PC: I don’t remember where I got this from. It’s been a minute. Definitely not mine. Gods how I wish it was.
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Got it.
You managed to get the increasingly rare publicly seen genuine smile on film, or memory card, as it were. Not the full-on “big smile” with teeth, not the cheesy grin offered fans with a desire for a selfie and not the “oh hey” smile that came when he was ambushed by said fans. Nope. This was a smile few got to see and you counted yourself blessed each time it appeared.
Lately, you’d seen it a lot, just never with the camera pointed at him. You saw it in airports and hotel lobbies, across the table and across the stage, on screens small and large, next to you on the sofa and in bed. A smile that offered warmth and joy all the way up to his eyes. Eyes that glittered with love and crinkled with happiness when he looked at you.
You lowered the camera a bit, smiling back at him, hoping your eyes would convey, or at least reflect, the feelings back to him. The sight of his smile softening made you believe he got the message loud and clear. You winked and pointed the lens in a different direction before someone discovered you ogling each other. You knew that, later, you’d have to share other images with the world. That’s your job, and how the two of you met.
Poor Luke, forced to swim against the current that was the red carpet to find you and hand you a hastily scribbled and barely readable number. Calls to the PR office were returned with a promise of a photo shoot that almost never happened. When the two of you finally managed to land in the same place at the same time, you took hundreds of photos and spent hours pouring over them with him. He picked his favorites, you picked yours, and the magazine that was to publish them picked their own. The two of you celebrated with dinner. And breakfast. And the rest, as they say, is history.
Since then, you’ve taken countless snaps of him and everyone else in Hollywood. But this one, the one that showed happiness and exhaustion and love and just a hint of peace, you opted to keep for yourself. A reminder that this man, this god, held a smile for you and you alone.
The mind...is a fragile thing. Takes only the slightest tap to tip it in the wrong direction. Charles Xavier, Dark Phoenix (2019)
Loki suppressed a shudder upon entering the prison block. He was all too familiar with the cells, having spent far more time in them than he ever wanted to admit. Those who now occupied this prison were criminals, tried, and convicted for their crimes. He never should have been held, much less beneath the palace. He had tried to save Asgard from the Jotunheim, and from his brother’s idiotic lust for war. That business on Midgard with the Chitari had not been his responsibility. Even if it had, Odin had no right...
He stopped himself mid-thought, refusing to allow the memory to progress. Things had been set right with Odin gone, Thor off-world, perhaps never to return, and Loki firmly ensconced on the throne of Asgard. Regardless of anything else the woman had done, she had cemented his right to rule. And that alone was reason enough for keeping her alive. The other reasons he kept to himself, forgetting them when he finally reached her cell.
The woman sat on the floor with legs folded, her back against the wall. Her hands lay relaxed on her knees, palms turned upward as if to receive something. Loki watched her for some time, focusing on the slightest changes in her expression. He wasn’t sure if she was lost in a vision or simply dreaming, but her brow remained furrowed while her lips moved in silent speech. Just as he decided to leave, her eyes blinked open and bore straight through him.
“What?”
“Hardly a complimentary greeting, Midgardian.”
“If it’s a compliment you’re after, maybe you should visit your harem.”
Loki smirked. “We do not practice such archaic beliefs here.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.”
“I would think,” he said, approaching her cell, “that you would be more appreciative of the one who saved your life.”
“You’d think,” she responded absently, standing in a swift motion. “But technically, you’re not the one who saved me, are you?”
Loki stood silent.
“Figured as much. So the question remains: what?”
“Are you attempting to ask what it is that I desire by visiting you here? Or, perhaps, do you mean to inquire of the time?”
Aleksa rolled her eyes.
“There are so many possible variants of questions beginning with ‘what’, I couldn’t possibly list them all.” He leaned toward her. “You wouldn’t live that long.”
“Except for the part where you told your people to inject me with whatever happy juice it is that makes you immortal-ish. So I appear to have plenty of time. By all means, ramble away.”
Loki’s brow quirked as he wondered just how long she’d been feigning unconsciousness.
“What is your name?”
“Haven’t figured that out already? You’re losing your touch.” she scoffed.
“You proceed from the assumption that I haven’t.”
Aleksa shrugged, her arms folded.
“Regardless, I thought Midgardian soldiers were trained to recite their name and identifying number over and over when questioned. No matter. The data found on your identification tags has proven quite useful.”
Her hand instinctively went to her neck, searching for a chain that wasn’t there.
“Petterson is quite the surname. Perhaps I should just call you ‘pet’.”
