought that were the case then I would be more open about it. But this was a private matter. It won’t happen again. And I am fully capable of dealing with it on my own time and in a way that suits me and the other person involved.”
Loki fixed Fandral with a serious, albeit weary, stare. “Please let this go. Nothing good can come of digging deeper into this matter. And if you truly want to help me, this is the best way you can.”
Fandral’s head nearly gave way to lean into Loki’s touch as he brushed the tears from his cheek. It was such a gentle, affectionate movement from the dark haired man that it almost caused the breath to hitch in his throat. He held firm though, not allowing himself the moment as badly as he wanted it, though he kept his blue eyes fixed on Loki. Watching him quietly as he moved and spoke.
The request was simple enough on the surface, though he admittedly knew he was going to struggle with it, at least right away. The need to know who had done this to Loki was strong and Natasha had already been trying to discover what happened; the situation, the weapon used, how the murderer had tried to cover their tracks. Sense of duty would have dictated needing this as a direct order from Loki, but he did respect him and his wishes and wanted him to see that. That someone cared enough to do as he asked. So he nodded slightly, letting his gaze fall to the floor for a moment, before he looked back up.
“Aye. I will do as you wish,” he replied softly. “Though I cannot say the same of Natasha. I will ask her not to, but that is the most I would be able to do. If she chooses to pursue it…” Fandral knew he couldn’t stop her if her mind was set on finding the culprit.
His eyebrows knit together gently as he looked at him, thoughts spinning over in his mind; there was always so much he wanted to say to him and yet this was one of those times when it never felt like enough. Instead, he settled for a statement that Natasha had spoken aloud the night before and one Fandral had agreed with to his core. “Though for whatever it is worth, and I am certain you will disagree, you did not deserve that.”
“I’ll speak to Natasha.” Loki knew she would listen to him. He didn’t know why exactly, but they had formed an uncommon kind of friendship. And even though neither of them had any real reason to trust each other, they did. Although, maybe trust wasn’t the right word. Maybe they hadn’t reached trust yet. But they had reached an understanding and a kind of kinship. One that Loki never expected to have with someone from Midgard, let alone one of the Avengers. They were supposed to hate him, after all. And, rightfully so, most of them did. But Natasha was a different breed of hero. And Loki was grateful for the open hand she’d offered him.
Accepting her offer of friendship was one of the better decisions he’d made in his life.
When Fandral told him that he didn’t deserve what had happened to him, Loki’s face drew into a solemn frown. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with Fandral, but he didn’t disagree either. Loki had made a lot of bad choices in his life. And he’d suffered the consequences of most of those decisions at least once. Did he deserve to die at Julia’s hand the way he had? No, not really. He’d never done anything to her. Not that she knew of, at least. But he wasn’t innocent with regards to her either. And there was something about Loki that welcomed pain and punishment. Because he did feel guilty for his past actions. And he was ashamed. And in many cases there wasn’t enough penance he could ever pay to make up for the things he’d done. The hurt he’d caused.
He wasn’t one of the good guys. He wasn’t a hero. And maybe he never would be. Maybe that’s just not what he was made for. Maybe anguish, agony, and death were all he was made for.
“That’s kind of you to say, Fandral. It is. And I appreciate it.” And he did, even if Loki didn’t seem all that thrilled to hear it. It was a conflicting topic for him. “I’m feeling a bit drained by it all though. And I’d rather not talk about it further.”
He knew for whatever reason (or reasons, really) that Loki wouldn’t necessarily agree with his sentiment that he hadn’t deserved what had been done to him. There was a lot that he’d done in his more recent past that perhaps had called for punishment -- of which he’d been receiving on Asgard, in the dungeons. A dagger to the chest in the middle of the Green was not a fair punishment of any kind, even if it was perhaps a little ironic.
Fandral gave him a softer look and then a small, curt nod. “Then we do not need to discuss it anymore.” His eyes drifted for a moment to the doorway behind Loki’s shoulder before focusing on a spot on the floor and then back up to him. He wanted to ask him if he’d just rather go lay back down for a while, just be together in the quiet of the bedroom and not talk. He didn’t really want to leave him; not after everything. To Hel with needing time. There were matters that were more important than the risk of his own heart being hurt.
Instead he pulled his lower lip between his teeth, chewing it almost nervously for a few seconds before shifting, angling himself toward the door he’d come in through. “If you would prefer to be alone now, I will go if you wish me to.”
He hoped that he didn’t, but he also wasn’t willing to hold his breath on the matter.
Loki watched Fandral carefully. He hoped Fandral listened to him. He hoped he kept his promise not to intrude on what had happened and to let the matter rest until Loki was prepared to discuss it. But he couldn’t help but feel a little wary of their trust. He was actually quite angry with Fandral for talking to Margo about him. That was something Loki felt should have been left alone, kept between the two of them. Hadn’t Loki expressed that sentiment early on at the start of this change in their relationship? That he’d prefer if it was left between them and not shared with random strangers? Perhaps Loki hadn’t been clear enough in his wishes. That’s something he would work on in the future. But while he was upset by Fandral’s breach of confidence, Loki was too weary from the situation with Julia to get into it. He would leave that for another time when they were both healed from their emotions and shock over what had happened yesterday. Loki simply didn’t have it in him to have an argument right now. Or worse, a fight.
Loki canted his weight to one leg and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t intend to look closed off, but it might have appeared that way. Because of the reset he didn’t have those dark circles under his eyes or the sallow skin that might accompany a bad night’s sleep. But Loki was tired and restless.
And confused.
Confused about how he was going to move forward after this event. Not just with Julia, but with everyone. Himself, in particular. This was one of those pivotal moments in his life (or afterlife since he was technically dead — twice over now as it were.) And Loki wasn’t blind to that. He knew he’d have to change going forward. He just hadn’t decided which direction to focus that change.
