Second chapter of the day! (Again, technically it's "tomorrow" but oh well. Many of you are probably still awake).
This was a fun one to write... Definitely a "storm is darkest just before the clouds recede" chapter. And Jane and Loki have a couple good... uh... moments. I hope no one is getting impatient with my incredibly subtle Lokane - I'll speed things up soon, I promise.
Thanks again to one and all for the support and reviews and enthusiasm. I hope I'm responding to reviewer questions by clearing things up as I go along. If you have stuff you're dying to know, ask me in a review and I'll drop you a hint. ;)
Enjoy!
"Let's get him on the couch," said Jane.
Thor walked over to the white furniture carrying the unconscious god of lies like a baby doll. If Jane hadn't been so thoroughly exhausted she might have laughed. Every one of her movements was fueled by adrenaline at this point, by the immense strangeness of housing an incapacitated supervillain on her sofa.
The ride home had been immensely uncomfortable. Thor and Jane hadn't spoken a word – especially not about the absence of Jane's engagement ring. Especially not about how puffy her eyes were from crying. Especially not about how long Jane's hand had lingered on Loki's forehead. They had sat, staring out the windows, fingers crossed that Loki's prone form wouldn't emit another sonic blast from the back of the van.
"Would you mind going to the car and getting the groceries once he's comfortable?" asked Jane. "I picked up a bunch of food and random medical supplies – bandages and ibuprofen and stuff."
"'Ibu…'" said Thor, raising a golden eyebrow.
"Ibuprofen. It helps with pain and fever. Just… please go get the bags, okay? I've gotta look at him."
Thor seemed wounded but did as he was told. He went out to the van in a bit of a huff, Jane smiling ruefully after him. Although things were awkward with Thor – she still felt a small pang of longing in her chest whenever she looked at him – Jane knew she couldn't chase the god of the thunder away. Jane groped through her brain to think of non-emotional reasons for hanging onto Thor. He had to know at least a little about Asgardian medicine, and he provided invaluable protection. What was more, he was Loki's older brother. He'd seen the Jotun as a baby, an adolescent, in times of sickness, health, strength and weakness. There had to be some part of Loki, figured Jane, that would respond differently to the presence of Thor than to that of a stranger.
While the god of thunder collected groceries from the back of the van, Jane set about assessing how she could get some of Loki's armor off. It seemed as though everything had been literally stitched onto him: all the folds of cloth blended perfectly into sheets of metal, chains, and complicated needlework. Despite the amount of dust and blood it had accumulated, it was truly beautiful, its lovely bottle green fabric a perfect compliment to the god's closed eyes. Jane drew a sharp little breath when she realized her hands were no longer searching the armor for seams: she was simply stroking it in admiration. She blushed, even though no one had seen her in the act. There was something so... taboo, she realized, about removing a stranger's clothing as he slept. It was weird, it was wrong, it was frankly very sensual...
But in this case, she reminded herself, shaking out her head, it was necessary. She walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a pair of cooking shears from the knife rack by the sink. She returned to Loki's side, kneeled down next to him, and found a spot on the side of his shirt that seemed as good as any to cut. She lifted the scissors and carefully – carefully – made a tiny incision in the cloth.
"What are you doing?" said an icy voice.
Jane gasped and practically jabbed Loki in the side with the scissors. Her heart jumped out her ears.
"Jesus!" she breathed. "God, I had no idea you were awake. Uh..." she didn't know how to explain what she was doing to him without sounding creepy. (She laughed inwardly – she couldn't believe she was worrying about sounding creepy in front of the creepiest person she'd met in a while). She decided to go the matter-of-fact route. "Basically, you're not doing so well. I need to look at your injuries so Thor and I can help you on your way to healing them."
"So you..." Loki was having a difficult time breathing, his inhales shallow and ragged, his words clipped. Jane could tell his window of consciousness was fleeting. "So you mangle... my garments..."
"Well, it's either I undress you or Thor does. Do you have a better idea?"
Loki waved a hand in the world's slightest gesture, as if to say, "whatever." And with that, he was sleeping again. Jane cut the fabric neatly around the metal plates and shoulder pads and cuffs that lay underneath, and gently pulled everything out from under Loki's torso. She took a deep, shaky breath to brace herself for the sight of his injuries and turned her eyes toward his body.