“Only if you have a death wish,” she snarled as she stepped closer to the force field.
“Pet, it is, then.” Her jaw clenched as he grinned. “There will come a time that your little excursions will wear my patience thin.”
“Stop chasing me and it won’t be a problem anymore. Besides, seems to me that your guards need more exercise now and again.”
“Now and again?” he scoffed. “Are you aware that you’ve attempted seventeen escapes in three months?”
“And made it outside the walls of... whatever-this-is... fourteen of those seventeen times.” Her voice grew distant. “I still need to step up my game.”
“Your game? Quite the shame to waste such extraordinary talents on a... game.”
“But you’d have me play yours.”
“This is no game, pet.”
“Then what is it, Jotunn?” Aleksa growled.
Loki ignored the insult and grinned, satisfied that he was wearing her down. “Opportunity.”
“For what?”
“Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it? You are obviously a warrior of considerable expertise, and I admit to being quite intrigued by your,” he paused, “handling of the Tesseract. Certainly, there are other talents that remain hidden.”
“All in service of Asgard, no doubt.” Her voice soft, she added, “Or did you have something more personal in mind?”
Loki was suddenly aware of the difference in height between them as he looked down at her, trying to ignore the sightline straight to her cleavage. “I’m sure we could come to some sort of an arrangement.”
“Fuck off.” An admonition that sounded both sultry and threatening.
“An insult, the typical human response.” he balked. “Why unleash your hatred on me? Was it not your beloved SHIELD that sent you here to fetch those poor, lost academics? And was it not your decision alone to challenge me to duel in exchange for their lives?”
“Just like it’s your decision to keep coming after me every time I escape.” She returned to the back wall, sliding down to the floor. “Maybe you should find a hobby.”
“Oh, I’ve already found one. And it’s proving most entertaining.”
“I repeat,” she said with a sigh, “fuck off. Especially if you’re offended by typical human insults.” Aleksa glared at the sarcastic smile creeping across his face, then decided to disengage. He wanted her attention and she was going to withhold it.
“You can’t ignore me forever, pet.” Loki stared at her, noting the timing of the rise and fall of her chest. His mind wandered to the flesh beneath the tunic, what it might feel like against his own skin.
“It pains me,” he said with a shake of his head to return himself to the moment, “to see a creature of your considerable abilities left down here to rot, but, if that is what you wish...”
With no response, Loki sighed, turned, and made his way to the corridor.
“Oh,” he paused, speaking over his shoulder, “thank you for not instigating another riot during your last escape. It made finding you so much easier.”
He heard the slightest change in the hum of the force fields surrounding the cell before something hard hit him in the back of the head. He spun to find her still seated. The cup that had been in the cell with her now lay on the floor next to his feet. He picked it up, then looked back at her. She was watching him, her facial features relaxed, almost inviting him to react. He only grinned and resumed his journey out of the prison.
Aleksa sat motionless for some time after Loki’s departure. Her mind raced with new plans for escape mixed with memories that felt more like dreams. She tried to think of simple things like the places or people she knew to settle her mind, but even that failed. Her childhood home in Charleston morphed into an even smaller hut near a cliff. Stifling hot summers spent in band camp became much cooler days walking shorelines with her mother.
Except it wasn’t her mother. Her mother died in an accident. Or was it a raid?
Blue skin.
Red eyes.
So much ice. And fire.
Fire.
“C’mon, Colonel. All you have to do is light the fire. Then you and your friends can go home.”
Aleksa’s eye squeezed shut, trying to block out the vision. They were nightmares, illusions. None of it was real.
Was it?
The desert heat was real. The smell of spice and gunpowder and whatever chemicals she’d been exposed to were real.
“Just light it. You can do that, can’t you?”
She began a breathing exercise, a deep inhale followed by a slow, steady exhale while summoning a white candle in her mind. All she had to do was light it and keep the flame steady.
“The flame will cease to flicker when your mind is calm.” A soft voice, neither male nor female.
“Light the pyre. ” Another voice, definitely male and definitely malicious.
Breathe in.
“You can control matter, control the energy that binds it together.”
Breathe out.
“Just a spark. That’s all. I’d hate for you to have the deaths of anyone else on your hands.”
Breathe.
“What d’ya say?”
“No,” she growled. “Better a few soldiers than thousands of innocents.”
“Never let your gifts be abused.”
How many are dead because of me?
“Poor Rose. Her death will excruciatingly slow without anyone to ensure she receives the proper treatments.”
Rose?
