#avenger!ofc

Each failure to locate him made a small, irritating knot form in Theo’s chest; a thought that maybe she missed something, or maybe he was avoiding her. She caught herself rolling her eyes at the idea; after all, they were past the point where he’d avoid her if he was mad at her… right?

After each fruitless round of searching, she’d trudge back to her room and try to occupy herself for a bit—painting, practicing instruments, reading medical journals—but the question of where he was and why she couldn’t find him never left the back of her mind, leaving her restless and distracted. It was only a matter of time before she’d abandon her half-hearted distractions and set out on another search.

Her stubborn need to locate him, combined with a pang in her stomach and the realization she hadn’t eaten a damn thing all day, led her on the next search.

Once again, knocking on Loki’s door brought no result.

As she made her way down the hall, the scent of garlic and rosemary floated towards her, accompanied by the sizzle of something cooking on the stove. The mouth-watering combination was all it took for her to decide to make a quick stop in the shared kitchen; after all, she hadn’t found him for hours, so what difference would a few more minutes make?

When she turned the corner into the kitchen, she stopped in her tracks. 

There he was—standing at the stove, hair tied back loosely with a few strands falling free, sleeves shoved past his elbows as he worked. The black collared shirt clung just enough to trace the shape of him: the broad cut of his shoulders, the long lines tapering down his back. Each shift of muscle pulled at the fabric, precise and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. His forearms flexed with every measured turn of the wooden spoon, revealing glimpses of lean muscles in the warm kitchen light. 

And then there were the jeans: dark, slim-fitted, hugging his legs and leaving little mystery about the shape of his hips or the way his ass fit perfectly in them. Sharp, toned, distractingly perfect. 

He was wholly absorbed in the slow swirl of vegetables and cream-colored sauce, seemingly oblivious, while she stood there doing something much less dignified: staring.

Her mouth twitched, equal parts exasperated and entertained by herself. She’d spent the whole day half-convinced he hated her, and the second she found him she was ogling him like a shameless groupie. Still, her eyes lingered longer than they should have before she finally dragged them upwards, silently praying he didn’t notice. She bit the inside of her cheek, heat prickling at the back of her neck. 

“You need not lurk in the distance,” Loki’s voice was low, smooth, carrying that faint edge that made it hard to tell whether he was amused or irritated. “If you have something to say, say it.”

“I’ve been looking for you,” Theo admitted, closing the distance until she stood beside him, leaning her hip against the counter. “But I couldn’t find you anywhere. I started to think you were… avoiding me.” She let the words hang, teasing but not daring to press too hard.

He didn’t answer right away, eyes on the pan. Then, the corner of his mouth lifted ever-so-slightly. “I have been… occupied,” he said, deliberately vague, though his gaze flicked toward her for a fraction of a second.

“Occupied?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Cooking? Working? Errands? Or playing hide and seek with me and not telling me?”

A flicker of green light pulsed across his sleeve as his fingers tightened briefly on the handle of the spoon. “A combination, perhaps,” he said carefully, stirring again. His voice softened just enough that it wasn’t entirely a joke. “I imagine the means by which I occupy my time are not why you sought me out...”

“You’re my friend and I wanted to talk to you?” Theo tried, though Loki sent her a look that told her he knew better.

“… You wish to discuss your rendezvous,” He said flatly, turning back to the stove. After a heavy pause, he sighed. “Dare I ask about the outcome?”

Theo opened her mouth, ready to launch into the sharp little speech she’d rehearsed all day…

… Only for every word to vanish on her tongue.

The neat satisfaction of proving him wrong, of showing she wasn’t rattled—it all crumbled to dust in the silence between them. All she could think of instead was that damn comment of his from before, about why he didn’t date, about how civilians could never understand. 

It was ridiculous that the comment was what stuck, looping in her head while she stood there grasping for anything to say. Her jaw tightened as her fingers drummed restlessly against her arm, nails grazing over her sleeve in short, impatient bursts. She shifted her weight, bracing her hip harder into the counter as if grounding herself against her own annoyance.

Eventually, she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and cursing herself all the while, before she answered: “…You were right.”

That drew Loki’s gaze fully to her, hard and sharp. His eyes studied her reaction, tracking every flick of her fingers and the curve of her lips. “I explicitly told you not to come crying to me when he hurt—”

“—No, not about that.” She cut him off with a quick shake of her head. “If anyone left that conversation crying, it was him.”

He stilled, spoon paused mid-stir. When it resumed, it moved slower, more deliberately. One dark brow arched, lips pressed thin. “Is that so? At the fundraiser, you said it was not worth it to destroy him.”

“I didn’t destroy him,” Theo countered, confidence returning with a smug twist to her mouth. “I just called him on his bullshit. Not my fault he didn’t like the truth.”

For a flicker of a second, the line of his jaw eased. Not approval, exactly, but something closer to reluctant surprise. His eyes darted briefly to her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. “That is… not quite what I expected you to say.”

“I told you, I wasn’t going because I still had feelings for him,” Theo said, rolling her eyes. “I went because I had questions. The chance to tell him off was just icing on the cake.”

“Questions?” His voice was calm, but she noticed his grip on the spoon tighten, knuckles pale against the wood.

Theo’s shoulders tensed, but she forced them to relax; working herself up wouldn’t do anyone any good. 

“I wanted to know why he left—” she explained, careful to keep her tone casual, nonchalant, “—if what the tabloids spun was true, or if there was more to it.”

Loki’s gaze followed her movements, tracking her hands as they shifted along the counter, and then he folded his arms in perfect mimicry of her own. The wooden spoon clattered faintly as it landed in the pan, more forceful than necessary. “Did you get your answer?”

“Yeah...” She let out a second, heavier breath. “That’s what I meant about you being right: Avengers and civilians don’t mix.”

For the first time, the sharpness in his eyes dulled, and the scowl he wore faded into something more sullen. 

“Typically I relish any opportunity to be correct,” he reluctantly admitted, “But for once it does not hold its usual joy.”

“It’s fine,” Theo waved him off before the heaviness in his tone could settle. “I know now.”

His gaze lingered on her a beat too long, tracking the small curve of her shoulder. “Was it worth your time to meet with him?”

“Yeah, actually.” She found herself smiling, wry and a little surprised. “Turns out I had a lot to say.”

Loki’s chest lifted with a slow inhale, then he tilted his head. His eyes flicked to her fingers again, noticing how she flexed them unconsciously. “Such as?”

“I told him how fucked up it was to constantly degrade someone who protected him from shadow beasts twice and who hadn’t publicly said a bad thing about him, despite having every reason to do so. And how much of a dick move it was to break up with me in a voicemail when he knew I was injured and miserable from fighting; even if he was being honest and was scared about the possibility of me dying someday in a fight, he could have at least waited to tell me to my face. I also told him he needed to call his PR team off and stop using women as a scapegoat for his shortcomings, and that he needed therapy.” She laughed outright, thinking about the way sat there, floundering amidst her verbal onslaught. “He looked like he was about to shit himself when I left.”

“Do you think he will do so?” Loki’s tone was flat, but the faintest glint of amusement caught the edges of his eyes.

“I don’t know. I don’t think anyone’s ever challenged him like that before.”

“And if he does not relent?”

“The best revenge is a life well-lived.” Theo shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “If someone asks me about it, I’ll be honest. But I’m not wasting my time responding to him.”

His gaze sharpened again, shoulders drawing taut. His fingers flexed once against the counter, then rested, betraying a flash of tension. “If someone asks?”

“Well…” Theo tilted her head, eyes flicking to his, teasing lightly though her voice stayed calm. “You remember that song I helped record? Loved You A Little? I’m sure when it comes out, people will ask if it’s related.”

The shift in him was immediate, like a door slamming shut. His voice was low, each word measured: “You’ve asserted repeatedly that your feelings for him were not love; and yet, you contributed to a song about loving him?”

Theo stared at him, unimpressed. “If I was just a lie to you, well you were less than that to me—never loved you a little,” She sang, letting the lyric bite the air between them. “It’s literally about not being in love. The guys from The Maine wrote it. They just asked me to sing.”

His jaw eased, but only barely.

He turned back to the stove, adjusting the pan with too much force. The spoon trembled in its orbit before steadying again. His shoulder brushed the edge of the range hood as he leaned over, subtle but stiff, and she caught the faintest tension in his posture.

“What’s gotten into you?” Theo frowned. “You’re acting so weird about this.”

He flicked a glance at her, green eyes unreadable, then back to the pan. “I assumed you were truthful when you said you no longer cared for the actor. Yet after one meeting, after a song that could be twisted to his name, it appears you’ve devoted more energy to him than you claimed. It is reasonable to question.”

“Seriously?” She blinked, incredulous. “That’s what you took from everything I just said?”

He didn’t answer right away, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the pan though he hadn’t so much as touched it. She noticed the way his shoulders tensed slightly each time her eyes flicked to him.

“I told him to go fuck himself,” Theo said sharply. “I humiliated him. I’m not keeping quiet anymore, which means no one can mistake me for still caring. And the song? It’s catchy. I like the band. End of story.” Her voice dropped, fiercer and more resolute: “Nothing about this says I want him. Everything about it says I don’t. If anything, you should be glad I’m standing up for myself instead of letting him drag me down.”

His lips pressed thin, silence stretching again—but she noticed the way his hand flexed once against the counter before curling into a fist. A shadow of something unspoken passed over his face. 

“You risk being hurt again if you do not return to ignoring him.” When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, strained. “He was never worth your time.”

Theo’s own shoulders loosened at that. “I don’t intend to spend another second on Chris. You don’t have to worry about that.” Then, softer, she said, "I wouldn't have agreed to the whole ‘be seen together’ plan if I wanted to be with anyone else.”

Loki’s jaw ticked slightly. His eyes flicked to her lips, then back to her face, and a brief tension lingered in his neck, almost imperceptible, before he exhaled slowly.

The words seemed to land differently than she meant them to. Loki’s head tilted, eyes fixed on her, a flicker of something raw and unguarded in his expression before he masked it. His shoulders eased, the air around him cooling.

“… Then it seems I owe you an apology for my assumptions.” His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. He drummed his fingers against the counter once, then stilled them. “Perhaps I might make amends by taking you out for dinner?”

Theo blinked, caught off guard. From what she could tell, he was in the middle of making dinner and had wanted nothing to do with her, but now he wanted to go out? “Taking me out to dinner?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, too quickly. “If you’re amenable. I recall that you recently mentioned a new restaurant to try...”

“I appreciate the offer, and I’d be down to go,” She couldn’t help a small laugh. “I just wasn’t sure how that worked when you were already cooking something…”

“Ah, yes,” His mouth twitched, though the usual sharpness of his wit softened at the edges. “I see where the confusion might arise. Though I must confess, despite my title of Prince I do not think I could secure a reservation on such short notice.”

“Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.” Her eyes flicked toward the stove, where the pan still steamed gently. She pushed off the counter and wandered closer, leaning just enough to peek at what he was stirring. “So… what are you making, anyway?”

Loki followed her gaze, then gave a careless little shrug that didn’t match the precision of the spoon as it stirred again under his control. His eyes lingered on her for a fraction longer than necessary. “An experiment.”

“Dangerous words coming from you.” Theo arched a brow, shoulder brushing briefly against his arm before she retreated back against the counter. She noticed the way his hand flexed slightly at the brief contact. “Should I be worried you’re brewing potions in your kitchen now?”

“If I were, you’d be the first to know.” He plucked the spoon from the air, dipping it once before holding it out to her, steam curling upward. His fingers hovered just a beat longer than needed around the handle, almost as if measuring her reaction. “Taste, and tell me if I’ve succeeded.”

Theo hesitated; not because she doubted him, but because of the way he held it, steady and expectant, eyes fixed on her as though her opinion mattered more than he would admit. In that moment, the kitchen seemed quieter, the faint hiss of the stove filling the space between them. She leaned forward, lips brushing the edge of the spoon.

Warm, savory, richer than she’d expected. She licked a trace from her lip, surprise turning into a smile. 

“That’s… actually really good.”

“Actually?” His tone was dry, tinged with a playful offense, but his eyes softened at her approval. His gaze flicked down for a heartbeat to her hands resting lightly on the counter before returning to her face.

“Yeah, turns out you aren’t half bad in a kitchen,” She smirked as she straightened, hip finding its place against the counter again. “Do you only break the culinary skills out when no one’s watching, or have you been hiding this talent from me on purpose?”

He stilled for half a second, the pan forgotten. It wasn’t much, but she noticed it — the tiny falter before he moved again, the subtle tension in his shoulders. The corner of his mouth twitched, and instead of replying he busied himself with the pan, turning his shoulder to her as though suddenly very interested in the food.

Theo tilted her head, catching the small tell, and let her amusement curl at the edges of her voice. “Actually, now that I think about it… we go out to eat all the time.” She gestured toward the pan with a teasing curve of her mouth. “Maybe the apology should be to cook me dinner sometime, instead.”

For once, he seemed almost caught. His grip on the spoon tightened, knuckles paling before he forced his hand to relax. A beat passed, quiet and suspended, before he said without looking at her, “You believe my cooking could serve as adequate penance?”

The pause stretched, longer than it should have, filled with the soft simmer of the pan and the low hum of the refrigerator. Theo shifted against the counter, folding her arms, pressing one shoulder slightly forward as if to anchor herself against the subtle tension in the room. She noticed his eyes flick to her shoulder, then quickly back to the pan, as though he didn’t want her to see he’d noticed.

“I think it’d be more than adequate,” she said finally, letting the tease carry but softer now, warmer. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the faintest flush at the tips of his ears — the only betrayal of his calm.

Something in his expression shifted when he finally glanced back at her — a faint, unguarded glimmer of satisfaction, quickly masked beneath his usual composure. His shoulders eased slightly, but she noticed the micro-movement of his fingers curling once around the spoon, a subtle echo of his attention on her.

He didn’t look flustered, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward, and the faintest trace of a smile softened the lines around his eyes. Even his posture, still upright and controlled, had a subtle tilt toward her. “I daresay, then, I shall have to rise to the occasion.”

She laughed softly, stepping back toward the counter, brushing lightly past him in the motion. The contact was fleeting, but it lingered in the small warmth of the kitchen. She noticed his chest shift slightly, the faintest exhale that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll hold you to that.”

A beat passed, easy now, almost companionable. His eyes flicked back to hers, steady and intent.

“Have you eaten?” His voice lowered, the timbre less of a question and more like an invitation. “I’m quite certain there’s plenty here for two.”

“Well…” Her smile curled, clever and bright, but softer at the edges now. She tipped her chin toward him, eyes catching the gleam of his. “Since you went to all the trouble of poisoning me already, it’d be rude not to see how the rest of it turns out.”

Theo moved first, slipping past him to help set the table. The soft clink of ceramic filled the air as she retrieved plates from the cabinet, passing them to Loki so he could plate the food. Their movements fell into an easy rhythm, unspoken but seamless — her setting out silverware as he carried the plates to the table, the small domesticity of it almost startling in its simplicity.

“Wine?” she asked, plucking a pair of glasses from the cabinet and holding them up for Loki’s approval.

“Yes,” Loki replied, turning back to Theo with a bottle dangling between his fingers. “A small indulgence I picked up off-world. I thought it might suit the occasion.”

She gave him a sidelong look as she took the bottle from him, trying not to blush when their fingers brushed. “You mean your kitchen experiment?”

His mouth twitched, the faintest shadow of a smirk. “Precisely.”

Theo handed him a glass, keeping her own raised. “Then—” her grin widened, playful and teasing, “—to not dying from your experiment.”

He lifted his in answer, crystalline light catching the dark liquid. “To your remarkable bravery in tasting it.”

She clinked his glass with a little laugh. “To discovering your cooking skills after all this time.”