She could not believe what she was seeing. At first she thought it wasn't possible that it was all bruises– he must have donned some sort of Chitaurian war paint before beaming down to Earth. She had never, ever, ever seen a palate of welts quite like this. Every inch of his chest and sides was some sort of mottled purple, blue, green, yellow, pink; it was like a modern painting gone wrong.
His abdomen was a different story altogether; the entire area from the base of his ribs to his hip bones had taken on a gruesome shade of… what was it, even? Jane guessed eggplant would be the closest color, if you could even compare wounds to vegetables. The region looked angry and puffy – the words "internal bleeding" sprang instantly to Jane's mind. This was totally out of her league as a former lifeguard first-aid trainee. She let her hand hover over Loki's navel, afraid to touch him for fear that the contact would make the wounds bloom to the surface of his skin and he would simply fall apart. Even with her hand inches away she could feel heat radiate from him. Abruptly it hit her that it was very possible Loki was dying, his life sputtering out beneath layers of bruises. And with him would die… What would die? All Jane knew was that the injuries she was looking at were, at the very least, what any ER would consider a "code blue." And that she would not, could not be responsible for another living thing dying in her care. She bit her lip until she tasted blood. Dammit dammit dammit dammit… She realized just how deep she had waded into matters that were totally, completely beyond her– and she could think of only one thing to do:
"Thor!" she cried, tasting bile in the back of her throat. "Thor!"
Thor cleared his throat and she jumped. He had been standing behind her with two burly arms full of paper bags, for how long she had no idea. She looked up at him plaintively, pleading, helpless.
"I have lived a very long time, Jane," he said quietly. "And I have seen much worse."
But Jane knew he was lying when she saw the tears in his eyes.
"There is a word for these kinds of injuries in Asgardian medicine…" Thor began, but stopped talking, bemused. Jane looked at him with raised eyebrows, expecting him to say something knowledgeable, helpful, hopeful.
Thor looked skyward for a moment, squinting. He let out a tiny, mirthless chuckle. "But as I live and breathe I cannot remember what the word is."
Silence. Loki's labored breathing tore giant gaping holes in the atmosphere. The sun was setting outside and Jane felt utterly bereft.
"There's a word for it in Midgardian medicine," she said. "It's called 'internal hemorrhaging.'"
"That is quite fancy," said Thor with a crooked grin. "And how is it remedied here?"
"Surgery, and tons of antibiotics," said Jane, not knowing whether Thor would understand those words, and not caring. "Things you can't get unless you're a doctor… a healer… in a hospital, with advanced equipment, and tons of money, and time, and knowledge, and skills…" And there she was, off crying again. A surgeon wouldn't cry, she thought, especially not if he or she were operating on a mass murderer. But what kind of motivation was that? She wished for this moment that she'd been pre-med and not stupid, stupid astrophysics. God, this was all so messed up.
And before she could tell Thor she didn't need comforting, he was there with his arm around her, sobbing harder into the nape of her neck than she had ever seen any man sob. Oh lord, she thought, we're both basket cases over this sociopath... No– No! Over this… this misunderstood demigod who is dying in front of us, and we're just sitting here crying about it?
"Ice," said Jane, neatly and plainly, her tears abruptly ceasing.
"I am going to drive the van to the store and get tons of bags of ice. You stay here," she said, lifting Thor's face off her shoulder, "and make a cold compress for his forehead with a dishrag and some water. Get him propped up a little bit and make him take a bottle of ibuprofen. The whole bottle. He's a god, his system should handle it. Get some rubbing alcohol and cotton balls from the grocery bags and dab his cuts with it. And before you do any of that: wake him up. Okay? Wake him up and keep him awake. We are not going to let his body shut down, because chances are that's when he stops using his magic to heal."
"Jane Foster commands her humble servant as fiercely as any warlord," said Thor, wiping his tears. "For you I shall persevere."
"Please don't do it for me," said Jane, pulling on her jacket.
Loki awoke to the sharp, short sound of a palm whipping against his bruised face. His sluggish brain registered the sting a few moments later. Superb, he thought, the Chitauri have found me already and are rousing me for another round of one-sided fisticuffs.
And then he saw Thor's big hairy face beaming down at him.
"Oh," he rasped. "This is much worse."