Her mind wandered to a baby, small with bright blue eyes. A child become woman become old, the blue never fading in her eyes, regardless of how distant they became.
Sweet little Rose.
She saw Erik’s face, smiling as he cradled the babe. The smile turned evil as his face morphed into Malick’s.
“Leave her out of this.”
Just kill me instead.
“Then bring me what I want.”
Aleksa’s eyes flew open and she stood, pulling energy from the floor into her body. The lights in her cell flickered, followed by the lights in surrounding cells. The block fell dark for a split second then returned to normal lighting.
None of the other prisoners noticed that the cell at the end of the row was suddenly unoccupied.
D’Varst, on the other hand, thought on all he’d witnessed for a moment before making his way out of the dungeons.
A/N: I kinda lost track of what day it was. My bad!
Chapter 6: Dungeons & Demi-Gods
The group was paraded through the darkened corridors of the dungeon. Prisoners howled and taunted the humans as they passed, threatening all manner of tortures should they ever be freed. They were stopped in front of a smaller cell whose occupants leapt to their feet.
“Oh my God, finally,” one of the women cried, “SHIELD agents. You’ve come to rescue us!” Her excitement turned to questioning as the guards shoved their prisoners into the cell. Aleksa stumbled against the corner as the guards restored the electrified wall. Reece leaned over her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she swallowed, still adjusting to the cell’s environment. “It’ll pass.”
“Fucking useless Inhuman.” Nesis growled.
“This Inhuman is going to get you home, soldier.” Reece spat back.
“How? She can’t even stand up for more than ten minutes, much less mount a rescue!”
“Maybe if your buddy hadn’t started firing on soldiers who didn’t even know we were there...”
Reece stood toe to toe with Nesis, getting louder as they argued. Members of the research team tried to interject without success while Aleksa sank to the floor. The energy surrounding the cell overloaded her senses, making her nauseous and deaf and lightheaded at the same time. She knew she would pass out if she couldn’t find a way to regain her balance.
“Because your ‘classified’ orders have landed us in this damn cell. They got Spartak killed! Just like the last strike team she led...” Nesis shouted.
The smell of turmeric hit suddenly, and it took everything Aleksa had to focus on her breathing, ignoring the commotion growing behind her. She was barely aware of the protests of the research team as she reached for the golden wall of light. The power that briefly surged through her burned her fingertips but cleared her head. The blinding white light turned gold then vanished, leaving behind trails of gold and orange where power lines ran. The static pummeling her eardrums softened, allowing half a dozen languages to become apparent. The phantom scent of the desert faded and she finally was once again aware of her immediate surroundings. She found the entire group staring at her and felt the eyes of her fellow prisoners on her from across the corridor.
“Yes, this Inhuman is going to get all of you home. My orders were sealed by the Director. And,” Aleksa responded flatly, climbing to her feet. “Spartak is dead because he couldn’t control his impulses, because he couldn’t follow orders. Can you?”
Nesis only stared.
“Umm, ma’am?” One of the researchers approached cautiously. “What, exactly, are your abilities? I mean, you just took a huge shock and your fingers are barely singed.”
Aleksa looked down at her hand, watching the skin of her fingertips return to their natural pink color. “It’s complicated,” she sighed.
“What are your orders, Colonel?” Reece asked quietly while checking her hand.
“Same as they were when we got here: get the team home.”
“And how do you propose to do that when we’re all in an Asgardian dungeon?” another researcher whined.
“I’m working on it.”
Nesis stepped to her side, pointing to the guards moving towards their cell. “Work faster.”
The glowing wall vanished, allowing the guards access to the cell. They surrounded the group and forced them into the corridor. “You and Reece take flank and be ready. I told you we’re getting out of here.”
Aleksa walked ahead of the group through the massive halls, surrounded by soldiers. The architecture of the building made their journey sound more ominous, clomping boots echoing through archways and side halls. It reminded her of marching drills in boot camp, minus the relentless shouting. The guards here were eerily quiet. Massive doors opened ahead of them, revealing the open interior of the throne room. Columns reached into the air, supporting arched ceilings that reminded her of the old gothic churches in Europe. The path to the golden throne went on forever, dotted on either side with fire stands that appeared to serve no purpose other than aesthetic.
The researchers behind her began to mutter amongst themselves, commenting on the symbology of the designs that surrounded them. Aleksa’s focus remained on their return home, looking for strategic opportunities for escape should they be needed. She noticed the pile of equipment near the throne and the guards that surrounded it. Unless they were released, the gear would have to be left behind, she decided, thankful that the transmitter appeared to still be operational. Only when the guards leading the parade to the throne slowed did Aleksa turn her focus to the man descending the dais.