Did he move past this situation and become a better person in spite of it? Or did he fall back on bad habits and regress to his old ways? There were appealing urges towards both options. Only time would tell which won out.
“I would … like some time alone, actually. I have a lot to think about. And as much as I enjoy your company, I’m afraid it might be a distraction to those thoughts,” Loki said. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “This is something only I can find a solution for.”
Fandral understood. Perhaps he would have needed to be alone as well if he were in Loki’s position, but he could never say for certain. All that he knew was that he wasn’t unwelcome in the other man’s space -- that much had been proven by the affectionate touches he’d given him only moments before, he just simply needed some time to process what had happened. It was a bittersweet feeling.
“Then I will leave you be,” he replied quietly, carefully closing the distance between them. It was cautious and his movements were slow, not wanting to cause Loki to flinch or turn away from him if he could help it. His hands came up gently clasp against his shoulders before he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. The actions were calculated, but sweet, and brief. The kiss didn’t linger any longer than it needed to and his hold on his shoulders loosened after a few seconds.
Fandral took a step back then toward the direction he’d come from and gave him a half-smile. “I want you to be okay, so I will stay out of your hair while you process what you need to process. Should you need me for anything, you know how to find me.”
Loki held his breath while Fandral placed the kiss to his forehead. When he stepped away, Loki tried to offer an encouraging smile. It wasn’t a bad attempt. It was better than his earlier one and less fabricated than the fake grin he’d used when Fandral first entered his room. Back when Loki tried to convince him that he was fine. This smile was at least halfway believable.
He nodded. His silent way of letting Fandral know that he understood and that he would get in touch when he was ready for company. Or when he was ready to talk. If he was ready to talk. And he would get in touch. He just didn’t know when.
Once he closed the door on Fandral, however, Loki dropped his facade. That seemingly composed and calm exterior fell from his expression, revealing the true Loki underneath. There was nothing about this Loki that was in control of himself. He was panicked, disheveled, and unraveling. He held his palms against the closed door as though willing it to remain shut forever. His eyes were red and bloodshot. His skin pale, hair uncombed. He wasn’t a complete disaster but he was a far cry from the appearance he’d allowed Fandral to see. That had been a test of what little strength he had left. A figment of sheer will. And now that Fandral was gone, he’d lost the will to keep it together.
Loki slumped down to the floor, his back pressed against the door. He didn’t cry because he didn’t have any tears left. Which was good because he wouldn’t have had the energy to shed said tears even if there were any. His heart beat mad and raucous in his torso. His breaths were rapid and distressed. A piercing migraine assaulted his temples. And his chest ached with the memory of Julia’s blade piercing the flesh. He tugged his knees to his chest and hung his head, nails digging into the bony part of his legs.
Get it together. Get it together, he thought to himself.
Loki took a deep breath. In and out. He needed to push everything out of his mind. Julia. Thanos. Fandral. His death. The betrayals. Everything. And he needed to do it quickly. Because if Fandral was up that early, then Natasha wouldn’t be far behind.
No, no, no, no.
A wave of grief that he’d felt while kneeled next to Loki’s body washed over him and he struggled out of bed, desperate to get to him, to make sure he was alright now. Usually he would have changed out of his damaged armor, washed off the blood underneath, cleaned his face. This time he grabbed his device and rushed out of his room to Loki’s, knocking on the door to the dorm that he shared with Sam.
“Loki, if you can hear me, please answer.”
Nothing. Which was no surprise. It was an ungodly hour and perhaps if he was lucky, Loki was merely asleep. People came back every week, right? Death was only temporary in Derleth.
Still, the sight of Loki’s cold, blue-tinged body flashed into his mind again. His red eyes open and empty of any life. Fandral had known that Loki was ‘adopted’ -- not a trueborn son of Odin and Frigga, but brought into the palace as a baby and raised as one of their own -- but he had no idea of what his true heritage had been. Frost Giant. Enemy of Asgard. Yet Fandral didn’t care; none of that mattered to him. It wouldn’t have mattered before and it certainly didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that someone had driven what appeared to be a dagger of some sort right into Loki’s chest and ended his life.
As those thoughts swirled in his mind while he waited for someone to answer the door, his phone chimed quietly and he saw a message from Loki asking him to come back. The sight of the message helped him feel relieved, but he wanted to hold him, to feel him in his arms and know that he was alright.
So he waited, sliding down the wall in the hallway outside of their dorm, left with an hour to think about everything he’d only just seen. Things that felt like days ago and not merely minutes by comparison.
Loki was always an early riser. His death, the real one brought on by Thanos, always shook him awake. Afterwards he found it almost impossible to remain still. He often got up immediately and left the confines of Butler Hall to find someplace more open. More spacious. A place that didn’t suffocate him. This morning, however, was different. Loki was left gasping from two deaths. And even though he couldn’t feel the pain of the blade Julia had buried in his chest, he still had the memory of it. It was fresh and clear in his mind as thought it had happened moments before. It stilled him physically. He didn’t have the emotional strength to get out of bed. So he stayed there, turned on his side, face to the wall, pretending to be asleep, and waited for Sam to leave so he could finally feel like he had some privacy.
He lay there for hours this way before he was alone. It was a breath of fresh air. Loki truly didn’t care that he had to share a room, but there were moments when he wanted to be completely isolated from everyone. When he wanted to drop all of the facades and illusions he used to remind everyone he was Loki. That was impossible when someone was sleeping less than six feet away. And of all the tortures in Derleth that was the hardest for him.
Well, that and making friends, apparently. Clearly his judgment in that regard was lacking.
When he heard Fandral at the door he wasn’t ready to see anyone. Fandral least of all. Loki assumed he wanted to talk about their argument from the previous week, but Loki didn’t have the energy for that. It didn’t matter anymore. Maybe nothing mattered.
He couldn’t believe Julia killed him.
And yet, he could.
