The heat from the fire was filling the dense space of the room. Jane was terrified, for only two possibilities presented: either she had lit a fire and had forgotten, which suggested she was insane or utterly distracted and couldn't trust herself, or someone else had lit it. Neither one was attractive to her at present.
She looked all over, and went to the door. It was locked, as she recalled having done, and there was no sign of an intruder. No snow on the mat by the door…no wet marks to speak of.
She shook her head. The poker was still in her hand, and she placed it by the sofa, sitting down.
Jane thought that she should eat…when was the last time? Yesterday? Yes. Breakfast yesterday morning. She would get up and make herself something, just as soon as she rested her eyes…
His hand was reaching for her…but it wasn't right…she lunged away…where was he? she needed him, not the one reaching for her from the blackness…she needed him…The thunder god…the oily voice coiled around her in a vice…Stay here, Jane, I'll never harm you…but she couldn't believe it…she ran…she ran until her legs gave out, for they were leaden and opposed her frantic movement…she collapsed on the soft earth, warm and sweet…Jane's eyes struggled to see…to focus on something…anything…she was being pulled upward…someone had her…she turned in a panic…and he was smiling at her, devilish in his grin, with something else underneath…
Loki.
Jane's eyes flew open, her breath ragged.
It was Loki. He was what was haunting her.
Great…a ghost. Jane rubbed her face in exhaustion.
But that didn't make sense. Why would Loki be haunting her? He didn't care about her, he had no connection to her.
He had saved her, she reminded herself, for Thor's sake. He loved his brother, if nothing else. She should leave…go now…maybe she could escape the specter of Loki, or whatever it was that was the source of her torture.
Jane got up, turned quickly, but in her state of malnutrition, she stumbled, and her head fell on the upright poker. If she had been an inch further to her right, she might've impaled herself.
Blackness enveloped her.
She was on the rainbow bridge…beautiful…someone was screaming…she looked, and saw Thor at the edge, Odin standing behind him…I could've done it, father!…Thor screamed….nothing…and then the elves…and Thanos…and a promise…and then she was walking with Thor…and something inhibited her speech…and in a glass cage…and many monsters…and death…despair…sorrow, want, pain…so much pain…and then desperation…save Thor…a knife to the chest…collapse…void…travel…cold…she saw herself in the cottage…she saw Thor in Asgard…Odin honoring him in funeral garb…she saw the lake…green magic…pain pain pain in her chest…
Jane inhaled as though drowning, as though she was in the lake once more, gasping in a frenzied movement. They felt like an augury, those visions…for though they had certainly already happened, Jane knew that they were only the beginning of her scourge.
It was making sense. Ever since she had spied him in the mirror…the green in the lake…the dreams…the fire…it was the ghost of a sorcerer.
Her head was throbbing and sore from her fall. How long had she been unconscious? Her hand went to her forehead…blood was to be found on her fingers.
"Shit," she said to the empty room, and her voice sounded stale from lack of use.
She got up on wobbly legs and went to the kitchen. Jane wetted a towel and placed it to her forehead. She felt ill…was she concussed? Yes…she thought, and retched bile from her depths into the sink.
She looked up and out of the window.
He stood there, watching her…black surrounding him…pale in the moonlight…his face tilted downward as he penetrated her eyes with his steady stare.
He was about fifty yards from the house. Jane stood away from the window…and turned and ran out the door to reach him.
No shoes, no coat, nothing to protect her from the elements.
She wasn't paying attention…he was there…and then he wasn't.
Jane went over to the spot he had been standing at, and there, in the snow, was a spot of fresh blood.
Her feet were stinging. She should go back to the house.
Shivering uncontrollably, Jane made way back, the ice and snow burning her soles in painful recurrence. She entered the house, closed the door behind her.
The fire seemed to have been rekindled.
Jane.
A voice.
She whirled. "What?"
Nothing.
"Fuck you, Loki!" and she went tenderly to soak her feet in a bucket of warm water.
After a brief interlude that consisted of water, soup and crackers, Jane sat once more with a book. She couldn't risk falling asleep…she had been concussed.