A/N: Sooo...between quarantine, recent events, and a certain livestream talkback of Coriolanus, I totally lost track of the day/week and missed posting. But, here we are now. Enjoy!
Chapter 8: Kickstart My Heart
Loki stood in the throne room, staring at the spot where Aleksa fell. The floor had been scrubbed clean of spilled blood, but he could still sense where the duel had ended. The whole incident confused him. He’d been drawn in through ego and hubris, that much was certain. He’d resisted similar bait from others a million times before. This woman, this human, had somehow managed to get inside his head, and that made her dangerous.
Or did it? If she could become an ally, or at the very least coerced - no, persuaded - to become a warrior for him, the woman could prove quite useful. If nothing else, she put up enough of a fight to make breaking her entertaining, and Norns knew he needed a little entertainment in his life at the moment. The women of court were far too eager to please him.
He weighed the possibilities, then dismissed the entire thought. The whole concept depended solely on her surviving the treatments she received in the healing suites. It would be a waste, he concluded, if her attempted suicide was successful. She had so much potential.
Curiosity drove him to the healing facilities. Staff nodded and bowed as he entered the observation area where he met Eir emerging from a treatment room. Her face fell at the sight of him.
“How’s our Midgardian?”
“Not Midgardian.”
“If she’s not Midgaridan, then...” Loki’s eyebrow quirked as another healer arrived, curtsied, and whispered something to Eir.
“That doesn’t make sense. Go back to the original dosage and see what happens.” She turned to Loki. “With respect, my liege, my patient’s evaluation, and treatment have been challenging enough without having to consider her heritage. Her body is adapting and becomes resistant to our efforts.”
Curious.
“And if you stop treatment?”
“I honestly do not know.” Eir sensed Loki’s smirk and pinched the bridge of her nose. The last thing she needed was to be forced to justify her position because of whatever his newest obsession was. But, she had to admit, her patient had her flummoxed.
“In all my centuries as a healer,” she continued, “I have never seen the likes of this woman. There are odd genetic sequences that suggest forced mutations, which may or may not explain the way her body reacts to the treatment. She has most assuredly been experimented on, and that in itself is likely causing some of our problems.” Eir sighed. “The bottom line is that the more we do, the more she fights us. It’s as if she wants to be left alone to heal. Or die.”
Loki studied the woman at his side staring at her patient in confusion. He stepped closer to the window, watching as the team of healers worked frantically. The soul forge hovering over the woman’s body told him that her condition was still critical, vital signs spiking and plummeting. A glimpse of her face showed him a portrait of calm, relaxed slumber as if she was happy to see her life’s end. He wondered if she stood before the gates of Valhalla, negotiating entrance. Curiosity pushed for more information. Pride demanded answers.
“You don’t get to leave, not yet,” he whispered before turning to Eir. “Give her the extract of an Idunnian Apple. If that fails,” he looked back through the window, “cease your efforts.”
“Your Majesty, you know I can not give the extract without consent. It could undo whatever the mutations were designed to create. Or suppress. It could be fatal.” Loki’s glare silenced her protests. “Yes, my king.”
Eir returned to the treatment room, speaking with one of the apprentices. Loki watched intently when the apprentice returned with a vial. The glowing golden fluid was carefully withdrawn and injected into an intravenous line dangling from their patient’s arm.
Aleksa’s body began to shake violently. Healers attempted to hold her down until a strange cloud began filling the treatment area, sending the team running out. People scrambled around, trying to seal the room while Loki simply stood, watching. Air purifiers whirred to life, sucking the smoke out of the room. Others gasped as Loki stepped even closer to the glass.
Grey stone enveloped the entire top of the examination table and crawled down the sides. A few loose pebbles fell to the floor as the soul forge flickered back to life, slowly registering the vitals of the woman encased within. Eir and a few brave healers re-entered the chamber, verifying that Aleksa was, in fact, still alive within the shell.
Loki smiled. He turned to leave until an explosion shook the room. Looking back, he saw Aleksa sit up, the cocoon shattered around her. The wound on her chest closed before she toppled back over as Eir and the others ran back to her side. Loki gestured to one of the apprentices.
“Tell your mistress that I want a detailed report on our guest at her earliest opportunity. The,” he looked back to the room, “woman is to receive any and all attentions necessary. When she is ready, she is to be brought to me.” The apprentice nodded as Loki strode out of the suites, grinning wide.