He took the volley smoothly, the curve of his mouth deepening as he met her gaze over the rim. “To your persistence in uncovering them.”

Theo’s smile curled, clever and bright, but her eyes betrayed the flicker of warmth she couldn’t quite hide. She tipped her glass toward his once more, letting the sparkle of the moment carry them forward.

The glasses chimed again, laughter chasing away the hush, and together they settled in to share their private meal.

If I've been unapproachable Or I seem too emotional Life has been a rollercoaster So it goes, I've been Avoiding confrontational Bullshit conversations, so If I forgot to say hello Please don't take it personal

I just need you to say like, "Okay” Okay?

---

Author’s note: HI SORRY I’M LATE. I know last time I said a short break might come from my grandma passing, but that ended up not being the reason for my delay (thankfully!!)… the actual reason was that I didn’t quite like how this chapter was flowing/reading and needed a bit of extra time to get the characters feeling more true to themselves, and unfortunately that also fell during the two busiest workweeks of the year (for me) because of back to school. 

I’m not a teacher but I work in education, and a big part of my role involves helping new students prepare for the year and training peer mentors for different programs; trying to keep it semi-vague as to not share identifying info lol). This was my fourth “back to school” in my current role and it was without a doubt the smoothest, best one yet! I’m so happy with how it went and I got a lot of positive feedback from folks all over the school, from students to school leadership. 

Still, it was a hectic couple of weeks—I was literally writing on my phone between student leader training sessions because that was when I had time to work on it and I didn’t want to lose ideas when they came up 🤣

Grandma’s still here—she definitely has slowed down, but I was able to travel to see her (and my family) last weekend and she knew we were there, which was nice. 

It’s still a bit busier than usual for me as school activities start ramping up with the start of the academic year, so out of an abundance of caution I’m going to say the next update can be expected by Sunday, September 14th Thursday, September 25. If I think it’s ready sooner then I’ll post early, but just looking at what I have going on at the moment I think it’s most likely going to be worth taking the extra time so I don’t feel rushed (and compromise on quality!). 

Loki lounged across from her in the quinjet cabin, long legs crossed, reading light spilling across the sharp lines of his face. He didn’t even look real in the dim blue glow; too composed, too effortless, too aware of it. The man could make stillness look like a performance.

Some SHIELD director, after too many briefings and sleepless nights, must have looked at the roster and said yes, let’s pair the asthmatic doctor with the literal god of chaos, who are possibly dating but haven’t reported the conflict of interest to Employee Resources, what could possibly go wrong?!

Even if it wasn’t a long mission—two days, most likely—that much time alone with Loki with no breaks to get her shit together would only end in her making a fucking fool of herself, if not in making Loki hate her.

Theo adjusted the strap of her tactical pack and avoided his eyes. “So,” she said finally, “how many ways do you think this can go wrong?”

“That depends,” Loki murmured without looking up. “Are we accounting for your tendency to overthink each plan, or my penchant for improvisation?”

Theo huffed out a breath, trying—and failing—not to smile. “You realize improvisation leaves more opportunities for things to go wrong, compared to having a plan, right?”

He looked up then, eyes like polished glass catching light—green reflecting hints of blue, faintly luminescent. “And yet, it often works far better than the best-laid plans,” he said softly.

Theo leaned back, arms crossed. “Says the god whose improvising led to a rap sheet the length of the Bifrost.”

That earned the faintest smirk. “Touché.”

Outside, the world darkened further. The last streaks of red bled away from the clouds, drowned in twilight. Theo watched it vanish and tried to convince herself that this mission was just another operation. They’d be dropped at the safehouse, then head to the “abandoned” base. From there, it was simple: slip in, steal the encrypted data, slip out. Wait at the safehouse until the jet returned to pick them up.

But the simple jobs were never really simple.

By the time they set out from the safehouse, the quinjet had long vanished, swallowed by storm and distance. Sleet hissed sideways through the pines; great for obscuring their presence, but not for their endurance. The ground underfoot was slick with thawing frost, the soil black and soft. Theo’s breath came out in thin white ribbons that vanished as quickly as they formed. Her hood was soaked through, the cold seeping into her bones. Her boots, slick with mud, did little to provide any semblance of stability. Her heartbeat—steady, disciplined—was the only warmth left in her body.

“This,” she muttered, squinting into the storm, “is definitely not how I wanted to spend my first trip to Argentina”

Behind her, Loki’s voice came low, smooth, unbothered. “You sound disappointed. Were you expecting beaches and wine?”

“No, but I was expecting fewer icicles on my eyelashes.”

“Ah,” he said, stepping ahead with that infuriating grace. “But the field suits you. No audience, no distractions.”

Theo glared at his back. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”

He glanced over his shoulder, and for a heartbeat his eyes glittered despite the dark. “Perhaps it is.”

Something in her stomach tightened, but she ignored it. Focus.

Ahead, through the curtain of sleet, the compound emerged: a gray scar in the mountainside, low concrete slabs against the slope, ringed by chain-link, floodlights throwing hard white circles through the storm. The hum of distant generators cut through the sound of rain. Brutalist, utilitarian, ugly. A place built to hold something—or someone—that shouldn’t be found.

Theo crouched behind a boulder glazed with ice, slipping on a set of glasses that had scopes built in. Her HUD flickered to life, feeding data across her lens in faint blue text. “Two-minute sweep pattern, like we expected” she murmured. “We move on my count. Three, two—now.”

They broke cover. Loki’s illusion folded over them like mist—not invisibility, exactly, but a bending of the world’s attention. Their outlines bled into rain and wind; their shadows dissolved. When a guard turned his head, there was nothing but weather, the ground revealing no signs of disturbance thanks to the illusion.

At the fence, Loki brushed his fingers against the steel. “You’d think they’d have learned not to trust locks,” he murmured.

A hum, a spark… and the chain links twisted apart like melting wax.

Theo slipped through first, boots crunching against gravel. Her pulse beat in her throat: quick, clean, alive, even as a band tightened around her chest, making it harder to control her breathing. 

The adrenaline rush never changed, no matter how many missions she’d run.

Inside the perimeter, the world went silent. The cold pressed close, alive and listening. The service door yielded with a quiet hiss, and they slipped inside.

The hallway beyond was narrow, dingy, barren. Dim red emergency lights flickered down the hall, stretching shadows long and thin. The hum of electricity thrummed through the floor and into their bones. Somewhere deeper in the facility, something pulsed, a low-frequency vibration that made Theo’s skin crawl. The smell of the air was wrong: metallic, acrid, faintly sweet, like ozone and decay. Occasionally, a faint shimmer danced along the wall; not visible so much as sensed, almost like how the air distorts itself in the desert. 

They descended to the basement, the hum growing louder as they moved, just under the threshold of audible enough to identify. 

It wasn’t until the first jolt of static crawled across Theo’s skin that she stopped dead.

The sensation was unmistakable, like walking through a field of invisible cobwebs. The shimmer in the air was stronger here, veins of light running faintly through the walls—almost organic, like something growing underneath the concrete.

Theo’s stomach dropped, her skin prickling.

“Loki,” she whispered. “You feel that?”

Loki froze mid-step, head tilting. He studied the walls with interest, eyes bright.

“A ward,” he murmured. “Surprisingly strong, at that. Whoever built this knew their craft.”

Theo tried to summon a flicker of her own magic, only for the runes to immediately dissolve, leaving nothing but the ghost of heat against her skin.

“Fantastic,” she muttered. “We’re locked out of half our arsenal.”

“Then we do this the old way.” Loki’s grin cut through the dark, infuriatingly pleased. ”

“Please don’t do anything stupid.”

“How would you define stupid?” He stressed the last word, his grin widening further than Theo thought was possible.

“Think of the paperwork.”

The grin softened into a smirk, almost like he realized the limitation bothered Theo more than she would admit. “I suppose I shall try to limit the foolishness.”

Theo rolled her eyes but followed him, staying low, quiet. The hum was constant now—a sound that wasn’t quite mechanical. It lived somewhere between machinery and heartbeat. The red light overhead flickered, and in each strobe she saw something else overlaying the hall: dark smoke twisting through marble corridors, a burning city’s reflection in shattered windows.

Her pulse stumbled. She blinked hard. 

Not here. Not now.

They reached the server room without incident. No guards, no movement, nothing slowing them down or hindering their progress. The whole place was too quiet for comfort.

Sure, they didn’t think this would be a challenge, but… This wasn’t supposed to be so easy.

Loki slid into the chair before the console, pulling the flash drive from his pocket with a flourish. “Do keep watch,” he said, hands already dancing over the keys.

Theo replied with a quick nod, moving so she could sweep the room; standard protocol, just checking for traps or secondary drives. She crouched to check the lower shelves, eyes flickering towards a line of unmarked crates left half-open.

Inside were black crystals, shot through with octarine; not veins, exactly, but fractures that glowed. The fragments were irregular, glassy, sweating condensation that steamed faintly in the cold. The air around them shimmered, distorted by heat and radiation both.

The air shot out of her lungs. 

Oblivinite.

It shouldn’t have been here; hell, it shouldn’t have existed outside Aneterra. The material was eldritch poison: unstable, mutagenic, a slow undoing of everything it touched, even as it showed unimaginable potential. It ate through metal, warped living tissue, corrupted the mind. 

Theo’s knees hit the floor before she realized she was shaking. In the back of her skull, the memory bloomed, unbidden—

—Firelight searing her skin as she fled the burning city, overtaking everything despite the torrential downpour of rain from the sky. Tendrils of contaminated smoke curling, constricting her lungs with every gasp for air. The ache of her muscles as she tore through back alleys, leapt over fences, constantly running, never daring to look behind her. Orders shouted that no one could understand, broken up by the metallic crash of weapons colliding and screams of terror, the ground trembling from collapsing buildings—

Theo blinked hard. The image broke. She was back in the server room, crouched beside a crate full of her worst fears.

She shut the lid, forcing her hands to steady. “You almost done?” Her voice came out hoarse.

“Almost,” he said, not looking up. The screens reflected in his eyes, streams of data scrolling by in pale blue light. “I’d say this has gone remarkably—”

A sound split the air. Not the hum this time, but a wail—high, piercing, lethal. The sound itself seemed to burn, scraping her nerves raw. Theo moved to block Loki from the door before she thought twice, instincts cutting in where reason stalled.  

Blue light strobed from the screens, alternating with the red of the egress lights—blue, red, blue, red—emergency lights, arteries and veins, fire and ice, burning alive or drowning. Thoughts and memories overwhelmed her, threatening to swallow her whole.

She shook her head, desperate to shake the images from her mind. 

“So much for subtle,” she hissed, glaring at Loki.

“Subtlety,” he said, flashing that impossible grin, “is overrated.”

He unplugged the drive, carefully tucking it away in its protective case—as if they had all the time in the world and weren’t about to be gunned down if they didn’t get the hell out—before slowly approaching the exit… 

… And then he threw the door open.

“Go!”

Gunfire exploded through the threshold, sparks tearing across the metal frame. Loki ducked low, eyes flashing gold for an instant before the ward swallowed the glow. The room drowned in crimson light and noise—sirens, shouts, the acrid bite of gunpowder.

Theo froze, pulse roaring in her ears. 

For a moment, she wasn’t in the compound at all. The gunfire became artillery, the hallway became the burning boulevard, the alarm became the siren that had screamed across the city as it fell. Her lungs seized; the metallic scent in the air was the same. She could almost hear the river again—that endless rush beneath collapsing stone.

Loki’s hand caught Theo’s wrist, and with a sharp tug towards him, he wrenched her back to the present. 

From there, her body moved before her mind could catch up—she ran.

The corridors warped under the shifting emergency lights. The sterile white she remembered from the briefing had become a fever dream of steel and glare, every shadow twitching. Her boots hit the grated floor hard enough to echo—and that echo multiplied, splitting into a thundering stampede behind her.

Theo cut down a maintenance passage, lungs dragging air that tasted of iron and ozone. The tang of Oblivinite hung heavy around her: a raw chemical burn, rot beneath antiseptic, alive in a parasitic sort of way, promising ruin in a language the body knows before the mind does.

A flicker; no, a flash.

Smoke-choked streets. Stone facades collapsing. A figure pulling her toward the riverbank—a man whose face she can’t see, whose hands were slick with someone else’s blood.

“Run, your grace—”

The siren dragged her back. She skidded into the stairwell, one hand catching the railing. The metal scalded her palm. The next flight was lit in pulsing crimson, turning the stairwell into the mouth of something monstrous.

Keep moving.

She took the steps two at a time, pain biting through the muscle memory. A security drone screamed past below, light beams carving the air. Theo dropped low, struggling to steady her breath. Her ears rang, vision tunneled—the lines between now and then frayed.

Blue—The night sky, bereft and weeping.

Red—The capital’s horizon, broken and burning.

Blue—The river at night, full of ash, water closing over her head.

Red—The muzzle flash behind her, gunfire swallowed by the current.

The hum of the Oblivinite was deafening now. Theo sprinted, lungs screaming, and slammed her shoulder against a service door until the seal broke.

Cold air flooded in.

The outside air—wet concrete, storm wind, the frozen rain cutting through the chemical haze—crashed into her. Above, the sky flickered in fitful arcs of lightning. 

She didn’t slow until she hit the chain-link boundary fence. Beyond it, the river heaved under the storm, a churning abyss.

Another flare from behind, a scarlet glow—

—The bridge collapsing behind her, a body falling beside her into the current, gone before she could even reach—

She blinked hard, grounding herself on the fence’s wire bite. The metal tore into her palm, leaving blood and torn flesh in its wake. 

Theo scaled the fence, chains rattling from the force of her movement. The alarms from the facility shrieked behind her, peppered with gunshots and shouting. She scrambled over the top, leaping from the fence. 

The moment she landed, the ground gave way beneath her—mud, rocks, and the slick residue of toxic runoff—and she went down with it.

The world exploded into a frozen, dark abyss.

The river swallowed her whole, all oxygen ripped away, her lungs burning. She kicked hard, disoriented, but the current spun her end over end. 

The memories came for her all at once:

The siege.

The crowd on the docks.

The air sirens harmonizing with artillery.

Her hands on a stranger’s back, pushing them toward the water.

The explosion that thrust day into bloody twilight.

The moment the city disappeared behind a curtain of smoke.

When she surfaced in the river, gasping and alone.

A shape in the river—in memory? in now?—reached for her. She didn’t know if it was rescue or ruin. Her vision went white-blue.

Then, heat.

Something—someone—hauled her upward; or maybe it was the current itself throwing her free. She broke the surface coughing, dragging in air so cold it felt like swallowing knives. The storm hammered the river flat around her, and for a second she couldn’t tell if she was back there—the massacre—or here, now, in the wilderness of Argentina.

Theo fought against the current, kicking and grabbing at anything and everything until her body found something to cling to, then dragged herself ashore, clawing through the mud until she reached solid ground. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the low, roiling sky. Her heart wouldn’t slow. The sirens in her skull wouldn’t quiet.

Somewhere behind her, the facility burned—crimson through the night mist. Somewhere ahead, the river carried pieces of a poisoned world.

And in between, Theo lay in the colorless dark, unable to tell whether she had escaped hell or returned to it.

She lay there for a long moment, gasping, trembling uncontrollably, every breath stabbing, a vise tightening itself around her chest with each inhale. The river kept roaring behind her, but she escaped. She was alive...

Barely.

Eventually, Theo staggered upright on shaking legs. Her body was numb, clothes soaked, hair plastered to her face, but if she stayed where she was, she risked being found by the people who wanted her dead. She forced one step, then another, every movement driven by raw stubbornness. The forest blurred around her. She tripped, caught herself, dragged on. 

She didn’t know how long it took. Only that, when the dark outline of the cabin finally appeared through the trees, her knees nearly gave out from relief.