The thought of it, combined with the anguish of Thanos’s memory, made him sick. And were it not for the fact that he was lying down he might have retched over the side of the bed. But he knew Fandral would worry that he’d disappeared or was in a sleeping beauty rest if he didn’t say anything. So he sent him a message.
And then he continued to lay in bed, staring at the wall. He had to regain his strength. His confidence. His will to go on. And, well, that wouldn’t be easy. Every week chipped away a piece of Loki’s will. A piece of his soul, it seemed. And last night had taken off a big chunk. What did it matter anymore? Why bother trying at anything?
The shade whispered beneath his bed and Loki held his pillow over his own head, pressing it hard against his ears.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!
And before he knew it an hour had passed. Then seventy-five minutes. There was no knock at the door, but Loki crawled out of bed and changed out of his Asgardian armor and into something more comfortable. A plain white t-shirt and a pair of Derleth jogging pants, Peasley Theatre specials. Then he washed his face in the bathroom sink, checked to make sure he looked composed. Hair brushed. Asgardian illusion in place. Deep breath. He could pretend like nothing had happened. He’d done that before.
He opened the door and peeked out into the corridor, quietly hoping Fandral had gone off to breakfast instead. But no. There he was on the floor.
Damn.
Fandral had dozed. Wandered a little, albeit briefly and not far, before finding his way back to his spot outside of the door where he waited. The idea that he might’ve seemed a little pathetic waiting like this hadn’t crossed his mind at all, despite the odd look he’d received from someone else in the hall earlier that morning. They hadn’t seen what he’d seen. They didn’t know.
Sleep had been trying to take him again when he heard the door and his head lifted hopefully, eyes bleary, though he blinked that away.
Loki.
“Odin’s beard,” he muttered as he climbed to his feet, looking at him. First in disbelief and then the sadness of everything caused his expression to fall, slowly. He didn’t even know what to say. What was there to say? He seemed alright, at least on the surface, and looking how he was used to him appearing.
Yet now he knew the truth of it all; this was simply an illusion.
So despite the fact that Fandral had no words to express his relief, he could at least show it, and without thinking too much about any potential consequences, he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Loki in a tight embrace. The grief he’d been feeling made him want to stay there like this for who could even say how long, but eventually, and reluctantly he pulled back to look at him.
His eyes shined with tears that didn’t spill over and his eyebrows were furrowed tightly in worry. Even if Loki refused to talk about what had happened the night before, there was no denying the fact that it had affected Fandral deeply.
Loki, for his part, had put on his best expression of nonchalance. He was entirely prepared to go through the rest of the week, the rest of his time in Derleth, never bringing up what had happened the night before. Julia was smart. Or, at least, Loki thought she was. She wouldn’t have left him for someone to find, right? She would have done her best to conceal the crime. Then again, maybe she didn’t see it as a crime. Maybe no one in Derleth would have. Maybe Margo was right and nobody liked Loki. Nobody would miss him. Regardless, he’d put on his calm, composed face. Completely prepared to start off this week with a fresh start. A new step towards being a new Loki.
And then he saw Fandral’s eyes and knew something was wrong.
Loki blinked twice. He’d expected to see some measure of solemnity in Fandral’s face. Loki thought he was here to speak to him about his feelings. He was prepared for Fandral to tell him what he’d decided to do about their relationship. About how he wanted to go further. Or not go further. And, yes, Loki could acknowledge it as a relationship even if it wasn’t a relationship. It was still something deeper than mere friendship, after all. It was still something binding. Even if Loki couldn’t give Fandral the love he knew he wanted. Or that Loki knew Fandral would want in the future. Eventually.
But that’s not the look he saw in Fandral’s expression. What he saw was something deeper. Something more brutal. An anguish that cut down to the bone. Fandral was looking at him like he might never see him again. He was looking at him the way he’d looked at him when Not-Ted nearly killed him.
Loki’s heart beat faster. Did Fandral know? Had Fandral seen what had happened?
He could feel his breath quicken and his nerves prickle beneath his skin. And then Fandral pulled him into an embrace. An embrace that Loki wasn’t prepared for. His throat choked up at the touch. No. No, no. He had to maintain his composure. He couldn’t allow himself to break. Not even a crack.
Loki tried to say something cheeky to lighten the mood, but before he could Fandral let go and pulled away. And that’s when Loki saw the makings of tears in the warrior’s eyes.
Fuck.
He stepped backward and back into the room, turning towards the small sofa in the cramped living area. He wasn’t ready to talk about this. He would never be ready to talk about this. Gods, why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?
There was a hesitance to Fandral’s movements; grateful to be able to see that Loki was, at the very least, physically okay. But he was still hurting. From their previous conversation, from seeing him dead on the ground, and the moments in between.
Swallowing roughly, his Adam's apple bobbed as he quietly followed him into the room and shut the door behind him with a soft click. He wasn’t here to corner Loki. That wasn’t the case at all. In fact, he wasn’t even sure what to say. Who stabbed you? wasn’t appropriate -- besides, there was always the off chance that Loki hadn’t seen his assailant. Somehow. Despite where the stab wound had been.
But a part of him still needed to know, though he wasn’t sure what exactly it was that he needed to know.
“You are… under no obligation to tell me, or talk to me, though I would appreciate it if you did, but I needed to know that you were al--” Alive. “Alright.” Though how alright would anyone be after that? The situation with Not-Ted aside, that had to be traumatizing on some level.
Loki kept his back turned to Fandral. He placed one hand on the wall and leaned into it, using it to ensure he stood upright. His other hand clenched at his side. This was not how he’d expected to start the morning. This was not how he wanted to do this. He didn’t want to do it at all. He just wanted to put it behind him. He wanted to forget that anything had ever happened. He just wanted to move forward. He wanted to move on.
But everything always pulled him back into the past. Everything and everyone. Loki was constantly being dragged down to the darkest moments of his life. He was suffocating under the weight of his own misery. Of the things he’d done and the grief he’d experienced.