Armed guards stood their posts, watching Coulson, Daisy, and Aleksa disembark the Quinjet and head towards Agent Melinda May. Coulson had his usual self-satisfied grin on his face.
“Told you she’d come.”
May just grimaced, turning her attention to the redhead in front of her. “I’m more worried about what you promised to get her here.” She turned to the woman in front of her. “Lex. Back to your natural color?”
“Figured it was time for a change. I heard about Andrew. I’m sorry.”
“So was I.”
Aleksa nodded, following the group into the base, peeking through what windows she could as they traveled deeper underground. The constantly changing tech available to SHIELD was mind-boggling and only served to grow her concern. They finally arrived at the conference room where three other soldiers waited. Coulson introduced everyone.
“Specialists Altair Nesis and Christen Spartak, and you know Captain Brian Reece, SHIELD Special Forces. They’ll be your extraction team.”
“This is it? Three men?”
“We are the best of the best, ma’am.” Spartak stepped forward.
“Semper Fi, Marine. Stand down,” she answered, immediately recognizing the stance drilled into the man. “Still a little light, given where we’re going,” she sighed. “Alright, Reece, what’s the story?”
Reece moved to the large projection screen, calling up the profiles of the missing people. “Research team of 5: two men, three women, all experienced SHIELD field ops with minimal combat training. They’ve been off-world for six weeks, due to return in a few days. Communication from the team stopped 24 hours ago, following reports of a decreasing frequency. A beacon near the portal is still broadcasting, but there’s nothing coming through.”
Aleksa hummed. “How stable is the portal?”
"Relatively,” Coulson answered. “We watched it for almost a year before we sent the team through. It runs on a forty-three-minute rotation, open for about five minutes before going dark.”
“Does it close or just go invisible?”
“That’s what we’re hoping you can tell us.”
Aleksa quirked an eyebrow. “Any other operatives on Asgard?”
“None that have any intel. No mentions of captured humans or of planned executions.” Reece replied.
“He’d kill them?” Aleksa moved closer to the screen, scrolling through data.
May shrugged. “Who knows? It’s Loki.”
“That’s comforting. Why are they up there to begin with?”
“Research.”
Aleksa turned to Coulson, who was leaning against the desk. “Thank you for the tactical update, captain obvious. What kind of research?”
“It’s classified.”
Aleksa rolled her eyes before glaring at him. “Infinity stones, Asgardian military strength, or tech?” Coulson’s expression never changed. “I suppose you’ll want the equipment back as well?”
“Of course.”
“Any visuals of that side of the portal, or their base camp?” Reece called the appropriate photographs. “You dumped them right next to a training facility? Jesus, Coulson. When you jack something up, you go for broke, don’t you?”
“There’s sufficient cover to cross between worlds.”
“Then why didn’t they just come home?”
“We don’t know. That’s why we’re sending you.”
“Great.” Aleksa sighed heavily. “Any other portals between Asgard and Earth?”
“The team thought they found two more, but we never received confirmation one way or the other. Another reason why we need you.”
“So they might not even be on Asgard?”
“It’s possible but highly unlikely. Beacon images showed the team right before the line went dead.” May answered.
Aleksa turned to Nesis. “And what’s your role in all this?”
“To cover your ass, ma’am.”
“More like I’d cover yours.” Judging by the shift in his posture, the soldier took her statement personally. “Me, two hired guns and an ops guy, with practically no intel, versus a megalomaniac demi-god and an Asgardian battalion. Should be fun.” Aleksa shook her head. “Is this an ‘any means’ assignment?” Coulson and May looked at each other. “Oh for frak’s sake...”
“Returning the team is your top priority.”
“But you wouldn’t be upset if I put a spear through Loki’s chest?”
Coulson blanched. “Just get the team home.”
Aleksa watched him leave without another word. May followed him with her gaze, then turned back to the woman staring at a map with Reece.
“That was a little harsh, even for you, Lex.”
“Probably,” Aleksa responded absently. “I’m not exactly at one hundred percent right now.”
May’s brow furrowed. “Dreams again?”
“Still.” She glanced up to see dark brown eyes boring into her. “They never stopped. Now they’re just...weird. Like someone decided to create a B movie of a bad acid trip.”
“Maybe you should get checked out before you go.”
“And have yet another doc tell me it’s the PTSD and want to add more meds? Hard pass. Besides, I need full access to all my toys if I’m going up against Frosty the Bad Mood Reindeer.”
May smirked. “At least your sense of humor is intact.” She looked up at the map still glowing above them. “Think you can pull this off?”