She reached the door, shoved it open, and stumbled inside.

Yeah, but How happy are we, happy are we In our own world Oh happy are we, happy are we, Bare bones, my girl…

---

Author’s Note: *walks in two months late with a Starbucks pumpkin spice latte* uh, hello! It’s been a hot minute… longer than I expected. In retrospect, I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to regularly update during the two busiest months of the year for my job. So next year, if I say I’m going to update during September or October, spray me with a water bottle and remind me what happened this year. 🤣😂

I also tend to do this thing roughly once a year where I question things in the plot and end up rearranging things and rewriting parts, and that also happened. But I’m happy with the flow now! 

Loki’s eyes moved over her in one swift, unflinching pass: the way soaked armor clung to her like a second skin, the dark stains of mud smeared across her forearms, the bruises blooming purple-black along the exposed edges of torn fabric. He’d already changed—black joggers, a green hoodie thrown on over a soft t-shirt—casual, dry, almost like he had been ready for a relaxing evening, until Theo came stumbling in and ruined things. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking once before stilling.

“Fine,” he repeated, disbelief threading through the syllable. His voice was low, almost dangerous, frayed at the edges in a way that betrayed more than irritation. “You are pale as death and wheezing something fierce. What happened?”

“Took a shortcut.”

Something in his expression cracked then; not much, just enough to show the strain beneath the surface. A faint tightening around his eyes, a slow unclenching of the hand that had curled into a fist at his side. When he moved, it wasn’t with his usual feline ease; there was something rougher in it, something that looked almost like fear trying to disguise itself as anger.

“You were meant to circle the ridge.”

“Yeah, well—” her lungs seized mid-sentence, forcing a coughing fit from deep in her chest, “—the ridge didn’t come with a scenic drowning option.” She tried for levity, but it came out thin and broken, her voice splintering on the effort.

Loki’s hand was on her elbow before she could stumble again. His touch was warm—impossibly, achingly warm—radiating through the soaked fabric and into her skin. The contrast to her cold-numbed limbs was almost unbearable.

“Sit,” he said quietly, the word more command than suggestion, though there was something gentler beneath it. He guided her toward the hearth with steady pressure, just enough to anchor her. “Before you collapse and ruin my evening.”

Though she rolled her eyes, the motion was sluggish, her energy spent. She sank into the nearest chair by the fire, the weight of exhaustion settling into her bones like lead. Despite the flames roaring inches away, the heat barely touched her—her clothes were too soaked, her body too cold to remember what warmth felt like. Her fingers, stiff and numb, trembled as she tried to flex them, already dreading the effort it would take to peel herself out of wet armor.

Behind her, she could hear Loki pacing—slow, deliberate, the floor creaking under his feet. The sound was steady, grounding. And though neither spoke again for a long moment, she could feel his gaze on her, sharp and assessing, watching for signs she’d break.

“You are an idiot,” he muttered.

“You’re one to talk.”

His mouth twitched, the faintest crack in his composure. “I am alive and dry, which, by current standards, makes me the more competent among us.”

“Debatable.”

He huffed—half laugh, half exhale. The sound was soft but real, easing something sharp in the air between them. For the first time since she’d burst through the door, Theo saw the tension in his shoulders loosen, just slightly, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it.

“Next time,” she said, forcing her teeth not to chatter, “you could warn me before you set the alarms off.”

“I did not trigger them,” he said, tone shifting into practiced indignation. “You mortals panic at the slightest surprise.”

“Right,” she muttered, “clearly I’m the dramatic one.”

His mouth curved again—barely there, gone before it could be called a smile. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled, throwing shadows that stretched long and flickering across the walls. Rain drummed against the roof, a steady, relentless rhythm. Beneath it all was the quiet hum of something else; not quite relief, not quite restraint, pulsing in the narrow space between them.

Finally, Loki exhaled, a low sound that was more confession than sigh. “You had me worried.”

Theo blinked at him. “You? Worried?”

He arched his brow. “Believe it or not, I’m not in the habit of allowing my partners to perish.”

“Good to know you draw the line somewhere.” She meant it as a joke—light, dismissive—but it fell flat under the weight of his silence. 

Loki didn’t look away. His gaze stayed fixed on her, steady and unreadable, the firelight catching gold in the green of his eyes, and with it, something quieter, heavier. Her pulse stuttered under it, heat creeping up her neck that had nothing to do with the fire.

She broke eye contact first, fumbling with the straps of her utility vest. “You get the data?”

“Of course.” His voice softened, smoothed out. “Though I admit, the success was less satisfying without your constant commentary.”

“Can’t imagine you missed it.”

“On the contrary,” he murmured, and this time his tone dipped—low, deliberate. “It was far too quiet without you.”

Theo froze halfway through peeling off her gloves. The leather stuck to her skin, damp and unyielding. Her throat went dry. Loki’s words hung in the air like static, too casual to be harmless, too sincere to be ignored. There was a razor-thin edge beneath his charm, and she wasn’t sure whether to lean into it or run from it.

If Loki noticed her stillness, he didn’t comment. He only stepped closer, reaching past her to toss another log onto the fire. The movement brought him near enough that the sleeve of his sweater brushed her arm—light, unintentional, but enough to make her breath catch. He smelled like rain and cedar and smoke, and something faintly like soap beneath it.

The log caught, sending a burst of sparks up the chimney. For a moment, the room was awash with a golden glow.

He straightened slowly, eyes flicking down to the tremor still in her hands. “You ought to shower; change into dry clothes,” he said, voice pitched lower now, softer but leaving no room for argument. “Before you freeze solid.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re blue.”

“I’m cold,” she scowled, half-hearted. “That’s different.”

“The two are not mutually exclusive,” he said lightly, but his gaze lingered a beat too long. He straightened to his full height, the commanding edge slipping back into his posture like armor reaffixed. “There’s plenty of hot water. Spare towels in the cabinet. I’ll fetch your go-bag so you’ll have some clothes to change into.”

Theo hesitated, aware that the firelight caught just enough of her shaking to betray her. Her pride warred with the heavy, bone-deep exhaustion dragging at every muscle. “You’re awfully bossy for someone who nearly got us both shot.”

He raised a brow, his expression sharpening back into something almost comfortable: banter as defense. “And you are awfully argumentative for someone on the verge of hypothermia. Go.”

The word carried more weight than it should have. Not a command, exactly; more like an insistence, but also laced with something gentler. It sounded almost like care, if she let herself believe it.

She muttered something impolite under her breath, but pushed herself up and dragged herself toward the small adjoining room. Each step squelched with the water pooled in her boots, leaving a dark trail across the floor. Her body screamed with every motion: armor suctioned tight to her skin, bruises burning beneath it, muscles quivering like overstrung wires. The movement made her dizzy, vision flickering at the edges, but she kept going. Pride was a stubborn thing.

In the time it took her to reach the bathroom, Loki had already crossed the cabin. She didn’t hear him move—just turned and found him there, impossibly composed, a black duffel bag slung over one arm. Without a word, he held it out.

Theo hesitated for a heartbeat, the firelight glancing off the edge of his sleeve, painting his fingers gold. Then she took the bag, careful not to brush his hand as she did.

“Thanks,” she managed, voice soft and frayed.

A single nod. Nothing more. But his eyes flicked over her again, quick and assessing, before he stepped back to give her space.

She shut the door with more force than she meant, the sound cracking through the small space. The echo hung for a beat before fading into the hum of the pipes. Theo pressed her forehead to the wood, breath coming shallow and ragged, fogging faintly in the chill. Her pulse still thudded in her ears, that low, riverborne roar that hadn’t quite left her.

One thing at a time.

Her fingers fumbled for the buckles of her chest plate. They were stiff and uncooperative, and her hands felt like they belonged to someone else—numb, clumsy, shaking. Every clasp seemed to weigh a hundred pounds, each release a small battle. The straps bit into her shoulders as she wrestled them free, dragging raw skin beneath. Her armor hit the tile with a dull, wet clatter, the sound oddly final.

The rest followed: sodden layers, cold fabric suctioned to her skin, jerking free only with painful tugs. Her muscles screamed protest at every movement, fire scraping across bruises that hadn’t yet finished blooming. When she finally stumbled into the shower stall, the effort left her dizzy, bracing against the wall to keep from crumpling.

The water came hot—too hot—and she didn’t wait for it to even out. It hit her skin in a near-scalding torrent, steam billowing around her in suffocating clouds. The heat should have been a comfort, should have chased away the cold that had sunk into her bones, but instead it felt like being buried alive under something heavy and wet. The pounding of the spray on her shoulders became the current again, merciless and deafening.

When the water streamed over her face, she flinched hard, instinctive and sharp, a choked sound escaping her as her lungs seized. Suddenly she was under again—the press of the river closing in, lungs burning, the world spinning into black.

Theo stumbled back, one hand clutching at the tile, the other thrown out like she could push the memory away. She gasped, coughed, trembled, every nerve screaming river, water, drowning—

Her palms met the wall, flat and firm, anchoring her.

Breathe. This isn’t the river. You’re not in Aneterra. You’re on Earth. You’re safe.

She repeated it over and over, a quiet mantra dragged through her teeth until the words began to sound like they had meaning again. The heat sank into her muscles by degrees, dulling the ache, quieting the tremors from violent convulsions to a constant, grinding shake. Her shoulders slumped, and the water’s rhythm became something she could almost stand to listen to.

By the time she forced herself to shut it off, she was hollow empty and raw. Her skin was mottled pink, stinging in places where the river had kissed too hard. Exhaustion draped itself over her like a heavy cloak. Each inhale still felt like dragging breath through a straw, her chest tight and unwilling. Her inhaler alone wasn’t going to cut it tonight.

At least in here, with the door locked and steam curling thick enough to hide in, she could use the nebulizer. Here, she didn’t have to brace for Loki’s scrutiny or his questions—questions that would be gentle, yes, but unbearable all the same. He already saw too much.

When she started to towel herself dry, the motion drew her eyes downward… And froze them there.

Amid the web of raw, red scrapes, a long, jagged gash traced along her ribs: angry, crimson, already darkening at the edges. Fresh bruises bloomed up her hip and shoulder in a wash of purples and sickly blues, promising a morning full of stiffness and regret. Blood had begun to crust in uneven scabs along her side.

“Perfect,” she muttered, the word hollow and rasped, more air than sound.

She reached for her go-bag, retrieving the small, battered med kit within. Inside, everything was arranged with soldier’s precision: gauze, antiseptic, tape, and tucked to the side, the nebulizer. 

Routine. Control. Something she could still do right.

She set everything on the narrow counter, lining it up with mechanical efficiency. If she stayed in here too long, Loki would notice; he noticed everything. But if she ran the nebulizer while treating the wound, she could mask both the time and the sound.

Theo turned on the faucet, letting the hiss of running water fill the air, then pieced together the nebulizer with slow, practiced movements. She slipped on the mask, pressed the switch, and the low, steady, hum began. Cool mist curled around itself in the mask, waiting for her to breathe it in.

Then came the hard part.

With one hand, she eased the edge of the wound open, checking for grit or fragments. Her stomach turned at the sight—too deep, too ugly—but she forced herself to stay clinical. The other hand fumbled for the irrigation bottle, nestling the tip carefully into the gash.

A slow squeeze sent saline dribbling down her side, pink-tinged water streaking her side before soaking into the towel. The antiseptic that followed burned so sharply she hissed through clenched teeth, biting back the sound, but a small gasp still escaped, thin and trembling.

Her hand shook when she reached for the gauze, and she cursed softly under her breath, the sound muffled by the nebulizer’s low drone. She hissed again, lower this time, teeth bared. The sound disappeared into the hiss of the nebulizer and the steady trickle of the faucet, but the sting still clawed at her nerves. A faint tremor ran through her arm as she dabbed at the blood with gauze, the movement jerky and uneven.

Her reflection in the mirror was little more than a ghost—steam-fogged, half-formed, pale eyes staring back through the condensation. The mask’s plastic edges pressed cold against her cheekbones, the low hum of the nebulizer rattling faintly near her chest. For a moment, she barely recognized the woman staring back.

“Get it together,” she muttered, voice muffled by the mask.

She worked quickly after that, disinfectant pads trembling in her fingers as she swiped them along the gash. The burn was immediate, electric. She bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to taste copper. Her breath hitched; the nebulizer whined softly, rising and falling in rhythm with her pulse.

The cabinet mirror rattled when she bumped it reaching for the bandages. She froze, listening— beyond the door, the storm still murmured against the windows, but beneath that she thought she heard something else: the quiet creak of a floorboard, a shift of weight just outside the room.

Theo’s stomach dropped.

She turned the faucet a little higher, hoping the noise would drown out the sounds inside; her uneven breathing, the rustle of gauze, the hiss of the nebulizer. Her heart was hammering far too loudly.

All right in there?” Loki’s voice drifted through the door; smooth, unhurried, carrying that deceptive ease she’d learned to distrust.

“Peachy!” she said, too quickly, the word bouncing off tile and sounding brittle even to her own ears.

A pause followed—weighted, deliberate. She could almost hear the tilt of his head in it. “Your response was far from convincing.”

Theo muttered a curse under her breath, the lingering sting of antiseptic sharp as she pressed gauze against the wound. “You’re eavesdropping.”

“Listening,” he corrected, his voice edged with amusement. “I cannot help it, given the loud volume of your distressed sounds.”

She exhaled sharply, the sound caught somewhere between annoyance and a wince. “I dropped the soap.”

“You do remember I am the god of lies, darling?” he said, and she could picture the infuriating arch of his brow even through the door. “Or ought I be concerned about potential head trauma?”

Theo bit back a sound that was half laugh, half groan, pressing harder on the gauze. “I hate you.”

“And yet,” Loki drawled, “you’re willing to convince the public that you’re enamored with me.”

The corners of her mouth twitched despite herself. “Why are you like this?”

“You’re smiling,” he said, and his voice was closer now; she could hear the faint shift of weight against the wood, feel the ghost of his presence just beyond the threshold.

“Am not.”

“I can hear it.”

She rolled her eyes at the fog-slick wall, knowing the effort was useless when her lips had already betrayed her. “Go away, Loki.”

“As you wish, darling.” The faintest smile threaded through his tone, warm and teasing. 

Even through the wooden door and the rush of water, she could feel it; heat bleeding through from the other side, something that lingered long after his footsteps faded.

Theo let herself sag against the counter, the strength draining out of her all at once. Her side ached where the edge of the counter pressed into them. She finished cleaning the wound with clumsy efficiency, hands moving on autopilot. Gauze, tape, pressure. Every motion felt like it took more effort than it should.

When it was finally done, she leaned against the wall, letting the nebulizer run out the last of its cycle. The faint medicinal smell filled the room—saline and albuterol mixing with antiseptic and steam, acrid and sterile.

Her hands were still trembling when she shut the machine off. The silence, somehow, rang in her ears.

She wrapped the towel tighter around herself and leaned on the sink for balance. The fog on the mirror had begun to clear in streaks, revealing her reflection again—wet hair clinging to her temples, bandages stark against bruised skin, eyes too wide and too tired. 

For a moment, she wished she could stay here, sealed in the hum and steam—away from his questions, from the weight of the river still pressing phantom-heavy on her chest.

But the knock would come eventually. Loki’s curiosity was never idle.

And sure enough… Three soft taps against the door, almost cautious.

“Theo?” His voice was gentler this time. “Are you—” a brief hesitation, then, “—still fine?”

She blinked at her reflection, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Define fine,” she muttered under her breath.

Louder, she called back, “Yeah... Almost done.”

“Good,” he said, but didn’t move away immediately. “Try not to drown in there, will you?”

The words were light, but the echo of what he didn’t say lingered in the space between them. 

“Hah,” Theo exhaled, too harshly. She swallowed, throat tight. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

For a moment, Loki said nothing, though Theo still felt his presence through the door. Then, he sighed. “See that you don’t.” 