Why couldn’t he have what everyone else had?
Oh, because he was Loki. Destined for pain. Fated for unhappiness.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he brought his clenched hand to his chest, pressing hard against the spot where the dagger had sunk into him. He couldn’t trust Julia. He couldn’t trust himself. Could he trust anyone? Was everyone going to betray him? Was Fandral next?
Loki clenched his teeth and tried to center his thoughts. He needed to calm down before he broke down. And he would break down. If Fandral said the wrong thing — or maybe the right thing — or if he got too close or touched him in a certain way, Loki knew he would lose all sense of sanity he had left. He’d be a lost cause. In truth, he probably already was. But at least he wasn’t falling apart. Or, at least, he didn’t look like he was. But all of his strength was going into maintaining that appearance.
He turned around and gave Fandral a smile. “I’m fine. I appreciate you stopping by though. But there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing to really talk about either.”
Lies, lies, lies.
And the smile grew wider. “I’ve never felt better.”
His body language before he turned said otherwise about just how fine he was and Fandral gave him a sad look, his eyebrows still furrowed and his mouth turned downward into a frown. Part of him wanted to move over toward the sofa, to bring Loki with him so that perhaps he’d be more willing to open up to him.
Yet he stayed where he was. Firm in his stance, still in his bloodied armor, his hair something of a mess. Truthfully -- Fandral did not appear his best and he didn’t really care. This wasn’t about him. His shoulders slumped a little though and he glanced off to the side for a moment, turning over what he could possibly say to Loki. He knew the smile, the words -- it was all a ruse. Which wasn’t uncommon for Loki. On the contrary, it’s exactly what someone might expect of him. But at least this time, Fandral knew better, so he didn’t take Loki at his word.
“I saw you last night,” he finally said after a beat, his voice quiet, his throat tight. There was a waver of emotion to his words and he kept his gaze averted for just a moment before finally looking back to him. “You were…”
Dead. He was dead. He’d been dead. And cold, and blue, and unmoving, unblinking. Fandral closed his eyes then as that image came to his mind again and he tried to push it away.
Loki knew that Fandral wouldn’t let it go and that was fine. He just hadn’t decided how he was going to respond. Part of him had wanted to remain in his room. And he very well might have done exactly that were it not for the fact that Fandral had started the morning banging on the door. He thought he’d have more time to prepare. More time to come up with an excuse as to why he’d suddenly had a change of heart about his behavior. Then he realized that Fandral knew and Loki had to backpedal. He needed a new tactic. Disinterest and nonchalance seemed the best option.
Because the only other option was the truth.
And how many times could Loki bare his soul to a single person? He’d already done that once with Fandral. Almost twice. Three times, in this case, would not be the charm. He was already so vulnerable in this place. So weak. So full of conflicting emotions. He didn’t think he could handle having another breakdown in front of Fandral. Nor did he want Fandral to have to witness that again. Fandral deserved someone who had more control.
And Loki was supposed to be a king.
“Well, I’m not now,” Loki said. He averted his gaze to the floor. There was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down and his eyes burned behind his illusion. “It’s no big deal. It doesn’t matter here. You know that. I’m sorry you saw what you did, but…”
Loki held out both his hands in that signature pose of his. “I’m fine!”
He wasn’t fine. There was no possible way he was actually fine, not after that. And maybe it didn’t matter -- temporary as it may have been -- but the fact of the matter was that someone had done that to Loki. Had he really made someone on campus so angry that they’d driven what appeared to be a knife or dagger into his chest?
Fandral continued to stand there though. Loki could keep telling him he was fine, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever believe him. “Are you though?” he asked after a moment and then shook his head a bit, as if answering the question himself. Fandral certainly wasn’t fine.
Truthfully, he wasn’t sure that Natasha was, either.
He pulled his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, chewing it nervously; there were things he wanted to say and yet he didn’t want to make any of this harder for either of them. So instead he opted for something that left it open as to whether Loki would want him to stay or not. “Aye, I suppose if you are fine, then there is no reason for my being here longer.”
No, Loki wasn’t fine. Loki wasn’t anywhere close to fine. But he hadn’t been fine before Julia stabbed him in the chest. He hadn’t been fine for weeks. Years. Loki could place the blame on Derleth all he liked. And he did. Derleth was easy. It was convenient. It was a scapegoat. But Loki had been crumbling for the better part of a decade. Ever since he’d made that damn deal with the Titan. Ever since—
Maybe just ever.
But he’d always been able to deal with it because it only affected him. Thor and Frigga aside, no one cared enough about Loki to worry. No one held him in enough esteem to be concerned. Fandral was getting too close to becoming someone who did. Natasha, too. This was a new experience for Loki. He didn’t know how to accept it and he didn’t know how to deal with it. So he was trying to figure it out as he went along.
But he still carried all of his brokenness with him. And it made it impossible for him to make the right choices.
Loki crossed the short distance between them and placed his hands on Fandral’s shoulders, forcing the warrior to look him in the eyes. “We parted on unfortunate terms last week. That was my fault. I regret not explaining myself better. You didn’t deserve that. And you didn’t deserve seeing what you saw.”
Loki licked his lower lip thoughtfully. “We have a lot of things to talk about, and we will talk about them, but not now.” Loki’s palms slipped down to Fandral’s upper arms, holding him in place. There was a nervousness in his expression that accompanied that touch. A sort of lingering fear that affection might become something else. Something deadly. And Loki carefully allowed his hands to drop to his sides.
“I’m sorry, Fandral. And I promise you … No, I swear to you. You will never see anything like that again.”
“How can you swear something you would have no control over?” he asked quietly, looking Loki in the eyes. His body had relaxed a little under his touch, but now he felt rigid again, tense, and desperate. For what? He wasn’t sure. Maybe to keep the other man safe. There was a sense of duty in protecting him as he had for the last several hundred years, but now there was an added emotional layer that simply made Fandral want to keep Loki from getting hurt by anyone.