“I’d feel better if you were going with me. And,” Aleksa toggled the map to another screen, “it’d help if I knew what I’m really going up there after.”
“I wish I knew.”
“Gentlemen,” Aleksa turned to the soldiers behind her, “give us the room, please. You, too, Reece.”
They stood and filed out with Reece at the end of the parade. He paused when he reached the door and looked back at Aleksa, a sad smile on his face.
“It’s good to see you again, Colonel.”
She nodded and he left silently. Her head shook after the door closed.
“He looks like he’s seen a ghost.”
“Maybe he thinks he has,” May answered. “He hasn’t seen you since...”
“I made him escape? He’d have ended up like the rest of the squad.” Aleksa keyed off the monitors, mumbling, “I had to save someone.” She blew out a breath, fighting back hazy memories. “So why did Coulson send a bunch of brainiacs to Asgard?”
“He didn’t.”
“Then who...Fury?” Aleksa’s eyes narrowed while May’s expression never changed. “Is the rescue a primary or secondary order?”
May said nothing as she pulled a small piece of paper from her vest. Aleksa took it and read it over several times before speaking.
“Oh, my aching Christ...you’ve got to be kidding me. Does Phil know about this?”
May didn’t move.
“Gods dammit. SHIELD will end up blowing the whole damn planet in two for the love of keeping secrets.” Aleksa muttered, giving the paper back to May as she walked out of the conference room. “I want hazard pay.”
A/N: I’ve always had the idea of using images as a source of inspiration for writing short drabbles stemming from something I see in a photo or drawing. It’s especially useful if I’ve been encased in a solid writer’s block for a while. So, here’s the first in what will probably become a series. Enjoy!
Photo edit by @jennphoenix
He played with the coffee cup, smiling softly at the warmth the ceramic held. The warmth that crawled up his fingers at this moment reminded him of the warmth he felt from your hands whenever he held them. The warmth the flowed from the cheek he would brush while you kissed. The warmth that poured from the skin he caressed as you slept next to him.
He missed that most, he decided, the feel of your body next to his, whether you were both tangled naked in the bed, or curled next to each other on the sofa to watch a film, or strolling along a beach with an arm around each other. Soft and warm.
The thought filled him with calm, just as you did. This warmth that he adored - and craved if truth be told - came not just from your physical being, but from your soul. It was always there in your eyes, regardless of how much or how little sleep you’d had. Patient warmth you’d shown countless fans as they clamored for autographs and selfies, calming some of them down from the hysteria of meeting their idol. Or calming him down after a long shoot or longer interviews or just frustrations with life and distance and the dog.
Yes, he missed that warmth most. He’d been too long without it, too long without you. He’d lost both when life got in the way, your schedule and his taking the two of you in opposite directions. There’d been no deceptions, no betrayal of trust. You’d simply grown tired of sharing him with the world, frustrated as you’d entered a season of needing his warmth more than he could provide at the time. A long conversation, a lot of tears, and enough lovemaking to last someone for years gave you both the strength to call a break between you.
You still spoke on occasion, a note to him offering congratulations on a new gig or accolade. He’d call simply to check on you, especially during the busy seasons of work. Each call held a fear that the warmth in your voice would be gone, replaced perhaps by annoyance at his contact, but it never came. Even the accidental call at 3 a.m. netted him the smile and soft, “Hey, you.” But, offers to visit were declined, citing the mania of life. He felt your warmth starting to diminish, and steeled himself for its impending loss.
He was shocked when you’d called him, asking if the rumors were true about the show on Broadway. He spent the next hour giddy as he told you of the details of the play, the cast, the theatre, even the process of bringing the pup with him. The call ended before he even remembered that you’d called for the first time in months and he didn’t even ask why. He called back, greeted by the laugh that came when he got that excited and warmed his heart.
Having found a weekend to actually be off, you wanted to take a trip to the city, see the sights, and see him on stage, if that was really going to be an option. He’d planned everything within hours - your flight, transportation, tickets to the show, and meals. The hesitation in his voice, and yours, didn’t go unnoticed by either of you when he asked where you wanted to stay. You’d decided that having a room near the theatre was a good idea in case things didn’t go well when you reunited. He agreed grudgingly, asking if you wanted to meet for coffee before tackling whatever the weekend held. You accepted. Now, he sat, waiting, trying to pull the remaining warmth from the half-empty coffee cup as a sad replacement for you.