His footsteps retreated, slow and deliberate, until she couldn’t hear him anymore.

Only when she was sure he’d gone did she let out the breath she’d been holding. 

Dressing was another battle. Her hands refused to work properly, fumbling with the hem of her thermal shirt as she struggled to tug it over her head. The long sleeves stuck to half-scabbed scrapes, sending shocks of pain down her arms. Pulling on sweatpants felt like dragging sandpaper across her overly sensitive skin. Even with thick wool socks, her feet still felt frozen.

She packed up her bag, tucking away the empty gauze packages and medication canister to ensure no evidence of her patch up was left behind. Every movement felt like swimming through molasses; her limbs were heavy, her chest still tight, but the trembling had somewhat eased. 

Finally, with everything put away, she glanced toward the door once more, then reached for the handle. She braced herself for whatever expression waited for her on the other side: worry, exasperation, or maybe something between the two. Maybe something else entirely. 

She turned the knob, opened the door, and made her way back to the main room.

When she returned, the main room smelled of pine smoke and wet earth; almost musty, but not unpleasantly so. The fire snapped lazily in the hearth, its light painting the cabin in slow, amber sweeps. Shadows wavered along the walls—long, soft-edged things that swayed with the wind’s sigh outside.

Loki sat on one side of the couch, angled toward the fire but just far enough away to avoid its direct warmth. A book rested open in his lap, though his finger sat idle between the pages, marking a place he clearly hadn’t read past in some time. He looked entirely out of place and perfectly at home all at once: sleek, unbothered, long legs crossed, a study in elegance against rough-hewn wood and wool… Far too composed for someone in the middle of a botched espionage mission.

Theo hovered near the doorway for a beat too long, unsure whether the tension in her shoulders was from the cold or from being seen. Her skin still tingled faintly where the hot water had scoured it, every nerve humming under her shirt. She could feel Loki’s gaze before she caught it: sharp and assessing, a single flick of the eyes that took her in from head to toe. Once was all it took; his glances were never careless.

“Better?” he asked.

His tone was mild, but the question wasn’t casual. Beneath it was something more; concern disguised in wit, interest wrapped in indifference.

“Warmer,” she said, pulling her arms around herself. The motion made her ribs protest, but she ignored it. She claimed the other end of the couch, leaving a cautious stretch of space between them. “Don’t suppose you made tea?”

“I’m a god, not a barista.”

“Tragic,” she murmured, the corner of her mouth twitching despite everything.

Loki’s lips curved, not quite a smile but dangerously close. He reached to the side table, fingers curling around a mug she hadn’t noticed before. Steam coiled upward in delicate ribbons, carrying the faint, floral warmth through the air. He held it out toward her without fanfare. “Fortunately,” he said, tone smooth as ever, “I can multitask.”

Theo blinked, caught off guard. “You—” she started, faltered, the thought refusing to form properly. She took the mug with hands that still trembled, the porcelain warm enough to sting against her raw fingers. “—did you actually make—”

“Don’t look so shocked,” Loki cut in lightly, though his voice softened almost imperceptibly. “I’m perfectly capable of boiling water without destroying civilization.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, setting the mug against her knee. “Barely,” she said, and the teasing came out gentler than she meant.

Steam ghosted against her face as she blew on the surface, the scent—chamomile, rose hips, mint—tugging something loose in her chest. He always kept her favorite tea on hand. The reminder caught her off guard, a small warmth beneath the larger one.

“Seriously though,” she said after a moment, glancing at him sidelong, “thanks. You didn’t have to.”

Firelight flickered against his face, catching the faintest gleam in his eyes; half amusement, half something deeper. “Careful, darling,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with that familiar tease. “Gratitude might ruin your reputation.”

“I’ll risk it,” she said, and this time the smile that followed wasn’t forced.

She took a sip. The first swallow burned, then bloomed, warmth spreading outward from her chest until the tremors in her hands eased slightly. The fire crackled, the wind pressed softly against the cabin walls, and for the first time in hours, her pulse began to slow. Loki had gone back to pretending to read, but she could feel his awareness still tilted toward her, quiet and steady as a heartbeat she didn’t want to think about.

The adrenaline that had carried her through the river and the storm began to ebb, leaving her hollow, shaken, and emptied out from the inside. Her pulse still beat too fast, but it felt disconnected, like it belonged to someone else. The river’s roar hadn’t left her; it echoed in her skull in waves, each crash dredging up flashes she didn’t want—didn’t dare—to see. The massacre. The shimmer of black crystal, veins shot through with unnatural octarine light. Oblivinite. The static hum that sank into the bones and stayed there, corrupting, whispering.

She tried to steady her breathing, but all she saw were shards of it—black crystal bleeding poison through the air, through her magic, through her. The same way the river had—cold, choking, merciless. Her skin still burned where the current had dragged her under, her ribs still ached as if crushed by invisible hands. It wasn’t water anymore she felt pressing against her—it was memory, thick and suffocating.

Oblivinite. Again. Here, of all places. The thought scraped across her mind like broken glass. How many caches were hidden, how far did the contamination spread, and how long before she’d have to face it head-on instead of by accident?

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Tiny tremors worked their way up her arms, a betrayal she couldn’t will away.

When she finally looked up, Loki’s eyes were already on her. He wasn’t pretending to read anymore. His expression had softened in a way she rarely saw; stripped of its usual edge or irony. There was concern there, yes, but also recognition, the quiet understanding of someone who knew what it was to be haunted.

The storm rattled the shutters. The fire sank lower, its glow dimming to a pulse of emberlight. Between them, the air carried an uneasy stillness—no longer sharp with threat, but dense with something quieter, heavier.

Theo drained the rest of her tea, letting the heat bite at her tongue just to remind herself she was still here. She tried not to feel how his gaze lingered even after she looked away.

“You’re trembling still,” he said quietly.

“I’m not,” Theo whispered. Her voice came out raw, thin. She shifted, pulling a blanket around her shoulders with a too-careful motion that was supposed to look casual. “See? Fine.”

But the fine tremors gave her away. They rippled through the fabric, betrayed by the faint quiver of porcelain as she set her mug down. She tucked her hands under her thighs, hiding them.

Loki noticed. Of course he did. His gaze flicked down, then back to her face, not a single word passing his lips. Instead, he turned toward the hearth, took up the poker, and stirred the coals with deliberate calm. 

Sparks leapt, bright and fleeting. The renewed flames licked upward, washing the room in waves of gold and shadow. Heat reached her skin, prickling along her arms, the sensation almost too much after the cold.

“I have seen you in battle,” Loki said finally, his voice measured, smooth as water over stone. “I have watched you walk through fire and blood without faltering.” He angled his head slightly, studying her with unnerving precision. “And yet…” His eyes narrowed just enough to betray the shift: curiosity, concern, something sharper beneath both. “Whatever you faced tonight—it is not something I will accept as nothing.”

Theo’s throat tightened, a sharp, painful pull. She tried to summon a deflection, something cutting or clever, but nothing came. The words tangled in her chest. She didn’t trust her voice,  didn’t trust what might break open if she tried to use it.

So she closed her eyes instead. Curled tighter under the blanket, let the fire’s light spill across her face without looking at him. “I’m fine,” she murmured, the words soft and hollow. A lie that didn’t even pretend to hold weight. It tasted like ash in her mouth.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled, the storm pressed at the windows, and something in the silence between them began to hum, unsteady, impossibly fragile.

Then, she felt it. A touch; barely there, but real. Loki’s hand, resting on her shoulder. Not restraining, not coaxing. Just there. Steady. Grounding. The warmth of his skin cut through the fog in her chest like the first spark of air after surfacing from too long underwater.

“I know you are not being truthful,” he said, his tone softer now, the sharp edges filed away. “I recognize you may not be able to speak of what transpired—for that, I will not judge.” A pause, deliberate, almost tender. “I simply ask for your honesty in how it has affected you.”

His hand lingered a heartbeat longer, then lifted away. The absence left her colder than before.

Outside, sleet thickened into snow, muffling the world to silence. Each flake struck the cabin roof with a soft, persistent tap, like a metronome marking the passing of the night. Inside, the fire burned low, its glow flickering across the room and painting shifting patterns on the walls. Exhaustion tugged at her muscles, coiling tight and heavy, each limb aching as if gravity had doubled. The echoes of the river and the ruins, the black-veined crystals, drifted at the edges of her mind, hovering just beyond her focus, waiting for her in the dark.

“You ought to eat something before you pass out on the sofa.”

Theo cracked one eye open, squinting through the haze of fatigue, and found Loki standing—or rather, leaning casually against the arm of the couch at the far end. His posture was relaxed, but the tilt of his head, the faint crease between his brows, the way one hand rested lightly on the back of the couch betrayed attention, concern, calculation. The firelight caught in his hair and highlighted the precise lines of his face, making him look impossibly composed.

“Not hungry,” she muttered, dragging the words out, her voice hoarse, almost swallowed by the blanket she had pulled around her shoulders.

“Last I checked, mortals require sustenance,” he said, tilting his chin toward her. His eyes narrowed just slightly, sharp but unreadable.

Theo let out a soft huff of laughter, though it came uneven, ragged. She tugged the blanket tighter around her, tucking her chin against it. “Way to sound like an alien.”

“Again, darling, I am a god,” he replied smoothly, shifting his weight slightly, the couch creaking beneath him. “... Still, you are deflecting.” His gaze didn’t leave her; patient, amused, slightly challenging.

“I don’t think I could eat right now,” Theo admitted, dragging one hand down her face, rubbing at her jaw, trying to sweep away the lingering chill and the ache threading through her bones. “Maybe later.”

“If you’re refusing food, you may as well turn in for the evening.”

She let a weary smile slip, shoulders slumping a fraction into the cushions. “Are you telling me to go to bed?” Her voice wavered at the end, uncertain and tired, but she didn’t look away.

“I’d rather that than you snore on the sofa,” he said, lips twitching just enough to hint at amusement. His eyes glimmered in the firelight.

“And deny yourself the luxury of a bed?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, trying to hide the pull of curiosity—and the faint flutter of nerves—behind a mask of humor.

“Who said anything about denial?” Loki countered smoothly, leaning back on one elbow. “Seems there is sufficient room for both of us.”

Theo blinked at him, foggy brain catching the words slowly. Her pulse stuttered, but not entirely from exhaustion. “You’re serious?” Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, twisting the fabric tight around her palms.

“You’ve had a long day, and I’m hardly scandalized by proximity.” He tilted his head, green eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Unless you are?”

She shook her head—slow, deliberate, the movement pulling at sore muscles. “No... Just thought you’d want the bed all to yourself.”

“Please,” Loki’s mouth curved into that particular smile that always spelled trouble. “I’ve shared sleeping quarters with many drunken Aesir warriors, Thor, and too many varieties of beasts to name. You are an upgrade.”

That startled a laugh out of Theo, soft but genuine, before she could stop it. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Only when it serves a practical purpose,” he said lightly. Before she could think of a protest, he was already on his feet, extending a hand.

He didn’t leave space for her arguments; simply tugged her gently upright, steadying her when her legs faltered. The warmth of his palm against her arm sent an unexpected pulse through her chest, steadying and unnerving all at once. Without ceremony, he guided her toward the bed, moving with an ease that made it clear he’d already decided this was happening.

By the time she sank onto the mattress, breath shaky, she thought he might finally leave. But instead, Loki swept aside the blankets and slipped in beside her, movements fluid and deliberate as though the decision had already been made in some unspoken place between them.

Theo blinked, pulse jumping. “What are you doing?”

He settled onto his side, facing her, one arm draped above the covers. “Keeping you warm.”

Her jaw dropped. “That’s not your job.”

“No,” he agreed easily, voice low and even, “but I’m not about to let you freeze.”

Theo opened her mouth, shut it, opened it again… And gave up.

After a long silence, he murmured, “Rest, Theo. I’ll keep the watch.”

“Liar,” she mumbled into the pillow, words thick with exhaustion.

“Only sometimes.” He smiled faintly, voice like velvet in the night. 

Theo turned onto her side, pulling the blankets high around her chin in a vain attempt at distance. But there was no escaping the reality: the bed dipped with his weight, the heat of him radiating steadily into the cold sheets, his presence a line of gravity she couldn’t quite pull away from.

Her body, a traitorous thing, reacted before her mind could catch up. Her frozen skin thawed inch by inch, tension melting from her muscles with every breath that carried his warmth across the scant space between them. She could hear him breathing: slow, measured, steady.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about him. It’s just warmth, just practicality.

But the details wouldn’t stop catching her attention: the faint brush of his knee shifting beneath the covers, the way the mattress dipped closer when he rolled minutely toward her, the ghost of heat at her shoulder as if he might close that final inch. Her pulse jumped at the thought, and she buried her face in the pillow, as if darkness could shield her from her own awareness.

Not feelings, she reminded herself fiercely. Exhaustion. Survival. Nothing more.

Yet as her eyes drifted shut, she felt the shift of the mattress, subtle but sure, and then the unmistakable weight of an arm sliding around her waist. The warmth at her back deepened, the steady press of his chest aligning with her spine, and she realized dimly he was careful, not trapping, leaving space enough that she could pull free if she chose.

She didn’t.

Instead, her body betrayed her almost instantly. Every shiver of frozen muscle, every ache from the river and the chase, found relief in the warmth radiating from him, found comfort in his touch. Her chest rose and fell against the faint rhythm of his breathing, and for a terrifying, dizzying moment, she felt safe—truly, completely safe.

And that made her recoil inwardly.

Not real, she silently told herself. Not what it feels like. Just practical. Just warm.

And yet… here she was. His arm curved around her waist, warm and steady, just enough to anchor her without smothering. His chest pressed lightly against her back, pulse slow, measured, and somehow grounding. The juxtaposition made her chest tighten, relief and panic tangled in the same breath.

Her body remembered fear—the river’s rush, the suffocating cold, the helpless thrashing—but Loki’s presence muted it, offering her a shelter from the storm.

Her thoughts spun. She shouldn’t. She couldn’t. And yet, her cheek brushed against the mattress just centimeters from the curve of his shoulder, and she found herself leaning into it, even as she berated herself for needing it.

Still, her body refused to let go of the heat, the steady rhythm, the improbable calm that pulled her under. She gripped the blanket, white-knuckled, trying to anchor herself against the tide of emotions she didn’t want: trauma and longing, fear and comfort, chaos and warmth, all crashing together as she barely kept herself from falling apart.

Sleep claimed her in the end, despite the ache, despite the fear. And even as darkness folded her under, she knew she’d remember this—the weight of his arm around her, the steady warmth of him at her back, the rare, impossible feeling of safety—long after the cold was gone.

How happy are we, happy are we In our own world Oh happy are we, happy are we, Bare bones, my girl…

—

Author’s Note: Oops, my hand slipped and this chapter suddenly turned into a long one. But hey, I didn’t want to split it up, so here you go!!

Theo startled slightly at the sound of her nickname. Only a few people still called her that, and only one person still used the nickname publicly.

She turned to see Ravenna step out from the glow of the ballroom, her violet cloak brushing the floor. The faintly luminous sigils from her completed rite traced delicate constellations along her collarbones, fading and reappearing with each heartbeat. The crown she’d been bestowed with that morning caught the aurora lights above the city, gleaming gold and violet at once.

“You’re missing the best part,” Ravenna said, coming closer. “I think the Duke of Myrien just challenged half the Council to a dance-off.”

Theo smirked. “And you’re out here instead of joining them?”

“I needed a moment,” Ravenna admitted, resting her hands on the railing beside her. The air between them shimmered faintly as the balcony wards adjusted to accommodate another presence. “It’s strange, isn’t it? One ceremony, and suddenly everyone looks at me like I’m someone else.”