Fandral shook his head a little and then lifted his own hand, bringing it up to briefly cup at the side of Loki’s neck, the pad of his thumb brushing against the curve of his jaw just for a moment before he slid it further down to squeeze his shoulder in return.
He was searching Loki’s face, his eyes, contemplating if he should bring up exactly what he saw. It was a delicate topic, he knew that, but he swallowed the newly formed lump in his throat before speaking. “Your…” Fandral bit back a sigh and looked off to the side before looking back at him, almost nervously. “It was not just that I saw you lifeless, though that truly did pain me. Your… well, I can only assume it is an illusion…” There was a beat as he gestured carefully with his other hand toward Loki’s face. “It… fell, as well.”
But he didn’t move, didn’t waver as he spoke, and gave Loki’s shoulder what he hoped was another comforting squeeze. “I will not tell anyone, though Natasha is the one who found you and asked me about it.”
Then he was quiet for another moment before it dawned on him that perhaps he was talking too much, bringing up things that Loki wouldn’t want to discuss and he gave him an apologetic look. “I am sorry. I should not be discussing these matters right now.”
Loki could make that promise because he knew. He knew now that he couldn’t trust anyone. He knew that, given the proper set of circumstances, anyone could turn against him. It didn’t matter how much they might admire or respect each other. It didn’t matter if Loki had feelings for them or if they had a history or a friendship. Anyone could betray him. And, if necessary, he could betray anyone back. And that truth he could have control over. If he assumed everyone was willing to jab a knife through his gut then he would be more prepared. He wouldn’t be taken off guard.
It was a promise to himself as much as anything. A promise that he would never die again.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll handle it. My eyes are wide open now,” Loki said, full of real confidence. None of that fake bravado he sometimes pretended. This was the tone of a man who knew exactly how to handle this situation. He might have been fuzzy on the details. It would be a slow burn revenge. But he would have it. And he wouldn’t be fooled again.
Loki flinched when Fandral put his hand to his face, but he didn’t back away. That was a reaction even Loki hadn’t prepared himself for. Fandral had caught him by surprise with the hug, but it had been so strong it didn’t stir any anxious feelings in him other than the obvious—feelings of how he was going to respond. But the touch to his face was more affectionate. More intimate. And that intimacy reminded him of the way he’d touched Julia just before she’d killed him.
He shook the thought away as Fandral’s hand slipped down to his shoulder. An eager part of him wanted to touch Fandral back. Wanted to hold him and to be held. But his stomach was in knots. And he felt like he was going to be sick.
But then Fandral spoke and any desire to be touched was completely washed away.
“What?” Loki blinked. He hadn’t realized that his illusion had fallen. Granted, he wasn’t surprised. But he hadn’t even thought of that possibility. Hadn’t considered it. Nor had he considered Fandral’s reaction. Because Loki assumed that Fandral already knew. He assumed they all knew. All the Warriors and Sif included. Loki frowned. “Thor … didn’t tell you?”
That struck a chord in Loki. To think that Thor had held that secret in confidence all these years. Loki was surprised by that. And it overshadowed his own shame and embarrassment. And his own self-hatred, of which Loki had plenty.
“No, no. Let’s just get it out in the open and say it.” Loki took a deep, steeling breath. “I am not of Asgard. I was born of its greatest enemy. And this face … this facade … is both the greatest lie and the kindest gift anyone has ever given to me. And if that changes things, I understand. It would not be the first time my true self has been looked upon in disgust or contempt.”
That was how Loki saw himself, after all. Whenever he caught a fleeting glimpse of his Jotun features in a mirror or in his mind, he felt an overwhelming rush of revulsion.
Fandral shook his head a little in response to Loki’s inquiry about Thor telling him. “No, he told us that you were not flesh and blood of Odin and Frigga, but that did not change the fact that you were their son to us. A royal prince of Asgard.” He’d known for a while now that the other man had been brought into the palace at a very young age from elsewhere, it was only last night that he realized where that ‘elsewhere’ was.
He kept his hand on Loki’s shoulder though and continued to look at him, his expression softening just a little. “I care not that you are of Jotunheim. ’Asgard’s greatest enemy’ or not, you are still Loki to me and your heritage makes no difference.”
While he was saying these things in a hope to ease the other man’s mind, it was still obvious in the way that he said them that he meant it. Every word. It didn’t mean anything to Fandral that Loki was born of the Frost Giants -- especially considering they weren’t on Asgard now, though it wouldn’t have even if they were. He’d been raised a son of the Allfather and Allmother, a prince, and an Asgardian. So to Fandral, he was Asgardian.
Period.
“Your skin being cooler to the touch makes more sense now though, I will admit.” A random observation but one he’d certainly noticed. His grip on the other man’s shoulder loosened and he lowered his hand, though without really thinking he let his fingertips graze against Loki’s almost too affectionately.
Loki didn’t know what to expect from Fandral’s reaction. He supposed that deep down he didn’t think that it would matter to Fandral. The others might have taken it more personally, especially if they’d learned about it directly after Loki’s first major betrayal of Asgard, but Fandral had always had a more levelhead about personal matters. He’d never belittled or begrudged Loki. So, it didn’t surprise him that Fandral was able to dismiss the fact that Loki wasn’t one of them. But there had been a layer of unease as he waited for Fandral’s answer. Because even though Loki thought he knew how Fandral would respond, he couldn’t be certain.
But once it was spoken a weight fell from Loki’s shoulders. In truth it didn’t change who Loki was. It didn’t change his history or perspective. He was still Loki. He still saw the Allmother and Allfather as his parents. Thor was still his brother. Asgard, his home. It just explained certain family dynamics better. And it explained some of Loki’s rebellious nature as well.
