A/N: And so we begin the final story of Olivia. As usual, I don't have any rights to the Avengers. Happy reading :-)
The papers seemed to fly off my desk in slow motion. I watched the gently falling pages float on the air, gradually descending until they lightly landed with a crinkle. It was the last straw. Immediately, I burst into tears, my body wracking from the force.
Everything was horrible. Absolutely everything. I wanted to strangle whoever said being pregnant was glorious. Strangle them, chop them up into tiny pieces, and then put those pieces in a box. Then put that box inside another box, inside another box, and then smash it with a hammer before throwing the whole thing into the garbage.
Which brought me to my next point: I was irrationally moody. One moment, the world was wonderful-filled with happy rainbow unicorns and glitter fairies. Then, not a second later, I hated everything in all the universe. Everything. Everyone. This was, of course, before I burst into tears over the fact that someone had personally brought me papers to sign. Or that Buster had gotten destroyed on MythBusters. Or that my papers had fallen off my desk.
Being pregnant went against everything that was me. I liked to think of myself as a fairly rational, logical, sane person on most days. I was none of those things pregnant. Absolutely none of them. Work had once been fun; I had liked work. But it seemed that everything set me off, for either good or bad. Which, naturally, amplified everything I felt.
Most days, I was exhausted. Constantly. I ate without stop. My stomach was so swollen, I looked like I had swallowed a small planet. I couldn't recall the last time I had slept comfortably. Upon looking in the mirror, the only thing I felt was revulsion. The only good thing about the entire thing, was that at least I had only gained five pounds tops. Which, as I had come to discover, was only because frost giants required a lot of nutrition and so my body was compensating by giving ninety percent of what I ate to the baby. Thus, it also explained why I was consistently starving.
I imagined I had eaten enough food to feed the entire continent of Africa for a year. In fact, if I wasn't eating, I was crying. Crying because my life was terrible. I didn't even know why I bothered going to work, it wasn't as if I could do anything. Still, some part of me was utterly humiliated by what I had become; I couldn't stand the thought of being around Loki for any extended period of time, afraid he would find me equally, if not more, disgusting that I believed. He had become accustomed to me not coming to bed at night, though he thought it was because I was too uncomfortable.
It was a partial truth, though it was mainly because I just didn't want him to see me that way. Initially, we had argued continually. My mood swings were violent and unexpected. I would attack him for the most minute thing possible. He would retaliate. On and on it would go until I transformed into a blubbering, pathetic moron. Which, of course, completely disgusted him. And so, we would fight some more. Then, the storm would pass and all would be well for about ten minutes before it started again.
Thankfully, it had only lasted for about a month. From that point onwards, he had made it a point to either leave the room or walk away until I was sane once more. A faint knocking on my door drew me from my thoughts of misery. I sniffed, wiping the tears from my eyes as I took one final look at the mess of papers on the floor. "Come in."
"Avery called." Loki stated quietly, assessing if I was in a reasonable mood. Never had he come to the office. Not even once. He had no interest in meeting other people and I hadn't particularly wanted the world to know who I was in a relationship with. The arrangement had suited us fine thus far. Distantly, in the hormonal chaos that was my brain, I recognized my assistant must have been genuinely concerned if she had gone to the trouble of calling Loki-the one person she was absolutely terrified of.
"Why?"
"She said, and I quote, 'I think you should come down here. Your wife is scaring me.' Given her sentiments towards me, I decided something must have been truly wrong."
"I'm fine." I snapped, willing the papers to fly upwards onto my desk. It didn't work.
"Clearly. You've only been weeping over what? Dropped papers?" He bent low, shuffling them together into a stack.
"Don't patronize me! You wouldn't understand! I mean, just look at you, bending and moving and...and...breathing!" I finished weakly.
"Ah, yes. How dare I breathe."
My composure broke. I had kept every feeling of inadequacy from him, not wanting to put him through more than necessary. "You're not...this!" I cried desperately, pointing at myself. "Look at me! I'm disgusting!" I collapsed into my chair, burying my face in my hands. "I look in the mirror and I just...I can't even...I-" Unable to finish my thought, I allowed myself to dissolve into a fit of sobs.
Distantly, I heard the door to my office click close. My first assumption was that he had left again, as was common by that point. "Has this been the problem all along?" His voice was softer than I had expected. Slowly, I allowed my hands to slip away into my lap.
"Not the only one, but it is a pretty big piece of it." I replied wearily, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.
"Olivia," He crouched to the ground. A brief recognition of the irony struck me. This was the man who had commanded hundreds to kneel before him, and there he was, kneeling at the feet of a sobbing human. Loki cupped my face in his hands, eyeing me intently. "You are more beautiful to me now than you have ever been." He paused, a smirk spreading on his lips. "When you're not shouting at me or bawling uncontrollably."
"Pfft!" I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, speaking to the floor rather than him. "Right. I'm beautiful. I eat everything in sight and look like a contorted ballon animal and I'm beautiful."
"I think I prefer your mind when it isn't addled with gibberish." He stated dryly. "You have always been able to see from another's perspective. Try to see yourself from mine."
"Insignificant, human scum?" I replied sarcastically.
He chuckled darkly. "Not quite." His fingers tucked a stray curl behind my ear. "For one who's family has disowned him, who has never felt as if he belonged anywhere," I saw a deep longing fill his features, the regret plain upon his face. "You represent the beauty of hope. I look at you and I see everything I ever wanted: a home, love, and a family." Loki stood to his feet, taking my hands into his own.
"Not a contorted, gluttonous ballon animal?" I asked faintly as I allowed him to pull me to standing.
"No, not that." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, kissing the top of my head.
"I don't want to come back to work." I stated dejectedly as we began to move towards the door.
"No one ever commanded you to. Besides, I thought you owned the company?"
"I do. I was just hiding here. I don't think I'm going to come back for a while. All they need me for now is signing documents anyway."
"See, you will be of far more use at home." I felt him nuzzle my neck and suppressed a giggle. We were nearly out the door when we heard it. A terrible, piercing cry resounded at a volume never heard. I covered my ears with my hands from the intensity of it. It lasted for only a moment. Then, the ground began to tremble. I watched the color drain from Loki's face.
"What? What is it?"
"We need to leave. Now."