The next thought that slammed into his groggy head was Agghhhhhhh stomachstomachstomach. And skull and legs and chest and…
"Easy, brother," said Thor in the most idiotic, gushing voice possible; he sounded as if he were reassuring a mare in labor… Which, coincidentally, Loki had literally been at one point. Being comforted by Thor, he reasoned, was not unfamiliar, having fought with Thor as brothers for centuries – but the insult-to-injury factor was a little overwhelming for him at the moment. Here he was, helpless as a newborn kitten, being acutely patronized by his disavowed brother-turned-adversary, and feeling as though his organs had been run through with a hot poker. He had plainly run out of little magic tricks, Chitaurian thought devices, and biological adrenaline. He was so completely, utterly finished with Midgard and all of its relentless tortures. Thor was correct in at least one regard: meddling with this planet had been a dreadful mistake.
"Where do you feel the most pain?" needled Thor. Loki didn't respond, taking a moment to survey, anemically, his current situation. He was in a bright, cool room, just as tedious as any other Midgardian facility. He was prostrate and – the insult ever-piling on – his tunic and armor had been removed. Loki did not gaze down at his injuries; he knew they were not going to resemble one of Frigga's paintings of Asgardian foliage in the springtime and beyond that he did not wish to know anything about their visual attributes. He leaned his head back against his surprisingly plush support and closed his eyes. His sole solace was a sensation of cool, damp, soft pressure on his brow; he knew it was probably a compress but he allowed himself to imagine it was the hand he had thought was Sigyn's…
Thor clapped his broad hands in Loki's face and the god of lies jolted errantly back into wakefulness.
"Jane Foster has commanded I keep you awake, so that you do not lapse into unconsciousness that will lead inevitably… to your death," said Thor, attempting to sound authoritative.
"I do not know," murmured Loki, allowing his eyes to drift to their minimum state of openness, "whatever you saw in that deranged woman."
"You still have not answered my question, brother," pressed Thor. "Please, if you want any of your capabilities to return you must allow me to help you."
Loki winced, fighting dizziness, and ran another check of his wounds. He prepared himself mentally and physically for a good, long oration. "At this juncture… my list of major ailments includes… but is not limited to… my left leg, my hips, my ribs, and my head. Whatsoever is going on in my abdomen, however… is in a category of its own uniquely… wretched malignance."
Loki lay back gingerly and threw the god of thunder what he hoped registered as a smirk from beneath the rag on his brow. Or a scowl; he was not picky as long as it was condescending. Although everything he had just uttered was true, he saw no reason to carry on about it unnecessarily. After all, the body and the mind could ultimately be considered separate and–
A jolt of merciless anguish ripped through his core like a rusty knife. Perception be damned, he thought, and let out a miserable groan.
When he opened his eyes again there was a small, curious white receptacle being wagged in front of his nose.
"Stopit," he muttered quickly.
"Swallow them, brother! They are Midgardian… healing beans. 'Ih-boo-prohf-een,'" Thor smiled dumbly at his mostly-failed attempt at pronunciation.
"Not interested," said Loki. "Even if… my throat… did not feel like it were lined with dried goose down… I do not trust Midgardian 'healing beans'… as far as… I could throw them."
"But assuredly you could throw them quite far," said Thor. And without further ado he emptied the bottle into Loki's mouth, poured in some water from a glass and plugged the younger god's nose and clamped his jaw shut. Loki found himself masticating the damned pills even though he felt like vomiting – and vomiting all over Thor, at that.
"When I am healed..." Loki gasped, "...rest assured... I will find a way to shove these blasted pills down your gullet... while they are still... in the bottle..." Sleep tickled the corners of his mind again. His eyelids sunk... Why why why. Why did he have to be in the care of his insufferable one-time kin and a tiny, weepy harlot? He wondered about all this as slumber crawled like a sheath over his feverish brain...
The pressure of two pounds of bags filled with ice cubes landed squarely across his entire bare torso.
Because he did not have the energy to scream the air from his frozen lungs, Loki simply gaped, wide eyed, at the pitifully concerned-looking Jane Foster as she lowered more ice, this time onto his legs. The cold was simply, clearly, and plainly torturous. It was rage-provoking, agonizing, humiliating...
And suddenly the aches in his abdomen receded a bit, and Loki was forced to inwardly admit that the ice was – while rudimentary – rather pleasant.
Jane must have seen the look of astonished relief on his face that he hadn't thought to conceal, because she leaned in closer than she ever had before and said, almost coyly:
"You're welcome."
Ooooo, is Jane doing a little flirting...? Maybe...?
Next chapter should be super fun as well - the bizarre threesome will try to tolerate one another, and Jane and Loki will end up "tolerating" each other more than they assumed they would.
Review if ya like it, if you have suggestions, thoughts or questions! Or just to say hi!
Thanks!