What would her grandma think of her now? What would she say about her life? Lonely. Desperate. Insane. She was insane, thinking she saw Loki in the snow…but the blood…the dreams…could ghosts bleed?
She shook her head. She was tired once more.
She must be depressed. Never in her life had she felt more fatigued as she had these past few days in the cottage.
Her eyes sagged.
Wake up, Jane.
Her head flew up. She looked around. No one.
"Goddammit, Loki. I really hate you," she murmured. "Can't you go find someone else to haunt?"
She returned to her book. "The Mists of Avalon," she recalled having liked it the first time she read it, but that was before…everything.
She read about Merlin and Igraine, about Morgan and Morgause; she read and read until her eyes swam and her head ached. How long should she make herself stay awake?
You should be fine to take your sleep now.
THAT was in her head. His voice was in her head.
She screamed…
Jane ran upstairs, and without going to the bathroom, without changing her clothes, without doing anything in preparation for bed, dove to her bed, pulled the covers up over herself, and cried.
Light threatened the black of her eyelids. Her eyes creaked with an age that was not her own…she almost felt as though when she went to look at herself in the mirror, she would see an ancient woman, and all of the goings on were a fabrication of a very old mind. It would be a relief to be old, she thought, it would give her an excuse for her fatigue.
Jane wouldn't avoid the bathroom this morning, and when she went in, noticed her thirty-three year old face looking back at her.
Oh, well.
She brushed her teeth, her hair, went to change into some sweatpants and a sweater.
How much longer had she promised herself to stay here? Another month?
Perhaps she would cut it short a week or two. The place was no longer the source of comfort she had imagined.
She went downstairs to put some coffee on.
It felt warmer than usual in the house. The fire must not have went out. That was odd.
After she began to brew the coffee, she went to the sitting room.
And she fainted.
"Wake up, Jane Foster. Wake up!"
Her eyes opened slowly.
There, looming over her, was Loki.
Hastily, she pulled herself away, backing away from him…"What the FUCK?! What the fuck are you doing here? Aren't you dead? Are you a ghost? Why are you bothering me?" she stopped and looked at him. He as standing now, his arm across his torso, as if in pain. "Are you bleeding?" she noticed a wet black spot across his middle.
He leaned against the back of the sofa where he had been sleeping before the mortal fainted.
"Those, Miss Foster, are a lot of questions….and truthfully…I cannot answer all of them…" and he slipped a bit from weakness. "…at least not until my strength returns…"
She got up and hurried toward him. She heaved him up and helped him to the sofa, gingerly lowering him down.
He gasped and cringed. He let out a soft moan.
"Let me see…" she said, taking his hand from his side.
He glared at her. "Do not touch me!"
"You're bleeding…you should…"
"I know quite well that I'm bleeding, and I thank you for your astute observation and reminder. Might I have some water…I haven't had refreshment in many weeks now…" his head leaned back.
She squinted at him, but got up and fetched him and herself some water.
"Loki…tell me what's going on, please."
He drank deeply. He sat up, and began to take off his armor. They fell into nothingness with a quick flick of his wrists and arms.
He handed her the glass. "More, please…"
She got him more.
When she got back, he was carefully pulling his shirt off…it was sticking to him from the blood. His face was contorted in pain and concentration. Finally, after a few excruciating seconds, it was off, and he fell back on the sofa, his breath labored.
Jane looked at his chest, and nearly retched again.
The wound was gaping…it looked like it had happened yesterday, not weeks ago. Fresh blood seeped from the split of skin.
"How…that looks like it just happened…" she paused. "So…you're not a ghost…"
"If by ghost you mean a draugr, then no. I know I likely carry not a pleasing scent at present, but I hope not the stench of them."
"Did you die?" Jane asked.
He looked at her. "I did not…I'm here, aren't I?'
"Oh," and remembering herself, she went to get some water, a towel, and some antiseptic for the injury.
She knelt beside him on the sofa, and began to clean his chest. At first he pulled away, but then allowed her to continue.
He looked at her curiously. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you are hurt. But I'm still really pissed off. You've been torturing me! I thought I was going crazy!"
"If I had been able to control any of it, I certainly would not have chosen to come here…"
She stopped her action. "I don't understand."