Theo tilted her head. “You don’t like it?”

Ravenna considered, eyes fixed on the sea. “I do… I think. It’s what I’ve been preparing for all my life—what I’m meant to do. But now that it’s real…” She exhaled, and her breath fogged faintly against the warded air. “It feels heavier than I imagined. Beautiful, but heavy. I think it’ll take some time to get used to.”

Theo hesitated, tracing the edge of the rail with her fingertip. “What if you find out it isn’t what you thought it would be?”

Ravenna turned toward her. “What do you mean?”

“What if you can’t lead the way you hoped to? Or if you realize… it’s not what you want after all?”

“Leenie…” Ravenna frowned slightly, softening after a beat. “… Is this about me, or about you?”

Theo blinked, caught. “What?”

Her sister’s smile was gentle but knowing. “You’ve been quiet all week, ever since the ceremony began. You think I don’t notice?”

“It’s nothing,” Theo tried, dropping her gaze. 

“It’s not nothing.” Ravenna leaned in, her voice quieter now. “Is this about your own rite?”

Theo bit the inside of her cheek, and didn’t answer.

Ravenna sighed, but her hand came to rest lightly on Theo’s arm. “You’ll get there,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be soon. The path isn’t the same for everyone. You’ve always done things your own way.”

Theo almost smiled at that. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Mother used to say you were born under a star that didn’t want to share the sky,” Ravenna teased, then softened again. “You don’t need to be afraid. You’ll find your Ascendieu’s light again, even if it takes time.”

Theo looked out toward the dark sea, where faint lightning flickered across distant storm clouds. “And if I don’t?” she asked quietly.

Ravenna didn’t flinch from the question. “Then you’ll still have me,” she said simply. “You always will.”

Theo looked at her, surprised by the certainty in her tone. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Ravenna smiled, brushing a strand of wind-tossed hair from Theo’s face. “You’re not rid of me that easily.”

The balcony doors opened again with a burst of music and golden light. A few of Ravenna’s friends spilled out, laughing and flushed from champagne and dance. One of them raised a glass. “Dynaste Ravenna! The next round of toasts awaits!”

Ravenna groaned under her breath, but her hand found Theo’s again. “Come on. If I have to endure five more speeches about my destiny, you’re suffering through them with me.”

Theo hesitated, looking back at the sea—the Shrine Isles a faint shadow on the horizon, the Whispering Summit towering in the distance. Her sister’s hand was warm in hers, the glow of the ascension marks faintly lighting their joined fingers.

“Alright,” Theo said softly.

The two of them stepped back into the light.

Inside, the hall gleamed with motion and color: chandeliers spun with levitating crystals, glasses refilled themselves in perfect sync, and banners of golden script drifted through the air, weaving congratulations in a dozen tongues. Ravenna was swept into the center of it instantly, radiant and composed, her laughter like the flare of a spell.

Theo followed close behind, smiling when people looked at her, laughing when she was supposed to.

But something in the air shifted.

The chandeliers flickered. The banners froze midair, their letters dripping like molten ink. Somewhere behind her, someone whispered—softly at first, then again, closer.

Theolene.

She turned. The crowd had blurred into silhouettes, their eyes faintly luminescent, mouths moving soundlessly. The music warped, thinning into a single trembling tone that set her teeth on edge.

You can’t leave.

Theo stumbled backward. “What—?”

You’ll never escape.

The marble floor rippled under her heels. The scent of wine and smoke turned sharp and briny. The walls began to sway like curtains of water, colors bleeding into one another.

All that power, and for what?

The floor gave way beneath her.

Cold swallowed everything.

Theo plunged into the river, the shock of it knifing through her lungs. The current caught her instantly, dragging her down through darkness lit only by glints of ghostly gold—the echoes of chandeliers, dissolving into silt.

She kicked upward, desperate, the pressure crushing her chest. Just as her fingers broke the surface—air, light, anything—the river seized her again and pulled her under.

The voices rose with the current, overlapping, circling.

Run, cursed moon, while you can—

You’ll never ascend.

You’ll never be enough.

All you ever do is run.

The words tangled with her pulse, snagging on every frantic beat as the water surged in again—cold, black, merciless. It flooded her ears first, a deafening roar that swallowed every other sound. Then her mouth. Then her throat. She tried to scream, but her lungs seized around the torrent, tightening until they felt like they were collapsing inward, crushed by pressure and panic.

She clawed for the surface that wasn’t there. Darkness pressed from all sides, thick and heavy, an endless weight smothering the last shreds of thought. Every kick felt slower than the last, her limbs moving through the water as though dragged by invisible hands.

And yet—beneath the roar—something flickered.

Faint. Strained. A fracture in the suffocating silence.

A voice.

“Theo—“

Barely a whisper. Barely sound at all. But it didn’t belong to the river. Didn’t belong to the dark. She latched onto it instinctively, trying to turn toward it, to reach it, to breathe it in—

The current yanked her down so hard her stomach lurched. Her head snapped back, cold slicing down her spine.

“Theo.”

Louder this time. Threaded with something sharp—urgency, fear, realness. It tugged at her mind even as the water pulled at her limbs.

She tried to lift her head, to break the surface she could no longer see. Her muscles burned. Her chest convulsed, trying—and failing—to drag in air that wasn’t there. Her ribs felt like they were splintering.

Breathe, the voice said. But not from the river. Not from the dark. From somewhere else—somewhere warm, somewhere alive.

Her chest spasmed violently, a desperate, instinctive lurch for oxygen that sent knives of pain through her lungs. The suffocating pressure squeezed tighter, as if the river itself was furious at her for trying.

The water roared louder, swallowing everything—

—light cracked open across the darkness, a white, jagged flash that seared through the deep like a lightning strike—

—the voice cut through it one last time, breaking with urgency and something like fear—

“Theo!”

With a sharp, panicked gasp, Theo tore awake, the sound ripped from her lungs like something breaking. Air scraped down her throat like a mouthful of shattered glass. For one blinding, disoriented moment she was convinced she was still underwater—the dark pressing against her ribs, the taste of salt burning at the back of her tongue, her lungs cinched tight and screaming for air that wasn’t there.

She jerked upright—or tried to. The sheets clung to her legs like dragging currents, twisting around her ankles as she kicked against them. Her hands clawed for the nightstand, fingers numb and clumsy, knocking into wood, into nothing, into everything all at once. She pawed for the familiar shape of her inhaler, desperate, frantic—

Nothing. Just emptiness.

Her breath faltered. The inhale collapsed in her chest like a slammed door.

Panic surged hot and feral, exploding through her veins so fast it blurred her vision. White static crawled across the edges of her sight, eating the room. She couldn’t tell where the dark ended and the memory of drowning began. Her whole body lunged forward without thought—her bag, she needed her bag, why wasn’t it by the bed, where was it, why couldn’t she—

Then—hands.

Large ones, warm, steady. One closed around her wrist, stopping her wild, lurching movement with a grip that was firm but careful, grounding her in a way that cut through the chaos for a fraction of a second. The other hand pressed something into her palm.

Hard plastic. Familiar weight.

Her inhaler.

Theo didn’t think—there was no room left for thought. She yanked it to her lips with shaking fingers, barely managing to fit the mouthpiece between her teeth. Her thumb slipped once, twice—her whole hand quivering too violently to obey her—but then—

A hiss.

Blessed, chemical air filled her mouth. She dragged it in, but her lungs seized halfway, convulsing around the breath as if unsure whether to take it in or spit it out. She tried again—another hiss—and the world flickered: firelight, darkness, the thunder of her pulse in her ears, the phantom weight of water crushing down, the warmth of a hand still bracing her wrist.

“Slowly,” Loki murmured.

His voice cut through the noise like a line thrown to a drowning swimmer—low, even, impossibly calm. “Good. Breathe in… hold it… now out. Slowly.”

Theo tried. She tried. But her chest shuddered violently, each breath a jagged, uneven thing that felt wrong, too shallow, too fast, too much like suffocating. She wasn’t sure if she was breathing or drowning again. Her ribs ached as though the water were still there, still squeezing tight around her sternum. Her body didn’t know the difference.

But his voice—Loki—was steady. Anchored. Unmoving.

“Again,” Loki whispered, gentler this time. “You’re safe. With me. Breathe.”

Theo latched onto the sound of him, focused on the words, the exaggerated inhales and drawn out exhales, clinging to his reassurance in the all-consuming dark.

The trembling began to ease—first in her hands, then in the tiny muscles around her eyes, then in the breath that no longer felt like it was fighting its way through a collapsing chest. The room slowly came back into focus, solidifying around her like something emerging from fog. The soft, amber glow from the dying fire flickered across the walls; the faint scent of smoke and old wood drifted through the air; the mattress dipped beneath both their weights, familiar and real in a way her own body wasn’t yet.

And then there was him.

The solid line of Loki’s arm braced behind her back was the only thing stopping her from folding in on herself; not by restraint, but in its steadiness, serving as a pillar in the dark. Somehow that made her feel both safer and more breakable.

The panic drained out of her in a sick, shivering wave, leaving nothing but hollow exhaustion in its wake. A ringing lingered in her ears, the echo of her pulse still too loud.

When she finally lowered the inhaler, her fingers went slack. Loki caught it before it could fall, his hand closing around hers with a quiet certainty that startled her. He didn’t speak—didn’t rush to fill the lingering silence with questions or concern. He simply reached past her to set the inhaler on the nightstand, his movements slow and precise, as if any sudden motion might snap the thin thread holding her together.

His arm stayed where it was, a calm, unmoving weight behind her ribs.

Her throat worked around the words. “Sorry,” she rasped. Her voice sounded scraped raw, like something dragged over stone. “I—”

“Don’t.” The word was soft but certain, the kind of gentle that left no room for argument. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

No pity. No sharp inhale of sympathy. No dismissal. Just truth, given without hesitation.

It unraveled something deep inside her—something she hadn’t known she’d been holding in place. Theo let out a breath that wavered at the edges, then pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, as if she could scrub away the lingering images clinging to her skull. 

“It was just—too real. It felt like—”

Her voice cracked cleanly in half; the rest lodged in her throat like debris.

Loki didn’t fill the silence. He didn’t prompt or soothe or correct. He simply shifted closer, the mattress dipping as he angled himself enough to draw her gently into his side. He moved like someone approaching a frightened creature: quiet, steady, asking nothing. And when she didn’t flinch away, didn't tense, didn't retreat, his hand settled between her shoulder blades.

His fingers began tracing slow, grounding circles through the thin fabric of her shirt.

At first, Theo’s muscles trembled beneath his touch, leftover adrenaline clinging to her nerves like static. Her breath hitched on every other exhale, her body bracing for a threat that no longer existed. But the circles continued: unhurried, steady, impossibly patient. His thumb brushed the curve of her spine in a pattern that was neither calculated nor careless… Just present.

Bit by bit, her body began to believe him. Her shoulders eased. Her ribcage loosened. Each breath came a fraction deeper, no longer edged with pain.

Her cheek drifted until it rested near his shoulder, her temple brushing the warm line where his collarbone met the base of his throat. The heat coming off him seeped into her, thawing the cold that had sunk bone-deep hours ago.

She felt peeled open, scraped thin. Every thought skittered, too sharp, too loud. She shouldn’t be leaning on him. She shouldn’t be this close. She shouldn’t let him see her like this—shaking, unraveling, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in a world still half-drowned.

Part of her whispered that she didn’t deserve this softness. That he wouldn’t offer it if he knew the whole story. That comfort like this wasn’t meant for her.

But his hand never wavered, never hesitated.

“The body remembers,” Loki said at last, his voice low and warm, almost reverent. “Even when the mind insists it shouldn’t.”

The words settled over her, heavy and true.

Theo lifted her gaze to him, slow and wary. Firelight danced across his features, casting shifting amber along the edges of his jaw and cheekbones. The sharpness of him—something she’d always noticed—had softened in the glow, revealing a quiet question in the faint crease between his brows.

He wasn’t searching for a confession.

He was simply there.

Then, with that same deliberate care, he reached for the blanket pooled around her waist. He lifted it gently and draped it back over her shoulders, tucking the fabric around her as though he were sealing in warmth, or stitching her back together one small, steady motion at a time.

All she could do was breathe—ragged, uneven, fragile—and try not to come apart again. Every inhale felt like stitching a seam that had torn too wide; every exhale threatened to pull the thread loose again. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt with no real awareness of doing it, grounding herself in warmth and solidity because the alternative was slipping back into the dark she’d just clawed her way out of.

“I have dreams,” Loki said quietly, his voice a low hum against her ear, resonating through his chest and into her cheek. “Of falling. No sky, no ground. Just the endless drop, knowing that there’s no end to it.”

Theo’s breath snagged. There was something in the way he said it—calm, almost clinical, but with an echo of something older and deeper beneath it.

“That sounds—awful,” she managed, though the word felt far too small compared to what he’d just described.

A faint smile touched his lips, the barest curve, fleeting as a breath of wind. “It is.”

The simplicity of the confession made it hit harder. He wasn’t dressing it up in mischief or snide humor, wasn’t hiding behind illusion or evasive half-truths. He was offering her something real. Maybe one of the first times he’d been so unguarded with her without coaxing or calculation behind it.

But no—she realized, feeling the slow, careful rise and fall of his breathing—this wasn’t simple at all.

In his own quiet way, he was telling her: I know what it is to wake in terror. I know the helplessness of your own mind turning against you. You are not alone in this. I will not judge you.

A warmth bloomed in her chest that wasn’t quite comfort, but wasn’t pain either. He was offering her trust in the language he spoke best: subtle, steady truths tucked beneath carefully chosen words.

She owed him something. Maybe not everything; maybe she couldn’t give him that. But something.

She swallowed hard, feeling the way her throat still quivered from the aftershocks. “I almost drowned,” she whispered. Saying it aloud made the memory claw sharper against the inside of her ribs. “Years ago. I thought I was past it. But… when I fell in, it was like I was there again. Like I never left.”

Loki’s thumb swept another slow arc between her shoulder blades, the touch warm and sure. “You left,” he said softly. “You are here. For that, I am grateful.”

The words lodged in her chest, hitting a place that was still raw and trembling. She wanted to believe him—to believe she was safe now, that the water was behind her, that she wasn’t still fighting to break the surface.

But her body hadn’t caught up yet.

Her breath hitched, sharp and thin. She turned her face into the curve of his chest, partly to hide the tremor running through her, partly because she couldn’t bear the thought of space between them right now—of cold air replacing the warmth radiating off him.

Loki didn’t pull away, didn’t stiffen; didn’t shift to look at her face or ask if she was alright. He simply accepted the weight of her leaning into him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His hand kept its steady motion on her back—slow, repetitive, certain. A rhythm meant to be followed.

A second tremor ran through her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears still welled, uninvited. When one slipped down her cheek and disappeared into the fabric of his shirt, she felt the softest shift—a slight dip of his head, the brush of his cheek coming to rest atop her hair. Not tight, not oppressive… Just present. Anchoring.

Still no words.

No pressure to explain. No uncomfortable reassurances. Just warmth and breath and presence.

Her own breaths began to sync with his without her consciously meaning to—his calm inhale drawing her lungs open, his slow exhale coaxing the tightness out of her chest. Inhale. Exhale. The brush of his thumb at her spine. The quiet rasp of fabric beneath her fingertips. His heartbeat—slow, steady, unfazed—beneath her ear, a counterpoint to the wild rhythm hers had been beating minutes ago.

He murmured something. She didn’t catch the words—her head was still too loud, still humming with leftover panic and bone-deep exhaustion—but the tone of it washed over her with the same warmth as his touch. She imagined it was something soft, something like “you’re here,” or “you’re safe,” or simply “I’m with you.”

Theo let out a long, shaking breath, her body releasing tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding—tension tucked into her shoulders, her throat, the tight set of her jaw. It all bled out of her in slow, reluctant waves.