It had taken him quite a few years to accept the lie Odin had made of him. The first lie of his life, really. And it wasn’t even Loki’s falsehood. It was no wonder he became the god he did. Odin had basically set the standard for him.
Like father, like son?
“Thank you,” Loki said. And he meant it. He was grateful that Fandral accepted this information without bias or criticism. Not that Loki could have done anything about it if he had.
When Fandral dropped his hand, however, fingers gently touching his skin, Loki pulled back. It was a quick, instinctual motion. The touch was too soft. Too delicate. Loki regretted that he reacted that way and that regret showed in his eyes. It just felt too soon.
“I’m sorry.” Loki cleared his throat and took a step backward. “I didn’t sleep well.”
He was glad he saw that sense of relief come over Loki when he realized that Fandral was genuine in his saying that his being a Frost Giant was, essentially, not a big deal. Because it wasn’t. He gave a small nod of acknowledgement to his thanks, but then felt his smile falter a little when Loki pulled back.
Dammit.
A hint of shame came over him and he looked at him apologetically in return, pulling his own hand away and clasping it behind his back. That would at least prevent him from doing that again.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he replied quietly, glancing down at his feet for a moment. “I knew better than to do that, but did not realize what I had done until after the fact, so I am sorry.” He’d just been caught up in his emotions, of which he was still feeling plenty. Needing time away from Loki had gone out of the window as soon as he’d joined Natasha the night before and now he simply didn’t want to leave his side.
“But is there anything you need? Anything I can do to help?”
He could only imagine how poorly Loki had slept after everything. Waking up from whatever the reset brought him only to be flooded with memories of his most recent death. That thought made him frown. “If you need to be left alone, I can do that, too.”
“You don’t have to apologize. Please don’t apologize.” Loki was just edgy. Jittery. He was still trying to get Julia’s face out of his mind. The look in her eyes just before she’d buried that blade in his chest. She was true to herself. Loki couldn’t fault her there. She didn’t care about him. Or, perhaps, she cared about him far less than her mission to kill the god in her world. Loki had deceived himself into thinking she might have felt something for him. Into thinking he might have penetrated her shadless interior. He hadn’t. He was wrong. And he paid the price for it.
But he knew better now.
“It’s okay, really. I just wasn’t prepared for it.” How else could he explain why that soft, affectionate touch sent a sickening shiver through his body? Loki wasn’t naive. Fandral had seen him. Loki knew it must have been a very compromising scene. It wouldn’t have taken much deduction to realize what had occurred. And he might have been more embarrassed were it not for the fact that he was still reeling from the experience. From the memory. Both of Julia and of Thanos. Two deaths compressed into a single wakeful thought.
He hoped that the memory of Julia’s blade would slowly dissipate over the coming weeks. But he wouldn’t be surprised if Derleth did something to make sure it stayed with him. And regardless, with her shade still tucked under his mattress, he wouldn’t be rid of her any time soon.
Loki shook his head. “No, I don’t need anything. I just need some time to think things through.”
He paused for a moment and then gave an awkward laugh. “I need time. Wow. That came full circle, didn’t it?” Loki sighed. “That’s not what I meant though. I just need to think about how I intend to deal with this situation. Figure out what I plan to do...”
Fandral gave a small nod, his fingers twisting together anxiously behind his back as he stood there. He hated seeing Loki like this — he desperately wanted to hold him again, kiss his face, tell him he would never let anyone hurt him again if he could help it. Perhaps that was a stretch but it didn’t stop him from wanting to do that.
“You do not have to be alone in this, I hope you know that.” He’d gone from grief to anger during his time waiting for Loki, thinking how if he found out who had done that, he wouldn’t hesitate to run them through with his sword. Death may have been temporary here, but that didn’t mean whoever had driven a dagger into Loki’s chest didn’t deserve to feel the pain that came with it.
The look on his face shifted from one of momentary concern to something softer and he finally let go of his own hands to let them fall to his side. “May I touch you?”
Because he didn’t want to cause him distress by surprising him. Clearly there was some sort of trauma there now and as much as it hurt him
to see that flinch at his touch, he wanted to be respectful and careful.
“I know,” Loki said. Loki also knew that Fandral would have done anything in his power to protect him. Possibly even avenge him, if necessary. Which was one of the reasons why Loki intended to keep the name of his murderer secret. It wouldn’t have done any good to have Fandral go after Julia. While Fandral was a capable warrior, Julia was a very devious witch. And Loki wasn’t entirely certain how long her power boost might last or what the lingering side effects were. It wasn’t a chance Loki was willing to risk.
Besides, this was Loki’s battle. He wanted to be the one to make the cutting blow, if there was to be such a moment. As of yet, he hadn’t decided. He was angry with Julia, of course. And he was hurt. Possibly even a little heartbroken. But he couldn’t blame Julia for her actions. Not completely. And Loki could have prevented it. Well, at least, he thought he could have. If he’d given her the shade she might not have been able to go through with her experiment. And really, if he’d been in her situation, he might have done the exact same thing. So while he was incredibly upset, he couldn’t entirely fault her.
But that’s what made it even more difficult. Was this what it felt like to be one of the good guys?
Loki furrowed his brows at Fandral’s question, his lips drawing into a thin thoughtful line. He wished he’d taken more time for himself before opening the door. He wished he’d showered or drank a glass of water. Anything that might make him feel more composed. More in control. Because control was the last thing he had. And that was something he desperately needed.
“I’ll touch you,” he said after a long pause. Then he took a step forward and placed his hands on either side of Fandral’s face. His fingers slid through the wispy strands of his hair until his thumbs fell on his temples. Loki slowly bowed Fandral’s head forward until their foreheads touched. He held that pose and closed his eyes, nose occasionally brushing against Fandral’s. His breath was rigid but soft against Fandral’s face. This time Loki didn’t hide the fact that it was cooler than that of a normal Asgardian. And after what seemed more like a silent prayer than a lover’s touch, Loki let him go.