You entered, spotting him immediately. The smile he’d found in the memories of you somehow made its way to your face as you approached, returning to his when you wrapped your arms around him, holding on for far longer than anyone would’ve thought appropriate. He breathed a deep sigh into your hair, drinking in the scent of it and you. When he felt the warmth of your hand touching his, followed by the warmth of your eyes when they finally met his, he knew - he prayed - that everything would be alright. Even though the coffee had gone cold, he wouldn’t have to. He’d have your warmth back and swore to make sure that you had his whenever you needed it.
A/N: So, consistent posting is just not a thing I can seem to do. Thanks for your patience with that. But, here we are, onward and upward!
Chapter 9: New Dreams, Old Legends
Aromas of lavender and sage lulled Aleksa from her slumber. Laughing children outside her window told her it was afternoon, setting off a small spark of panic until she registered that she should’ve been smelling plough mud and oysters. Whether she’d slept through another morning’s work or not, the bed she awoke in was too flat, and the room that came into focus was too barren. Somehow, though, she felt at home.
Aleksa stretched to shake off the last bits of sleep but winced when a sharp pain tore through her chest. She sat up slowly, pushing the furs aside to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Her fingers found the wrappings around her shoulder and chest, reminding her of the blade she took fighting Loki...
No. This wound was closer to her shoulder than her heart. She tried to remember how she got it. The children outside laughed again, and she turned to gaze out of the window. They were running and playing, slowing only when Fiske couldn’t keep up. Fiske. The lost child. The one she saved, taking a blade to the...
The memory was suddenly clear in her mind. She sighed, still lamenting the necessity to end a man’s life to protect an innocent, but she’d done what she felt was right. The monster couldn’t be allowed to live.
Unsteady steps took her into the main area of the little home. Modir stood before the fire, humming as she stirred the brew in a large cauldron. Aleksa smiled at the sight of her, forgetting her footing and bumping into a table.
“Lítit minn, you’re as wobbly as a babe,” Modir scolded. “You should not be about!”
“I’m sorry, Modir. I overslept again.”
“Shhh, sit before you fall.” Modir pulled a chair from the table and led Aleksa to it. “I don’t mind you sleeping to heal, but I shall be most cross if you reopen that wound.” She began to fuss with the wrappings, checking the herbs packed beneath it. “You must learn not to draw your blade first, Aleksa. You are a healer, not a warrior.”
“But Fiske,” Aleksa bit her lip to mute her cry of pain.
“Yes, Vidar told me of the child you saved. As did the child’s parents. You must visit them when you’re recovered.”
Aleksa sat silently for a moment, hovering between consciousness and sleep. It didn’t make sense. This woman wasn’t her mother, but she felt a love and trust that had long been missing in her life. This home wasn’t her own, not the one she remembered. Or was the house she remembered the dream?
Her mind swirled with images she both knew and didn’t, faces she both recognized and yet couldn’t place. Smells, tastes, sensations were muted in one world and enhanced in another. The harder she tried to sort it all out, the more blurred everything became.
Loki was manipulating her mind.
He had to be.
“It’s not safe here,” she whimpered, sending a bolt of pain through her body when she jerked awake.
Modir balked. “Not safe? You mean from Horgsholt? Childe, your imagination is running away with you.”
“Asgard,” Aleksa grabbed the woman’s wrist, “I’m not safe here.”
“Asgard?” Modir’s brow furrowed as she touched her hand to Aleksa’s temple. “You’re burning with fever again. Come on, back to bed.”
Aleksa tried to struggle as Modir led her back into the bedroom but found her strength gone.
“I have to escape,” she whispered as Modir pulled the furs back over her body while darkness descended. “Get back...to...home...”
Two guards opened the doors to Loki’s study, nodding to Eir as she entered. Loki rose to her bow and strode around the table.
“After nearly three weeks, I was beginning to think you were not going to honor my request.”
“This has been my earliest opportunity, your Majesty.” Eir’s voice stood firm to his implications. Loki considered her for a moment, then smiled.
“Sit, please, and tell me of our not Midgardian.”
Eir placed a small device on the table and waved a hand over it. A holographic strand of genetic code appeared, rotating and highlighting certain sections as it moved. Loki’s gaze moved between it and the healer several times, the confusion on Eir’s face far more concerning than the strands floating above the table.
“Eir?”
The woman seemed to snap awake. “Apologies, your Majesty. This is...a truly unique case.”
“So you continue to mention. Now, if you don’t mind, explain why.”
“This woman is, for all intents and purposes, Asgardian. Much of her DNA has transformed because of the Idunnian extract.” Eir sighed.