Her limbs grew heavy. Her eyelids burned. The dizziness of adrenaline withdrawal made her nestle instinctively closer, seeking the steady center he offered. In turn, Loki kept tracing slow, hypnotic patterns along her back.

At some point—she wasn’t sure when—the world stopped feeling like it was tilting, like the rug was about to be pulled out from under her.

Her breaths evened out, lengthening into something closer to steady. The ringing in her ears dulled. The shadows in the corners of the room stopped looking like rushing water ready to swallow her whole. Loki’s touch had slowed, too—not stopping, but easing into a kind of quiet vigilance, his fingers moving less in circles and more in the occasional, faint brush meant only to remind her he was still there.

Her cheek rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. She felt more than heard him sigh, a low exhale that stirred a loose strand of her hair; gentle, warm, the sound of someone allowing themselves to relax only when they’re certain the person beside them is alright.

Theo blinked heavy eyelids, her vision blurring for reasons that had nothing to do with panic this time. Exhaustion pulled at her with a soft, insistent gravity, and for once she didn’t try to fight it.

“I’m okay,” she murmured—barely more than a breath, not entirely certain if she was trying to reassure him or herself.

Loki’s hand paused just long enough for her to feel the acknowledgment in the stillness. “I know,” he said quietly. “Rest.”

She shifted the tiniest bit, adjusting the blanket he’d wrapped around her and letting herself settle more comfortably against him. Every muscle in her body felt loose but tender, as if made of something half-melted. She could feel the shape of him—steady and real—beneath her cheek, and despite the part of her that still bristled at needing anything from anyone, she didn’t move away.

The fire crackled softly, the last embers collapsing into a bed of glowing ash. The scent of smoke clung to the air, mingling with the faint trace of whatever he always smelled like—cool air, old books, something faintly metallic but not unpleasant.

Her eyes slipped closed.

The last thing she felt before sleep pulled her under was Loki’s hand, still warm on her back, smoothing over her spine in one final, steady sweep—something like a promise, or maybe simply presence.

And for the first time since she surfaced, gasping and desperate,  hours ago, the dark behind her eyelids didn’t feel threatening.

It felt quiet.

Manageable.

Safe.

But happy are we, happy are weIn our own worldOh happy are we, happy are we,Bare bones, my girl—

How happy are we, happy are weIn our own worldOh happy are we, happy are we,Bare bones, my girl…

—

Author’s Note: hi friends.

So I was hoping to not need to pause updates for a hot sec, but I need a week or two off. I’ve mentioned previously that I work in education, and without sharing too much, we had a well-loved student unexpectedly pass away (like, very unexpectedly, and the circumstances are just… really fucking heartbreaking). I’ve spent almost my entire week supporting the students who are grieving and processing their own mortality (which is pretty much everyone at our school, since we’re a small school), while helping the school host a candlelight vigil, working with staff on more formal memorial arrangements, checking on community care spaces, ensuring we know what students might need extra support because they were in the same clubs/classes/etc, trying to support my coworkers who were involved with the on-call response and have been working to support the student’s family through what is truly an awful situation, through and through… I love the community at our school and I’m so grateful for how we’ve come together to support each other, but it’s also really, really heavy to carry. Straight up, I’m exhausted. I feel absolutely wrung out. Compassion fatigue is very real. 

I was very close to holding off on posting this chapter, but I really wanted to finish out the song before taking the pause and it was mostly ready to go prior to everything happening, so I gave it a final read through and hopefully it makes sense (really, my brain is fried). But I also want to do a bit more writing on what happens immediately after this, which might turn into additional chapters before the ones I had already planned. 

I know it’s a bummer to have a longer break between updates, so I appreciate y’all for your patience and continuing to read along <3 Reblogs and comments are welcome (but never required!), and lmk if you want to be added to the tag list! 

Nothing about the day had been noteworthy. If anything, it was the epitome of a ‘typical’ day, at least for Loki. His morning consisted of reviewing a series of reports that Heimdall and Valkyrie sent him, detailing the economic impact of certain trade agreements that New Asgard would soon have the opportunity to renegotiate. He sparred with Barnes in the early afternoon, focusing on his dagger technique and sharing tips with the Winter Soldier. Afterward, he joined Dr. Banner in Stark’s lab to assist Banner with research on the physics of Seidr, remaining in the lab until shortly after dinner.  

Banner remained in the lab when Loki excused himself, unable to ignore his rumbling stomach. Loki returned to the residential quarters, casually waving at the assortment of Avengers in the living room and receiving a collection of greetings in return as he passed them on the way to the kitchen. 

In the midst of assembling a sandwich for a late dinner, the shrill voice of a reporter on the nearby television caught Loki’s attention.

“Breaking News: A bombing just outside Chicago has thrown the city into chaos–”

Chicago—

Thor was in Chicago.

Loki sprinted to the sitting room, abandoning an assortment of condiments and toppings on the counter in his rush to learn if his brother had been amidst those impacted.

He arrived to find Maximoff, Barnes, Wilson, Parker, and Belova glued to the television, eyes wide and mouths hanging slightly agape as rising flames and rubble flashed in front of them.

No one uttered a word; Hel, they barely offered Loki a wayward glance as he collapsed into an empty seat and struggled to ignore the festering unease gnawing at his chest as he too became entranced by the breaking news.

On the screen in front of them, a horrifying scene unfolded: innocent civilians, coated in ash, blood, and debris as they ran for their lives, crying out for loved ones. Individuals draped from head to toe in black firing weapons that did not look like anything the Avengers had seen before, beams of octarine light tearing through solid rock and steel like a hot knife through butter. The shrill wail of sirens clashed with the voice of the television reporter, solemn-faced as they recounted the details.

“—massacre — multiple casualties — suspected terrorist attack —“

Amidst the chaos, glimpses of the Avengers who had been sent into the field did little to quell anyone’s anxiety. Barely recognizable beneath shredded armor and the grit of war, they attempted to evacuate civilians while fighting back against the attackers.

At a brief sighting of a bloody, ragged Thor fighting off an adversary, Loki’s blood turned to ice. Of the many times Loki fought alongside Thor, he rarely, if ever his brother in such a haggard state from fighting, which elicited its own special sort of dread. What if this threat was too much for Thor to survive? 

Even after confirmations that the Avengers had prevailed and the attackers were no more, breaking news alerts flashed across the bottom of the screen with headlines that only increased in severity. Emergency rescue crews struggled to control the fires that came from the explosions, dragging unrecognizable bodies from smoke-filled shells of buildings. 

With shaking hands, Loki retrieved his mobile device from his pocket and dialed Thor’s telephone number.

“You’ve reached the voicemail—“

The damn thing didn’t even ring before the automated greeting began.

With a growl, Loki ended the call and threw his phone against the sofa cushion. 

It was foolish to worry; Thor was a God. He was a warrior. He survived far worse than a simple Midgardian bomb. Of course Thor wouldn’t answer his mobile phone; he was in the middle of being the hero that everyone expected him to be. 

And yet, with every minute that passed, with every flame that rose on the television screen, with every new death count, the coil of dread tightened in Loki’s chest. 

Loki buried his face in his hands, fighting to steady his breathing.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Belova attempted to reassure Loki, though her constant glances at her own mobile device, as if checking for a response from the elder widow, did not escape him. 

Any other plans for the evening had long been forgotten. Wilson and Barnes monitored government and SHIELD communication channels for updates on agents who were at the scene of the attack. Maximoff searched for additional news coverage on her laptop, while in the background survivors shakily recounted the moment that changed their lives forever. Belova and Parker took to social media to find first-hand accounts and updates from ground-level, announcing anything they found to be noteworthy.

In the midst of everything, Loki exchanged messages with Val and Heimdall. While early messages from Heimdall provided reassurance that he could still track Thor’s presence, that reassurance fell away with time; when Heimdall no longer felt Thor’s presence, the conversation changed to implementing the protocol for ruling in Thor’s unanticipated absence, incapacitation, or, though Loki prayed to the Norns it was not the case, Thor’s death.

Every once in a while, an Avenger appeared on-screen, providing at least some reassurance that perhaps circumstances were not as dire as initially thought. When the cameras focused on an area cordoned off for medical care providers to triage and transport victims, they caught sight of Theo. Though she appeared a bit weathered and her armor had torn in the fighting, Loki recognized the way she directed the staff around her from the many times he visited her while she worked. 

Rogers had appeared multiple times, often carrying victims from the rubble and comforting distraught bystanders, appearing equally haggard but still maintaining a steely resolve. Civilian-recorded video of the Vision and Stark lifting up massive sections of concrete to free trapped victims quickly took over social media, subsequently appearing on the news. 

At two separate points, a surge of hope stole Loki’s breath away as he thought he saw Thor, only for it to be a civilian. Belova experienced a similar sensation with potential sightings of Romanoff, though she seemed less concerned for the elder widow’s safety.

Nearly four hours after the news of the attack broke, an announcement blared through Avengers Tower, drowning out the doomsday scenario on television: “We need all available medics to report to the hangar immediately; we have a quinjet arriving in t-15 minutes with twelve level-1 trauma patients.” 

I hear your heart beating in your chest The world slows ‘til there’s nothing left And skyscrapers look on like great, unblinking giants In those heavy days in June When love became an act of defiance

In the moments leading up to the quinjet’s return, the tension in the hangar could have been cut with a knife. 

Through the hangar’s glass and steel door, the darkest of nights loomed. Not even the glow of lights from the city below could dispel the darkness, creating an expanse of endless obsidian sky that Loki recognized from his time in the void.

Inside the hangar, harsh fluorescent lights left nothing to the imagination, their light so bright and jarring against the black sky that Loki’s eyes burned. The stench of motor oil and gasoline filled the air, only amplifying the churning of Loki’s stomach. 

Multiple stretchers waited with teams of medics at their command. Someone Loki recognized as one of Theo’s colleagues spoke on the comms with the returning jets and with the infirmary staff, alternating between briefing the medics about the patients they would receive and preparing for the influx of injuries. Despite Loki’s best attempts to glean even the smallest of details that might inform him of his brother’s condition, other conversations and background noise drowned out the doctor’s voice. 

The Avengers who had not been sent to Chicago congregated in relatively close proximity, waiting with bated breath for any news of their peers. Banner, who had been in the lab until the announcement of the jet’s return, paced back and forth, glancing between the hangar entrance and the ground. Barnes stood at attention, arms crossed against his chest and fingers tapping against his vibranium bicep impatiently. 

Belova leaned against a metal wall, flipping her mobile phone in hand as if it were a dagger. Parker mirrored Belova’s stance, though he placed all of his weight upon one leg, restlessly bouncing the other at a frantic pace until Loki had to look away before he snapped at the spiderling. Maximoff and Wilson distanced themselves from the group, discussing something in hushed voices while glancing back and forth between the group and the hangar’s entrance.

A familiar voice rang out through the hangar’s intercoms, abruptly stopping all conversation. “Agent Romanoff to Air Control, we are five minutes out. Are we cleared to land?”

“Air control to Agent Romanoff,” the reply came through, “Hangar door is opening now.”

The mass of steel and glass which constituted the hangar door groaned as the mechanics which propelled its movement activated. As if weighed down by the heaviness of everyone’s attention, the door slid open at a pace which made a snail seem like an olympian sprinter. The scraping of metal wheels against metal tracks echoed through the hangar. 

All the while, everyone remained frozen in place; even Parker refrained from bouncing his leg. No one spoke. If it weren’t for Loki’s location, which placed the majority of the hangar’s occupants in his line of sight, he might think the hangar completely empty.

When the door finished opening, the medics sprang back to life, arranging themselves in preparation for the jet’s imminent arrival. 

“Agent Romanoff to Air Control - we are in final descent. T-one minute out.”

A wave of relief collided with a storm of fear at the first glimpse of steel and turbines. Loki’s heart rate careened out of control, the pounding in his ears drowning out all sound. He ran a trembling hand through his hair and tugged at the curls, desperate for news that his brother was alright while dreading the possibility that his brother was among those who needed immediate care. 

Though Romanoff landed the aircraft quickly, the exit ramp’s descent was anything but quick. The first teams of medics brought gurneys forward, but upon looking into the rear of the jet, stepped aside to clear a path. For what, Loki didn’t know, nor did he have time to inquire – the steel ramp touched down on the concrete floor, and the hangar roared into a frenzy of organized chaos. 

Theo leapt off the side of the ramp to stand beside the medics, ushering another pair of medics carrying a patient on some sort of stiff board down to the first team of medics. Like Theo, the patient could barely be recognized beneath dust, ash, and blood, though their unusually large stature made Loki’s heart stutter and his breath catch in his throat. A glimpse of blond sullied with dust, ash, and blood that matted itself in long locks did nothing to ease the festering dread that had settled into Loki’s stomach. 

While the medics transferred the individual onto the gurney, Loki crept closer, only to confirm his worst fear: Thor, unconscious and beaten within an inch of his life, laid before him, his fate at the mercy of mere Midgardians. 

No.

“What happened?” Loki rushed forward, pushing through the medics crowding the gurney so he could get a better look at Thor. Some sort of monitoring device flashed numbers upon a screen, while the medics relayed a series of data points that made no sense to the prince and only incensed him further. “What happened to my brother?”

One medic attempted to explain as they whisked Thor out of the hangar, but none of the words registered in Loki’s mind; all he could think about was the looming threat of losing Thor, the only brother he had. They hadn’t even reached the hangar’s exit when the shrill cry of an alarm interrupted and the collection of medics, along with the gurney, jolted to an abrupt stop.

“Dr. Amaris,” one medic shouted back towards the aircraft, “Thor’s coding!”

Not understanding what the medic meant, Loki turned to the monitor for answers.

No, Thor–

All Hel broke loose. 

“He’s bleeding out!”

Medics tore the remaining scraps of Thor’s armor off his body, shouting instructions at each other. 

“Start compressions!”

“What is happening?” Loki snarled. They ignored him, instead applying pressure to wounds and repeatedly pressing on Thor’s chest as they continued shouting commands among each other. “I demand you tell me what is happening!”

It was as if Loki was not even there; no one even acknowledged his presence. One medic glanced past Loki and towards the aircraft, calling out a series of terms that Allspeak could not translate. 

“Please–” Loki pleaded, desperate for any answer he could receive, “This is my brother—”

“Out of my way!”

The command boomed through the hangar, barely reaching Loki’s ears before someone shoved him aside and leapt onto the stretcher. They straddled Thor as if it were second nature,  seamlessly transitioning into pressing on his chest while barking orders at the individuals around them. 

Loki stumbled, caught off guard by the strength of the shove - never had a Midgardian managed to move him with such ease. The stretcher raced towards the infirmary before Loki could regain his footing, though he gave chase and quickly caught up to the entourage of medics surrounding his brother while they waited for the elevator. As he arrived, he realized just who happened to shove him aside as if it were child’s play: 

Theo. 

Black tendrils of smoke surrounded her blue-gloved hands and trailed up her forearms, forming runes that floated just above her skin. She continued to instruct the other medics, her focus razor-sharp as the runes moved down her arms and enveloped Thor.  

“What is wrong with my brother?” Loki demanded once more. His frustration at the lack of acknowledgement intertwined with his desperation and fear at the grievous state his brother returned in, fueling Loki’s ire until he teetered dangerously on the edge of explosion.

“Loki, your brother has some pretty serious injuries,” Theo calmly replied, glancing at the monitor as she continued her work. “We’re taking care of it though - I’ll fill you in later, but right now I need to focus on Thor!”

The lack of panic in Theo’s response only further incensed Loki. Did she not care about Thor’s well-being? Did she not realize who it was that needed care? This was no Midgardian - this was Thor. Thor, the King of Asgard. God of Thunder!