He hadn’t expected Loki to take the reins on the moment like that, not after how he’s moved away from Fandral’s touch before -- but perhaps it was better this way. Let him have the control he needed; he knew what would be comfortable for him and Fandral had no inclination to overstep any boundaries.
There was a brief period of time when he wasn’t sure what to expect from it, but he didn’t move from where he stood, instead allowing his shoulders to relax and his eyes to watch him carefully as his hands moved to his face. The touch was gentle, almost caressing him, and his eyes threatened to close as his fingers moved up and into his hair. Everything about it seemed calculated and yet instinctive; he wasn’t sure which.
When he pulled, gently, he moved and let his eyes drift shut as their foreheads met. The urge to close the distance and kiss him was strong, but he resisted, instead letting it be what Loki wanted it to be. He nudged his nose to his once or twice when he felt the gesture first and then smiled a little, almost to himself more than anything, at the coolness of Loki’s breath. It was an odd sensation and yet one he found more desirable than he would have thought.
Except there was a rush of emotion as he stood there with him like this and Fandral felt his eyes well with tears under their lids before quietly spilling down his cheeks. A heavy sense of relief had hit him, mixed with the grief and anger he’d been feeling since waking up, and suddenly he couldn’t keep himself composed any longer. But he said nothing of the tears as he pulled back enough to look at Loki once the moment had ended, that small, sad smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
Loki tried to offer a small smile in return, but it looked tired on his face. He would have preferred if Fandral hadn’t cried, but at least they were silent tears. That was something Loki could deal with. Silent tears were normally happy tears, right? Although Loki was almost certain Fandral was harboring some hurt behind them, he appreciated that the Asgardian warrior managed to rein in some of his frustration and grief. Loki played a good game of being cool-headed, but inside he knew it wouldn’t take much for him to split apart into a zillion pieces. He was hanging on by a thread. One wrong move and it would fray, sending him into a pit which he might never be able to climb out of.
Loki wiped his thumb over Fandral’s cheek, drying off the tears. “I want you to do me a favor. If it’s easier for you to follow through with it, I’ll make it a demand. But I’d rather you just do it as a courtesy.”
He used the bottom hem of his shirt to dry Fandral’s tears off his hand. Then he took a step away, back in the direction of the couch.
“I don’t want you to pursue anything related to what happened yesterday. I know I can’t ask you to forget what you saw, but I want you to respect my decision to leave it alone. I don’t want anyone looking into it or trying to figure out what happened. If I decide to talk about it one day, then we can reassess whether something needs to be done. But for now I just want to move past it in my own way.” Loki hadn’t decided yet what that way would be exactly. But he knew it was something he wanted to resolve on his own. This was between him and Julia. There was no need for senseless collateral damage because of overheated emotions. “I can assure you that no one else here is at risk. If I thought that were the case then I would be more open about it. But this was a private matter. It won’t happen again. And I am fully capable of dealing with it on my own time and in a way that suits me and the other person involved.”
Loki fixed Fandral with a serious, albeit weary, stare. “Please let this go. Nothing good can come of digging deeper into this matter. And if you truly want to help me, this is the best way you can.”
Fandral’s head nearly gave way to lean into Loki’s touch as he brushed the tears from his cheek. It was such a gentle, affectionate movement from the dark haired man that it almost caused the breath to hitch in his throat. He held firm though, not allowing himself the moment as badly as he wanted it, though he kept his blue eyes fixed on Loki. Watching him quietly as he moved and spoke.
The request was simple enough on the surface, though he admittedly knew he was going to struggle with it, at least right away. The need to know who had done this to Loki was strong and Natasha had already been trying to discover what happened; the situation, the weapon used, how the murderer had tried to cover their tracks. Sense of duty would have dictated needing this as a direct order from Loki, but he did respect him and his wishes and wanted him to see that. That someone cared enough to do as he asked. So he nodded slightly, letting his gaze fall to the floor for a moment, before he looked back up.
“Aye. I will do as you wish,” he replied softly. “Though I cannot say the same of Natasha. I will ask her not to, but that is the most I would be able to do. If she chooses to pursue it…” Fandral knew he couldn’t stop her if her mind was set on finding the culprit.
His eyebrows knit together gently as he looked at him, thoughts spinning over in his mind; there was always so much he wanted to say to him and yet this was one of those times when it never felt like enough. Instead, he settled for a statement that Natasha had spoken aloud the night before and one Fandral had agreed with to his core. “Though for whatever it is worth, and I am certain you will disagree, you did not deserve that.”
“I’ll speak to Natasha.” Loki knew she would listen to him. He didn’t know why exactly, but they had formed an uncommon kind of friendship. And even though neither of them had any real reason to trust each other, they did. Although, maybe trust wasn’t the right word. Maybe they hadn’t reached trust yet. But they had reached an understanding and a kind of kinship. One that Loki never expected to have with someone from Midgard, let alone one of the Avengers. They were supposed to hate him, after all. And, rightfully so, most of them did. But Natasha was a different breed of hero. And Loki was grateful for the open hand she’d offered him.
Accepting her offer of friendship was one of the better decisions he’d made in his life.
When Fandral told him that he didn’t deserve what had happened to him, Loki’s face drew into a solemn frown. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with Fandral, but he didn’t disagree either. Loki had made a lot of bad choices in his life. And he’d suffered the consequences of most of those decisions at least once. Did he deserve to die at Julia’s hand the way he had? No, not really. He’d never done anything to her. Not that she knew of, at least. But he wasn’t innocent with regards to her either. And there was something about Loki that welcomed pain and punishment. Because he did feel guilty for his past actions. And he was ashamed. And in many cases there wasn’t enough penance he could ever pay to make up for the things he’d done. The hurt he’d caused.
