Once again, he found himself in a public bathroom. It was late at night, but the sound of the city still blared on; the voices of people in the street, the honking of horns, and the sound of cars passing, like a soft sighs in the loud night.
Loki's legs trembled as he spread them, gasping as he felt his body reconstruct and become female once more, building a passageway for the child to pass through. But it was far too early, at only eight months of pregnancy. Something wasn't right, he could sense it.
Blood trickled down his legs, stark in comparison to the white of his legs. He let out a cry as he body racked from the contractions. 'Oh god, it's happening.' he thought, tears streaking his thin face. 'It's happening here and now, in a dirty little bathroom stall in Boston. I'm having Steve Roger's child and no one is going to be able to help me, oh GOD.'
He sobbed as each minute rolled by, each an eternity, blood pooling around his body as he went into labor. The godling threw his head back and screamed, fists clenched and knuckles white, black hair stuck to his sweaty brow in little strands. The scream itself echoed through the bathroom, making even his own ears ring. It, however, was nothing in comparison to the white-hot pain coming from below, the little life exiting him. With every fiber of his being he wished for Steve to be there, to hold him and tell him he would be okay, that everything would be okay.
But he knew this: To be Loki was to be alone. To be Loki was to suffer and atone.
Hours passed, and the pain continued, his fatigued body shaking with the effort of labor. At last, in a final burst of pain and strength, a small body slid out of him, wailing, onto the small blanket he had carried with him. The godling panted, smiling. The deed was done, the child was born.
Pushing himself up, he leaned down and with his magic, severed the umbilical cord. With shaky hands, he cleaned the child with the towels he carried in his small knapsack. She gurgled in response, clenching impossibly tiny, pink fingers.
"Hela..." he breathed as held the child in his tired arms, smiling weakly. "Welcome to Midgard, my dearest."