And yet, she treated him like any other patient.

“You act like he’s a simple Midgardian!” Loki bellowed, the torrent of fear and anger unleashing itself upon anyone and everyone around him.” You know nothing of how to heal the Aesir— he will die at your hand!”

“Rather than argue, I’m just going to prove you wrong.” Despite her infuriatingly calm tone, Theo leveled a blistering glare at the younger Asgardian. What were previously the whites of Theo’s eyes had turned pitch black, her irises white and her pupils a pale, smoky gray. “He’s not dying at anyone’s hand today - especially not mine. Now, please be quiet and let me do my job.”

Loki froze, stunned. No one had ever had the audacity to speak to him in such a way - and yet, she didn’t even think twice.

Theo didn’t notice Loki’s surprise - she continued to direct the other medics before returning her attention to the God of Thunder. Theo recited an incantation under her breath, causing the runes trailed into Thor’s open mouth and down his throat. Once Theo uttered the final words, a flash of light shot from Theo’s hands and into Thor’s chest. 

With a jolt, Thor’s chest shot up and he gasped for air; his chest rose and fell, and the monitor ceased to scream. 

Thor’s revival brought Loki no relief, however - the possibility of needing further revival ensured Loki remained just as on-edge, even as they descended upon the elevator, then careened down the halls in a mad dash to the infirmary. 

Just before Loki could follow his brother into the Emergency ward, someone restrained him with an iron-clad grip and dragged him back towards the waiting room.

“Unhand me!” Loki roared, whipping around to find Sergeant Barnes had taken hold of him. “I need to be with my brother!”

With a growl, Loki attempted to free himself from Barnes’ grasp, but against the vibranium arm it was useless.

“They don’t have room for you back there.” Barnes’ flat affect, combined with the infuriatingly stoic expression he wore, only served to further flare Loki’s temper. “You’re only going to make it harder for them to work.”

“They know nothing of the care an Aesir requires!” Loki spat his protest at Barnes, who didn’t even flinch.

“I’m pretty sure they do, given Theo just saved your brother’s life.” The Winter Soldier arched one eyebrow at the Asgardian in a subtle challenge. “If you get in their way, a lot of other people might be losing their brother or sister.”

Loki clenched his jaw, scowling as he once again attempted to wrestle himself free from the Sergeant’s inescapable grip.

“I get it.” Barnes continued to stare at Loki with such unwavering intensity that made Loki’s skin crawl. “I lose my shit when Steve gets hurt too.”

“You truly believe your friendship with the captain is remotely close to that of a brother?”  Incensed by the thought of comparing Thor to a simple friend, Loki sneered. “You could never understand.”

“Steve may not be my brother in blood, but he is in every way that matters. Just like you and Thor.” Barnes replied, ice-blue eyes locking onto Loki’s. “When no one else believed in me, Steve did. When everyone was convinced that I was nothing more than a monster, that I was past redemption, Steve still saw the good in me and he fought for me. Everyone else we grew up with, our real families - they’re all dead. The world we knew is a distant memory. Steve is the only person I have left. No one else has been through what we’ve been through; no one else understands what it’s like to suddenly wake up and everything has changed.”

There was a certain vulnerability in Barnes’ eyes that Loki hadn’t ever seen before, and a conviction in his voice that Loki had only heard a handful of times. The combination proved to be enough to disarm Loki’s most barbed retorts, allowing the Sergeant to continue:

“Thor always believed in you and always saw the good in you, even when you didn’t see it yourself. Your entire realm was destroyed, your family is gone, and no one else lived through being Asgardian royalty - Thor is all you have left, and he’s the only one who understands.” Barnes let out a tense breath, still locked into Loki’s gaze as he released Loki from his grasp. “I get it.” 

All the while, the stream of medics and stretchers heading into the emergency department remained steady, validating Barnes’ previous argument: there would not be room in the ward for Loki to accompany his brother.

“Theo’s good at what she does. Dr. Cho and Dr. Harper are world-renowned. They will make sure Thor’s just fine.” Barnes slapped a hand on Loki’s shoulder, to which Loki flinched. “Let them do their thing.”

Begrudgingly, Loki nodded and let out a sigh, running one hand through his hair and then tugging on the ends. 

“I suppose you are correct.”

“I know I am.” Barnes smirked; the urge to remove the smirk from Barnes’ face struck with such intensity that Loki barely managed to restrain himself. “And Loki?”

“What?” The snippy tone was all too obvious.

“You should probably apologize to Theo for what you said…” When Loki’s response was a sour glare, Barnes steeled himself and locked eyes with the Asgardian yet again, undeterred. “She’s your friend and she saved your brother's life. Even if she wasn’t your friend, that was a shitty thing to say to someone who was helping. Swallow your pride.”

With that, Barnes departed, and left Loki with nothing but his spiraling thoughts as he waited for any scrap of news regarding his brother’s wellbeing.

You were broken hearted And the world was too And I was beginning to lose my grip And I have always held it loosely, But this time I admit I really felt I’d start to slip

The Emergency Department may as well have been ransacked.

Wrappers for medical supplies, towels stained a deep crimson, discarded gloves, and protective gear covered the once-charcoal floor. With such a high volume of patients, they didn’t even have time to properly dispose of their protective gear in a bin, too-focused on putting on fresh gloves and gowns to ensure they could keep up with the relentless stream of victims needing care. Theo lifted up one foot, cringing as the sole of her shoe stuck to the floor from the residue of congealing blood.

She would have to bake the janitorial staff a cake as a thank-you for cleaning up after such a busy day. 

Glancing at the clock, Theo let out a heavy sigh.

11:37 PM. 

Twenty-nine hours earlier, a deafening crash rang out amidst the skyscrapers of Chicago, and with it the city turned into something from Theo’s worst fears. What was meant to be a simple reconnaissance mission turned into fighting off an attack from insurgents that made Theo’s hair stand on the back of her neck. She didn’t recognize the attackers because of their masks and outfits of all-black, but the artillery they brought with them seemed unnervingly familiar.

The hour that followed was a waking nightmare spent evacuating innocent people while fighting off the mystery attackers. For the three hours after, Theo worked alongside rescue crews to enact mass-casualty protocols, her heart breaking all over again with every black tag she had to assign to a victim. Theo may have been a powerful healer, but it would have been impossible for her to save everyone; instead, she had to conserve her energy for absolute emergencies. 

Though she had every intent of remaining on-scene to continue rescue efforts, SHIELD had other ideas. In order to allow all of Chicago’s medical resources to be diverted towards caring for victims of the blast, SHIELD would transport all injured agents back to New York for care at Avengers’ tower, starting with the most severely injured, which meant Theo would be needed at the hospital in New York. 

She returned to New York with the first jet, scrambling alongside SHIELD medics to keep the nearly twenty injured agents on the jet alive and stable until they had reinforcements.

From the time Theo landed to when she took in the aftermath, twenty five hours had passed. Multiple jets followed the first, each with more patients who needed a level of care that couldn’t be found in other hospitals. Those twenty five hours passed in a blur of organized chaos: triage, treat, send off to surgery or a ward depending on the injuries, rinse and repeat. Theo barely had time to clean herself up enough that she wouldn’t be considered an infection risk from the ash and dust that had practically become a second skin.

In what both Helen and Julie described as a miracle, all of the patients who hadn’t died before arriving in New York survived. It wasn’t a miracle, though; Theo spent the entire time darting between gurneys, magically treating the worst of the wounds and reviving patients as needed. She had to revive three separate agents, which left her with a bloody nose, a throbbing headache, sore muscles, and more nauseous than she cared to admit - but everyone lived, and that was what mattered.

Of the many patients Theo treated upon landing, one lurked in the back of her mind: Thor.  Physically, the process of re-starting Thor’s heart was taxing, but not as bad as a full revival. Mentally, it was one of the less pleasant moments. However, the memory that lingered was less about reviving Thor and more about Loki’s remark as she worked on Thor that twisted her stomach into knots: “You act like he’s a simple Midgardian! You know nothing of how to heal the Aesir— he will die at your hand!”

The statement could easily be attributed to the heat of the moment, but that didn’t make it sting any less. If it was a field agent that she didn’t know who was freaking out about their partner, that was one thing - she could shake that off, and she had plenty of times before.

But Loki? 

Loki knew about her fears and how much losing a patient impacted her, even if she didn’t know the patient before. And to have him question — no, not question, outright doubt — her capabilities?

Well, his words cut far deeper and were much harder to shake.

When the final patient was stabilized and transferred out of the emergency department, Theo was the only doctor who didn’t immediately change out of her scrubs and go home to sleep. Not that she wasn’t looking forward to burying herself under a mountain of blankets and sleeping for the next two days, because she was. But she knew herself well enough to know she wouldn’t be able to rest without checking on Thor first.

Maybe she was after the reassurance that Thor was, in fact, recovering. Maybe she just needed to end the night by coming full-circle, checking on the first patient she took care of. Why she needed to check on him wasn't important; as long as she knew he was alright, that was what mattered.

Theo slipped through the halls of the hospital, making her way to Thor’s room. Unlike the emergency department, which constantly bustled with people coming and going, the halls of the ward were almost eerily quiet. After the bustle and chaos of the last 24 hours, the quiet and relative peace was refreshing. 

Other than a nurse sitting at the nurse’s station in Thor’s unit, Theo didn’t run into a single person. That was probably for the best, because Theo could guarantee that she looked like a mess. The nurse offered a tired smile and nod, to which Theo nodded back. The nurse pointedly glanced at an open door a bit further down the hall, then nodded again. Following the nurse’s gaze, Theo realized the nurse had been pointing her to Thor’s room. 

Theo gave the nurse another smile and nod, then closed the remaining distance to the open door. She stopped in the entrance and leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sight before her.

The bed had been tilted up at the waist, giving Theo a better view of Thor, who slept peacefully… At least, as peacefully as someone could sleep after nearly dying. Freshly washed golden blonde locks fanned out across his pillow. His skin already regained a somewhat healthy flush - probably something to do with the enhanced healing of the Aesir, but as one of the first patients treated, he had a bit of a head start on the whole recovery thing. 

Though he slept, Thor had a visitor who wasn’t Theo. Despite sitting with their back to the door, the perfectly erect posture and inky curls could have only belonged to one person: Loki.

Loki’s presence nearly made Theo turn on her heel and high-tail it out of there. She just stopped in to check on Thor; facing Loki was something she wasn’t sure she could handle at the moment. With how tired she was, Theo didn’t trust herself to avoid saying something that would make an already awkward situation worse. Loki needed someone to support him, not someone to piss him off. 

“You need not lurk in the entrance,” Loki spoke up, not even turning around to look at Theo as he addressed her. “If you wish to enter, do so.”

Whether he knew it was Theo or not was a mystery, but he must have at least sensed someone’s presence. Regardless, it wasn’t like she could sneak away anymore.

Pushing away from the doorframe, Theo sighed. 

“I didn’t mean to intrude.” She hesitantly stepped into the room, but stayed close to the door. If the conversation went south, she’d at least have a quick out. “I just finished working, so I thought I’d see how Thor was doing…You know, make sure he was still alive and all… Still Aesir, not a midgardian zombie or something.”

Damn her lack of filter. 

A breathless puff of laughter escaped Loki, sounding almost surprised. Before Theo could turn and run, Loki twisted in his seat to face her, his narrowed eyes trailing up and down her body. His expression gave away no clues as to whether he was laughing because he found her comment amusing or because he was shocked she had the guts to speak to him like that, or anything to tell her where his mind was at.

“He remains alive and Aesir,” Loki finally replied, offering a tired smirk. “Though you, mortal, look a bit too close to a zombie for comfort.”

Theo rolled her eyes, but cracked a smile. She should have known something like that was coming. Beyond having bags under her bloodshot eyes and the inevitable loss of color in her skin from the revivals, Theo was almost positive her hair resembled a rat’s nest… But that was typical after a normal shift in the emergency department. After 24 hours straight, not to mention coming from a literal battle ground, she could only imagine what she must have looked like. 

“We just finished triaging and stabilizing everyone…” Theo shrugged, keeping her smile from Loki’s observation. “It's not for the faint of heart.”

“No, but you are nowhere near faint of heart,” Loki murmured, offering a small, hesitant smile of his own. “For that, I am grateful.”

Theo nodded, uncertain of how to take his remark. She shoved her hands in her pockets, glancing around the rest of the room. Assorted bouquets of flowers and cards stood on display, covering the majority of the room’s surfaces. The whirring and beeping of monitors and machines filled the silence between them. 

“Thank you for caring for my brother.” Loki’s attention returned to Thor, who still slept. “I apologize for my remarks earlier - I let my emotions overtake me. It was inappropriate for me to speak to you in such a harsh manner.”

The simple fact that she didn’t have to prompt him for the apology made it seem genuine, but the underlying distrust remained hard for Theo to shake. After all, wasn’t there something about how the things people say in the heat of the moment are what they feel deep down?

“It’s no problem,” Theo bit the inside of her cheek, glancing at Thor before returning her attention to Loki. “Sorry for my less than professional response… I uh, get a bit intense in the heat of the moment.”

“You need not apologize - your reaction was justified.” Loki nodded, still focused on his brother’s face. “I trust you with my life, and I do not doubt in the slightest that you would fight tirelessly to save any life you could…” He faltered, drawing in a sharp breath before letting out a weary sigh. “If I am entirely honest, I am not certain as to why I stated you would not be able to care for Thor, as I know better.”

The knot in Theo’s chest unraveled a bit more.

“I get it,” Theo reassured him, stepping closer so she could rest one hand on his shoulder. “Thor’s your brother. If I were in your position, I’d do the same.”

Loki covered her hand with his own, finally meeting Theo’s gaze. Red rimmed his eyes, making his seaglass green irises stand out even more than usual; combined with his disheveled curls, Theo realized that this was the most distressed that she had ever seen Loki before.

“He’ll be alright,” Theo murmured, squeezing Loki’s shoulder, “And he’s lucky to have a brother who cares as much about him as you do.”

Theo caught the slightest quiver in Loki’s lip and the way his eyes briefly glistened, but she didn’t say anything. Frankly, she didn’t know what she would even say. Blood never scared her, but the second someone she knew started crying her heart hammered in her chest and her palms grew clammy; forget trying to carry a train of thought, much less a conversation. 

“Thank you,” Loki whispered, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He tightened his grip on Theo’s hand, pressing it more firmly onto his shoulder.

With a quiet sigh, Theo shifted her weight between her aching feet once more. No longer running all over and fueled by adrenaline, the physical toll of going at full speed for so long started to make their presence known. 

Still, she didn’t try to remove her hand from Loki’s shoulder. Loki obviously needed the support, and he didn’t seem like he was about to ask for it. Besides, if her silent gesture stopped any potential tears, she could handle the aching feet that came with standing.

“You mentioned that you recently finished stabilizing the other agents…” Loki’s brows drew together as he returned his attention to Theo. “It has been over twenty four hours since they returned. Have you taken any breaks to rest, or to eat?”

“I worked straight through.” Theo shook her head. “We had lives to save. That’s the nature of what we do; it doesn’t wait for anyone’s lunch break to finish.” 

Loki replied with a displeased hum and a frown. He removed his hand from Theo’s, the cold air in the room a crisp contrast to the warmth of his skin. With a flick of his wrist, he used some seidr to move one of the  chairs from the other side of the bed to sit beside him. “You ought to take a seat - you’ve certainly earned the opportunity to rest.”

With a timid, grateful smile, Theo sat down. Relaxing her muscles brought instant relief, though the motion reminded her of how much her entire body ached after reviving people.

“How are the other agents?”

“Barring any complications, they’ll be alright,” Theo slouched back in the chair, arms resting on the sides as she settled in. “Recovery times will vary, but the fact we were able to save everyone who made it back to New York is a miracle in and of itself.”