“The extract doesn't cause that level of mutation,” Loki spoke softly, critically eyeing the woman across from him.
“Not in the first administration. Any subsequent uses, however, tend to have a far stronger impact on the subject’s physiology.” The image shifted into two strands of code. “Original evaluations indicated that the mix of Asgardian and Midgardian blood was closer to an equal balance with some traces of other races known to have inhabited Midgard at some point. I suspect, however,” she paused as she pointed to blue-green sections of the original code, “that the Kree markers were forcibly increased by these.”
Two small vials clinked on the table.
“Odium?” Loki pondered as he picked up a vial and examined it in the light. “I wasn’t aware that Midgard was still in possession of this.”
Eir nodded. “Neither was I. It seems they warrant closer monitoring in that respect. Though, in her case, the alterations were made easier by her inborn mutative abilities, among other things.”
“What other things?”
“Beyond the gifts of self-repair, increased metabolism, strength, and so on that come with her mixed Asgardian blood, I’m not sure.”
“Mixed with what?” he questioned, sensing the hesitation in the healer’s posture. “Eir, What other blood does she carry?”
“Again, your Majesty, I’m not sure...”
Loki leaned closer and growled, “Guess.”
Eir sighed, pressing the bridge of her nose between her fingers.
“I’ve been doing considerable research into the history of the Nine Realms during the time period I suspect she was born into. Most of it is available, however, significant portions of Asgard’s history are missing or damaged. This is why my report has taken so long, Majesty, and I fear I may not yet have all of the answers.”
“If I wanted a history lesson, healer, I’d visit the librarians,” Loki growled.
“And if I wanted to debate the significance of history’s impact on medicine, I’d be teaching novices.” She answered flatly. “Shall I continue delivering my report, or do you wish only to receive the details that matter to you only in this moment?”
“Continue,” he paused to release a slow breath, gesturing to the papers strewn across the table. “But know that I have very little patience for riddles this day.”
“There have always been stories of what the Allfather was like prior to Frigga’s arrival on Asgard. Legends that Odin was a warmonger, violent, Hel bent on not just ruling the Nine Realms, but conquering them.”
“Following in Bor’s glorious footsteps or some such nonsense. I've heard these tales,” Loki paused, looking back at the hologram, “but that doesn’t answer the question of this woman’s bloodline.”
“Actually, it does. A tribe of Asgardians was banished to Midgard after openly dissenting against Odin and his conquest. It was his wedding gift to Frigga to not execute the traitors. While he’d ordered no contact or assistance to them from any of the Nine Realms, some Vanir and Light Elves joined the tribe in order to help it thrive.
“I’ve heard this story, too. The tribe fell in the last Jotunn raid on Midgard with no survivors.”
“As far as the Allfather was concerned, that is an accurate assessment. However, Vanir history tells a different story. That tribe survived for at least another century, possibly two before it was lost to time. There are also accounts that the Jotunn raids started much earlier than Odin believed, and that there were children born as a result.”
“Which is why Odin put a stop to it, and to the Jotunns.” Loki paused, lost in thought. “If I recall correctly, that tribe was supposed to have been of an ancient line that pre-dated the Völva?”
“Precisely. The Allfather knew that if the Jotunns had access to the magics of the Völva and the Vanir, they could, over time, become more powerful...”
“And therefore more difficult to control.” Loki cut her off. “So what does this all mean for our guest?”
“Given her age and the abilities she’s shown thus far, I suspect she’s a descendant of that tribe, if not born into it before the last raid on Midgard.” Eir waved a hand over the floating image, transforming it into a few tables of data. “This is a breakdown of the genomes we found: Midgardian, Asgardian, Vanir, Alfheir, and,” she paused to look at the man now standing beside her, “Jotunn.”
“Jotunn,” he whispered. He moved silently to the window, staring out over the city as he considered the implications. She was a half breed. A monster, just like him. Would she understand what it was like? Would she understand herself? Would she understand him?
“My king,” Eir hesitated, “there is another matter.”
“And that would be?” he growled.
“She may not be aware of what, or who, she truly is.” Eir open and closed her mouth several times before she sighed, waving a hand over the projector. Loki returned to the table as the golden strands of data morphed into a model of a brain, and Eir pointed to an area glowing more than the rest. “This is what concerns me. Cellular damage too specific in location to have been caused by a traumatic injury. I believe that she’d had some portion, if not all, of her memory, wiped away.”
Before Loki could question his chief healer any further, an apprentice burst through the doors.
“Teacher!” she shouted, before stopping short. “Forgive me, your Majesty.”