He wasn’t one of the good guys. He wasn’t a hero. And maybe he never would be. Maybe that’s just not what he was made for. Maybe anguish, agony, and death were all he was made for.
“That’s kind of you to say, Fandral. It is. And I appreciate it.” And he did, even if Loki didn’t seem all that thrilled to hear it. It was a conflicting topic for him. “I’m feeling a bit drained by it all though. And I’d rather not talk about it further.”
He knew for whatever reason (or reasons, really) that Loki wouldn’t necessarily agree with his sentiment that he hadn’t deserved what had been done to him. There was a lot that he’d done in his more recent past that perhaps had called for punishment -- of which he’d been receiving on Asgard, in the dungeons. A dagger to the chest in the middle of the Green was not a fair punishment of any kind, even if it was perhaps a little ironic.
Fandral gave him a softer look and then a small, curt nod. “Then we do not need to discuss it anymore.” His eyes drifted for a moment to the doorway behind Loki’s shoulder before focusing on a spot on the floor and then back up to him. He wanted to ask him if he’d just rather go lay back down for a while, just be together in the quiet of the bedroom and not talk. He didn’t really want to leave him; not after everything. To Hel with needing time. There were matters that were more important than the risk of his own heart being hurt.
Instead he pulled his lower lip between his teeth, chewing it almost nervously for a few seconds before shifting, angling himself toward the door he’d come in through. “If you would prefer to be alone now, I will go if you wish me to.”
He hoped that he didn’t, but he also wasn’t willing to hold his breath on the matter.
Loki watched Fandral carefully. He hoped Fandral listened to him. He hoped he kept his promise not to intrude on what had happened and to let the matter rest until Loki was prepared to discuss it. But he couldn’t help but feel a little wary of their trust. He was actually quite angry with Fandral for talking to Margo about him. That was something Loki felt should have been left alone, kept between the two of them. Hadn’t Loki expressed that sentiment early on at the start of this change in their relationship? That he’d prefer if it was left between them and not shared with random strangers? Perhaps Loki hadn’t been clear enough in his wishes. That’s something he would work on in the future. But while he was upset by Fandral’s breach of confidence, Loki was too weary from the situation with Julia to get into it. He would leave that for another time when they were both healed from their emotions and shock over what had happened yesterday. Loki simply didn’t have it in him to have an argument right now. Or worse, a fight.
Loki canted his weight to one leg and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t intend to look closed off, but it might have appeared that way. Because of the reset he didn’t have those dark circles under his eyes or the sallow skin that might accompany a bad night’s sleep. But Loki was tired and restless.
And confused.
Confused about how he was going to move forward after this event. Not just with Julia, but with everyone. Himself, in particular. This was one of those pivotal moments in his life (or afterlife since he was technically dead — twice over now as it were.) And Loki wasn’t blind to that. He knew he’d have to change going forward. He just hadn’t decided which direction to focus that change.
Did he move past this situation and become a better person in spite of it? Or did he fall back on bad habits and regress to his old ways? There were appealing urges towards both options. Only time would tell which won out.
“I would … like some time alone, actually. I have a lot to think about. And as much as I enjoy your company, I’m afraid it might be a distraction to those thoughts,” Loki said. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “This is something only I can find a solution for.”
Fandral understood. Perhaps he would have needed to be alone as well if he were in Loki’s position, but he could never say for certain. All that he knew was that he wasn’t unwelcome in the other man’s space -- that much had been proven by the affectionate touches he’d given him only moments before, he just simply needed some time to process what had happened. It was a bittersweet feeling.
“Then I will leave you be,” he replied quietly, carefully closing the distance between them. It was cautious and his movements were slow, not wanting to cause Loki to flinch or turn away from him if he could help it. His hands came up gently clasp against his shoulders before he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. The actions were calculated, but sweet, and brief. The kiss didn’t linger any longer than it needed to and his hold on his shoulders loosened after a few seconds.
Fandral took a step back then toward the direction he’d come from and gave him a half-smile. “I want you to be okay, so I will stay out of your hair while you process what you need to process. Should you need me for anything, you know how to find me.”
Loki held his breath while Fandral placed the kiss to his forehead. When he stepped away, Loki tried to offer an encouraging smile. It wasn’t a bad attempt. It was better than his earlier one and less fabricated than the fake grin he’d used when Fandral first entered his room. Back when Loki tried to convince him that he was fine. This smile was at least halfway believable.
He nodded. His silent way of letting Fandral know that he understood and that he would get in touch when he was ready for company. Or when he was ready to talk. If he was ready to talk. And he would get in touch. He just didn’t know when.
Once he closed the door on Fandral, however, Loki dropped his facade. That seemingly composed and calm exterior fell from his expression, revealing the true Loki underneath. There was nothing about this Loki that was in control of himself. He was panicked, disheveled, and unraveling. He held his palms against the closed door as though willing it to remain shut forever. His eyes were red and bloodshot. His skin pale, hair uncombed. He wasn’t a complete disaster but he was a far cry from the appearance he’d allowed Fandral to see. That had been a test of what little strength he had left. A figment of sheer will. And now that Fandral was gone, he’d lost the will to keep it together.
Loki slumped down to the floor, his back pressed against the door. He didn’t cry because he didn’t have any tears left. Which was good because he wouldn’t have had the energy to shed said tears even if there were any. His heart beat mad and raucous in his torso. His breaths were rapid and distressed. A piercing migraine assaulted his temples. And his chest ached with the memory of Julia’s blade piercing the flesh. He tugged his knees to his chest and hung his head, nails digging into the bony part of his legs.
Get it together. Get it together, he thought to himself.
Loki took a deep breath. In and out. He needed to push everything out of his mind. Julia. Thanos. Fandral. His death. The betrayals. Everything. And he needed to do it quickly. Because if Fandral was up that early, then Natasha wouldn’t be far behind.