If there were complications, well… Theo lived in the building. They knew where to find her.

“That is excellent news,” Loki remarked, resting his hand atop Theo’s as it sat on the arm of the chair between them. Though Theo did her best not to acknowledge the gesture, it certainly caught her attention. “You seem truly exhausted.”

“When you’re running on adrenaline, it’s easy to go for a long time and feel totally fine,” she shrugged, “but now all the adrenaline is wearing off and I’m definitely feeling the consequences.” 

“The consequences?”

“Fatigue, sore muscles, all that good stuff.” Theo softened the remark with a hint of a smile. Loki already had Thor to focus on; he didn’t need to hear Theo complain. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m used to working long stretches - normally my shifts are twelve-plus hours at a time. The only time I work twenty four hour shifts are when I’m on call, and I usually get to nap somewhere in there. But with the number of SHIELD agents impacted and the volume of casualties, we needed all hands on deck.”

“Seems it was quite the undertaking,” Loki murmured.

“Yeah — By the time we were done it looked like a tornado came through and destroyed everything. I can’t imagine what the hospitals in Chicago are dealing with right now.” 

Loki arched an eyebrow at her as if asking her to elaborate. 

“Up until I had to come back to New York, I was working with rescue crews to implement mass casualty protocols; essentially, we search through the rubble for people, triage to get a sense of how badly they are injured, then assign a colored tag based on how severely they are injured.” Theo let out a tense breath. She looked down at the floor, lowering her voice when she continued: “I’ve never triaged so many patients in such a short period of time, and they still had so much work to do when I left. The hospitals there are probably still drowning with patients, despite all the black tags.”

“… Black tags?”

“Victims who were dead or were about to die, regardless of medical intervention,” Theo quietly explained. “I gave twenty two people black tags today, and not all of them were dead on discovery.” Admitting the truth aloud made Theo want to vomit. “Making that call never gets easier.”

If anything, it only got harder to make that call.

With an absentminded hum, Loki nodded. He brought his attention back to Thor, who slept soundly. “Will you have time to rest and recuperate before your next shift?”

“I’m supposed to have the next two days off,” Theo answered with a halfhearted shrug, the black tags still lurking in her mind. “but if I’m needed I’ll be in to help.”

Loki frowned, narrowing his eyes at Theo.

“What?” 

“You spend all your time caring for others,” Loki observed, “Yet caring for yourself seems to be an afterthought.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I’ll be fine.” Theo rolled her eyes, but forced a half-smile. “I just need a nap and I’ll be good to go.”

It wasn’t entirely true. If Theo didn’t need to use any more magic, she’d technically be fine, despite a headache and some queasiness that would probably last for a few days. For the moment, though, the explanation would suffice. 

Besides, aleve and pepto bismol were available on Earth, so she could always resort to pharmacological solutions to keep her going. 

Though he responded with a skeptical glance, Loki didn’t push the subject. His hand remained atop Theo’s, but he slipped his fingers between hers and squeezed.

“What about you?” Theo glanced up at Loki. “I’m guessing you haven’t left that chair since you were allowed to see him?” 

“Guilty as charged, I suppose.” Loki’s head wobbled slightly from side to side, but he didn’t look at Theo. 

“There’s nothing to feel guilty about.” Theo squeezed his hand back, holding it tight for just a moment longer. “He’s your brother - it’s normal to want to be here.”

“I suppose it depends on who you ask,” Loki muttered, letting go of Theo to scrub his face with both hands. “There are those—“

“The only person whose opinion matters is you.” Theo gently interrupted, ducking her head to lock eyes with Loki. “At the end of the day, it’s your brother—“

“That is not how one operates when responsible for a nation and its people.” The interruption was sharp, almost irascible. As if to emphasize his irritation, he dropped his arms to rest on the sides of the chair and threw his head back towards the ceiling. “One’s personal desires are of negligible importance in the grand scheme of the realms.”

Oh, he did not just go there. 

Theo bit down on the inside of her cheek so hard that the sharp tang of iron filled her mouth, and it was all she could do so she wouldn’t say something she would later regret. 

In Loki’s defense, he had no idea why that remark would rub her the wrong way, and he was obviously stressed. 

“Just because you are a ruler does not mean you have to sacrifice your emotions,” Theo quietly challenged, wringing her hands in her lap. “There are many who would argue that feeling and acknowledging those emotions makes you a better leader.”

Loki fell silent, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. The tendons along his clenched jaw shifted as if trying not to unleash a flurry of barbed words on Theo. If Theo was lucky, Loki was simply working through how he wanted to reply, but the slight narrowing of his eyes as he kept his attention facing ahead did little to reassure Theo that he wasn’t about to verbally eviscerate her. 

After a prolonged pause, he let out a tense breath and ran one hand through his hair. He leaned forward in his seat, taking hold of Thor’s hand.  

“From previous experience, sentiment has only led to suffering.” The concession was hushed, barely audible amongst the background noise. 

“And yet, you still care. That’s worth something.” Theo pointed out, attention trained on Loki. “From experience, it only hurts worse if you try to ignore it.”

He pointedly avoided her gaze, instead focusing on Thor’s hand, the tan skin contrasting against his own. He brushed a thumb against the back of Thor’s hand, a delicate gesture in contrast to his hardened expression.

As silence stretched between them once more, questions of whether Theo pushed too hard swirled in her mind. Who was she, after all, to make him confront such a sore subject? Sure, it started with an attempt to reassure him, but it went south embarrassingly fast.

Theo really needed to learn when to shut the hell up.

This time, it was too late to shut up, so that led to a new series of questions: would it be awkward if she left? Or was it more awkward if she stayed? 

Theo brought her attention to her sneakers, noticing the scuffs along the once crisp white soles. Flexing her toes back and forth, she watched how the scuffs bent with each movement of her foot. The longer she watched, the more meditative the motions felt, allowing her mind to fall somewhat quiet.

“Forgive me. I should not have snapped at you.” Loki broke the silence, startling Theo so she jumped in her seat and jerked her head towards Loki. He regarded her with a sheepish curl on one side of his lips, somewhere between apologetic and amused.

A sharp throb between Theo’s temples, the consequence of moving so quickly, forced a wince from her. She grimaced, massaging her temples in a feeble attempt to lessen the discomfort. 

“Sorry,” Theo countered, her voice straining ever-so-slightly with each pulse against her skull. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Ah, I beg to differ.” Loki chuckled, almost to himself. The smile that had initially started as sheepish curled up further, taking on a glint of something else that Theo couldn’t quite describe. “If left unchallenged, who knows what chaos might ensue.”

Despite the headache, Theo managed a weak chuckle and nodded. The movement left her oddly unsteady; she closed her eyes and waited for the sensation to pass.

Lightly calloused fingers curled around Theo’s wrists, gently tugging her hands away from her head. Theo opened her eyes to find the smile had fallen from Loki’s face, replaced instead by a furrowed brow and a frown. “You’ve a headache?”

“Yeah,” Theo admitted, before quickly adding: “It’s not that bad though. I have stuff for it, I just need to take it.”

Loki released Theo’s wrists; Theo found herself missing the warmth. “Though I will admit it is nice to have company, you really ought to take some medicine for your head and rest.” 

He was right, but it also felt wrong to leave him alone.

Theo sighed. “You should get some rest too, you know.”

“I doubt I could sleep, even if I were to lay down.” Loki shook his head. “If Thor were to need anything and I wasn’t there, I–”

“It’s alright, you don’t need to justify it to me.” Theo cut him off, though not unkindly. She rose to her feet, pausing to blink away the static that clouded her vision from the head rush that followed. “Text me if you need anything, okay? Even if it’s at a weird time.”

To Theo’s surprise, Loki also stood; he closed the distance between her and embraced her, clutching her to his chest. She didn’t have to think twice before wrapping her arms around him, returning the gesture.

“Thank you,” Loki whispered, his breath warm against the top of Theo’s head.

“Of course,” Theo replied, her voice muffled by his chest. She inhaled and caught the familiar scent of his cologne - warm, spicy, woodsy - and smiled. That smile stayed when they both finally pulled away, hands brushing as they lowered their arms; a nervous chuckle slipped out of Loki, and if Theo didn’t know any better she would have thought his cheeks grew pink.

“Good night, Theo.”  Loki lingered for a moment, gazing at Theo with a shy smile.

“Good night, Loki.” 

The halls of the hospital were emptier than a ghost town as Theo made the trip back to her suite; the chill of the filtered air clung to Theo’s skin, even through her clothes. Theo shivered, her muscles aching with each tremor of her limbs. She folded her arms across her chest and tried to ignore it, but she wasn’t warm like Loki, so it did little to ward off the cold.

When she finally got back to her suite and climbed into bed, the space beside her felt especially empty. But after such a long day, the observation was fleeting; she barely closed her eyes before she was already drifting to sleep.

Choirs sang in the street And I would come to you To watch the television screen In your hotel room I’m always down to hide with you

Though years had passed since Loki made Midgard his home, there were elements he had not grown accustomed to… Chief among them were Midgardian healing methods.

Ever since Thor returned to him bruised and bloodied, Loki found himself thinking back to Eir and missing the Soul Forges of Asgard. Asgardian healing was without a doubt far superior to anything the Midgardians could muster. The longer Loki stared at the tubes and wires attached to his brother’s body, the more he considered the possibility that it might have been for the best if he had conquered Midgard all those years ago, if for no other reason than it would have resulted in Soul Forges on Midgard.

Sure, Thor had made considerable progress while infirmed; if the doctors were to be believed, Thor’s injuries were healing nicely. 

That didn’t mean Loki had to like seeing his brother in an infirmary bed for days on end. On the contrary: the sight grated him like none other. Sitting in a stiff, metal-framed chair day in and day out, only able to offer meager comforts to his brother, was its own kind of Hel. 

And to see Thor - Thor, who was always the stronger brother, the protector, the warrior - to see him reduced to being weak as a kitten?

The more Loki considered the reality of the situation, the more his blood boiled.

However, each time his temper neared a breaking point - when he was about to snarl at the slightest inconvenience, Theo just happened to appear. She always claimed she was simply ‘dropping by to see how the patient was doing,’ but the knowing glance shared between the nurses whenever she arrived told Loki there was more to the story. 

Regardless, she was there, and her mere presence stilled the constant storms brewing in his soul. 

Sometimes she calmed the tempest by answering Loki’s burning questions - why certain treatments were more effective than others, the purpose of various tests, what the results of those tests meant. It was not that the doctors in charge of Thor’s care withheld information; they were quite forthcoming with Loki and seemed more than willing to answer his questions. Loki recognized they truly put forth their best efforts to assuage his concerns, and though it was not always effective he appreciated the effort. However, for whatever reason Theo’s answers contained some unknown element that put Loki at ease, even if they were almost identical to the answers from Thor’s doctors. 

Other times, she offered a distraction from the discord brewing within. On the days when she visited after concluding her work in the infirmary, the distraction typically came in the form of a film or television show. Though the shows and films varied in genre and premise, there were elements in common: they all involved some element of comedy and varying degrees of mischief. Whenever she suggested something to watch, Theo always took time to explain what it was about the selection that she thought the brothers would enjoy, though it did not escape Loki’s observation that there were always details which she felt Loki specifically would enjoy.

Thankfully, the end of the nightmare was near. Though not fully recovered, Thor had been cleared for discharge that afternoon - his condition no longer required care from the infirmary, so there was no reason for him to remain. 

While Thor changed out of his pajamas and into comfortable clothes, Loki busied himself collecting the various gifts and belongings that had accumulated throughout his brothers’ stay. 

“It was quite kind of Lady Theo to visit so often.” 

Loki glanced over at his brother. Thor sat on the edge of the bed, watching his brother with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Yet, I suspect her visits were not solely to check on my progress.” The comment was lighthearted, jesting in its delivery. 

“There is a Midgardian saying about assumptions, brother.” Loki flatly replied, turning back to continue packing so Thor would not see the heat rising on Loki’s cheeks. “I would not dare to presume her intentions.”

“I am not assuming anything, dear brother. Simply pondering…” Loki did not need to look to know Thor wore a smug grin. 

“Pondering, are you?” Loki turned back to his brother with a smirk of his own. “Are you certain you are well? You aren’t one to spend much time thinking.”

Thor laughed, tossing a pillow at Loki. Loki smacked it down to the floor, his own laughter echoing in the room. The sound of Thor’s laughter loosened the knot that had tangled itself around Loki’s chest for far too long.

“Well I’ve not had much else to do as of late,” Thor chuckled, “as I’m sure you are aware.” 

“Well, thank the Norns you will no longer be cooped up in this room—” Loki’s laughter quieted, though a smile remained. “— If for no other reason than you shan’t be forced to think; that is a benefit to us all.”

“Ah, you’ve wounded me!” Thor clasped one hand to his heart, feigning hurt despite the grin that lit up his face. 

Loki’s teasing seemed to be enough to deter further conversation on the matter, at least for the moment. With perfect timing, a nurse came by with the paperwork Thor needed to sign, and after a few signatures the pair were finally free to leave.

Just when the elevator closed, Thor turned to his brother with a pensive smile. “Jesting aside, I am glad you have someone like Lady Theo in your life.”

“Thor–”

“It is obvious that she truly cares for you.” Thor rested his hand on Loki’s shoulder and locked eyes with his brother. “Knowing there is another who will be there for you whenever you need gives me great peace. She is a good friend to you.”

A faint smile crept up on Loki’s face, and he nodded slightly. “She is.”   

Not long after ensuring Thor was settled in his quarters, Loki returned to his own quarters,  content to spend some time basking in the peace and quiet with his latest selection of literature... 

…At least, he had been content to bask in the peace and quiet until a knock on his door threatened the solitude he’d long been craving. 

Internally groaning, Loki set aside his book and pulled himself to his feet. Despite the overwhelming desire to ignore whoever dared to disturb him, Loki dragged himself to the door, rolling his eyes before twisting the knob and pushing it open.

The sight of Theo, a slim glass bottle with amber liquid in one hand and two lowball glasses in the other, wiped the scowl right off Loki’s face.

“Is this a bad time?” Theo asked, the smile on her face dissolving when she caught Loki’s expression. 

“There is never a bad time for you, darling.” Loki stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. 

“Good, because I am not about to drink this whole bottle myself.” Theo sauntered in, plopped down on the sofa, and poured two glasses of what smelled like whiskey. “Figured you’d want to celebrate having Thor home.”

Warmth bloomed in Loki’s chest. He took a seat next to Theo, retrieving one of the glasses and clinking it with hers. “I most certainly am not sad about the development.” 

“I can tell.” Theo leaned back, taking a sip of her beverage. “You look way less stressed.”

“Is that so?”

“Well yeah,” she said, “but it’s understandable that you were stressed. I mean, now that he’s doing better, I will admit your brother did get pretty fucked up. But still, I wasn’t worried about him...”

“…You were worried about me?” Loki ventured, unable to stop himself from smirking at Theo.

She blushed. “I mean…“

Loki couldn’t stop himself from chuckling at the sight of Theo, attempting to hide the pink of her cheeks behind her glass. “So you weren’t visiting to check on Thor.” 

“No…” She shook her head and let out a sheepish laugh. “Thor already had plenty of people checking on him, but you needed someone in your corner too.” Theo fiddled with the glass in her hands, her attention focused on the amber liquid swirling around inside. “I didn’t like the thought of you trying to deal with all that on your own.”

When Theo finally looked at Loki, he saw something new in her bright blue eyes. 

“I am grateful for your support.” He slid over until the sides of their legs pressed together, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Though I must apologize for forcing you to spend the little free time you had fretting over me.”

“You didn’t force me to do anything.” Theo fiercely shook her head. “I wanted to be there.”

And whether or not he was ready to admit it out loud, he could at least admit to himself that he wanted her there, too.