He sighed, and placed his hand on his forehead. "After you and Thor left me to die…"
"We thought that you were dead!"
He held up a finger. "Don't interrupt…after you left, and I regained consciousness, I attempted to get back to Asgard the way we came, assuming that the two of you had gone there…I was much too weak, however, and became trapped in the void. Because of that…my wound neither worsened nor healed…I was lost in time and space…periodically appearing here on Midgard, in Asgard, and several other places. I was slowly regaining some strength…so…yesterday, I happened to be able to materialize for small moments…I lit you a fire…I spoke to your mind…I watched you from the outside. It was purely happenstance that at the time I felt strongest I was here, on Midgard, in your presence."
"Oh," it was beginning to make sense. Sorta.
"Yes. So now, I had braved the void, slipping in and out of existence. And I shall ask for your hospitality for a day or two, until I am able to return to Asgard…I am still too weak to make the journey."
Jane swallowed. "Um…Ok…sure."
He nodded. "I am quite tired, Miss Foster…"
"Jane."
"Jane. Would you mind terribly getting me a blanket? I'll take my sleep here."
She thought a second. He was hurt, exhausted, and told her he would only stay a short while. Ok, Jane Foster. He might be a monster, but you're not. Help the alien, and send him off. At least you know now that you're not crazy.
She got up and brought him an afghan, bringing also some gauze to wrap the seeping wound. She sat on the edge of the sofa, and began to unwrap the packaging.
"What is that?" Loki asked.
"Gauze. You'll need it, or the material will stick to the wound."
He snickered. "I have much more effective means than your 'gauze,' whatever that is," and he waved his hand over his chest, covering it in a sheen and protecting his skin.
"Oh. Alright, then." She left him with the blanket and went to make tea, abandoning the thought of coffee. "Do you like tea, Loki?"
She hadn't seen, but his eyebrow arched at her mention of his name. "I cannot tell you. I've never had it."
"It has medicinal value. And it's calming, so I enjoy it during the day," she called in from the kitchen.
A few minutes later she brought two steaming cups in and handed Loki one. Jane took a seat in an easy chair, a coffee table separating the two.
He sipped it. "It's...not horrific."
"Well, I'm so pleased it doesn't horrify you," she replied with feeling.
He smirked. "I should rest. I am grateful for your allowing me to take time here, but truly, the longer I put off my rest, the longer it shall take for me to heal."
Jane nodded. She downed her cup, put on her outside clothes, and left for a walk.
The sun'a blush brushed her face with long fingers of rays. It seemed brighter today, the doleful haze which had pressed her the past few days seemed not so dire. She wasn't crazy! Just depressed. That was marginally better.
Of course, she had a wounded alien sleeping on her sofa, so there was that.
She shook off the thoughts and decided to merely enjoy the sun in the freezing air she so seldom breathed.
Her mind settled on Thor. She had been in love once, but not with him...she barely knew him, really. And there was the fact that she was disposed to melancholy, despite her sarcastic wit. Thor was not. He was tenacious. He was fanciful. He was very, very hot without a shirt on. He was quick to temper, quicker to lose it, and formidable in his wrath.
No...depression was not among his attributes, she went on, winding her way through the thick, naked trees of the wood. And though Jane was not often welling in existential angst, it did present its pensive glance now and then. Only someone who had shared this dubious state could ever really understand the ponderous dark which accompanied it, and which kissed her very being with it's cracked lips.
Abandon, it Jane. Let it go. It was a mercurial affair, anyway.
She would stay here, then, in the cold scene of New England a bit longer, and make her way back to New Mexico.
New. Two of them...two things, not so new...quite old, in fact, named in order to suggest newness...different, changed mildly by chance and folly.
And then there was Loki, asleep, wounded on her sofa. He was a strange sort...psychopathic murder notwithstanding. But she had dreamed about him...had been him when she had been knocked unconscious...and she had felt his despair, his isolation...it was familiar, and that was concerning.
Her mind was swimming with thoughts untethered and random. She made her way back to the house. The closer she got, the more she noticed the color in the snow...red and green drops were scattered, as if the trees were dripping with the hues.
Jane went inside to find a roaring fire and Loki gone.