Vulnerable, Chapter 9

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The next time I saw Loki, we didn't say a word to each other. We were thrown together in the same room as before, but this time, I was assured better surveillance. It turns out that last time, the staff that was supposedly watching us had in fact been on a coffee break, and when they returned, everything had spiraled out of control. They apologized profusely afterwards.

So, here we were, sitting silently in our separate chairs. Loki was intently studying me with a straight face, making no gestures or facial expressions to clue me into what he was thinking. His scrutinizing gaze made me nervous and uncomfortable, so I kept my own eyes averted, concentrating solely on the pink and yellow icing adorning the cookies set before us.

Every so often, I'd quickly glance over at him, but he was as still as a statue. It was as if Medusa had turned him into stone. His posture was rigid, muscles taught, fists clenched, and shoulders ever so slightly hunched forward. His face was blank of all emotions besides vague curiosity and distaste.

As for myself, I had sunk into the back of the armchair, knees gathered up to my chest; it was a position I'd assumed often recently, like I was physically trying to hold myself together so I wouldn't fall apart. The nurse had to trim my nails down to the bed because I'd been leaving deep indents in my skin from where I had clutched my legs close to my body.

After nearly thirty minutes locked together in the room, I figured the observers outside wanted to break the tension somehow. Over a speaker concealed in the potted plant near the door, calming elevator music began to play in a lame attempt to crack the awkward silence. It didn't work, obviously. Loki didn't change at all and neither did I.

When an hour had passed, though it seemed like much longer, they finally gave up and sent a guard in the room to escort me out and back to my quarters. Blondie was waiting outside the door to my room with a blanket, which she gingerly wrapped around my shoulders. She waved the guard off and ushered me through the door.

"How did it go, sweetie?" she chirped, guiding me over to the bed and sitting me down on it. She began to check my vitals, administering medicine in my IV.

I shrugged, not really in the mood to talk about it. "He didn't say anything to me," I sighed. She inserted the IV tube into my arm. Immediately, I felt a wave of calm wash over me as the pain medication and morphine began to spread through my body. I relaxed my tensed up shoulders and crawled under my blankets.

Blondie clucked her tongue unhappily, shaking her head. "He'll come around. He just had a bit of a fall."

She had a way of sugarcoating everything, if you couldn't tell already. That was one reason why I was starting to prefer her over Dr. Jackson. Though I obviously knew she was softening the truth, her words still gave me a bit more comfort than her superior's.

"I guess you're ready for bed, then?" she asked, walking around to draw the shades on the window. I nodded. "Do you want some sleep meds?"

"No," I said into my pillow. "I'm fine."

"Sleep well. I'll be by to check on you in the morning." With that said, she exited, locking the door behind her.

It took a few minutes, but gradually, I fell into a state of unconsciousness.

It was the same nightmare again. It always was, and it never changed.

I was fifteen, strapped to a table, and bleeding myself to death from several deep cuts on my stomach.

All around me were bodies of the deceased and dying, wounded in the same way. Those that were still alive were in worse condition than I was, however. They'd been there longer, and besides that, they were pure mortal.

I had the blood of a goddess in me, which only prolonged my suffering.

As the life in my veins trickled out, a scarred, ugly face loomed above me. Its one eye stared maliciously down at me, mocking me. A wicked knife was grasped in its hand, and with a vicious snarl of laughter, it brought the blade down on me again, slicing through my flesh.

With a muffled scream, I lurched back into the present. With a half-hearted attempt to stop the sobs that I was threatening to succumb to, I curled into the fetal position, trying to regulate my breathing. It wasn't working. Tonight's dream had been more vivid than ever.

I'd been having that same dream since I was a sophomore in high school. Every night until I was twenty years old, I'd woken up in exactly the same way as tonight. When I got a job and began to work for Pepper, they'd ceased. I didn't experience the dream again until my first encounter with the regressed Loki two weeks ago. Since then, it was a nightly occurrence. And tonight, it was seemingly worse.

My fingers fluttered down to the hem of my shirt and I pulled it up slowly. Yes, the scars were still there, still as distorted as ever. With a sudden wave of nausea, I hauled myself out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom, where I was then violently sick. I collapsed next to the toilet, shivering on the icy tile.

I stayed there until morning.

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She'd changed. That was the first thing Loki noticed about her when they were put into the same room for the third time. It was a month after their first encounter, and two weeks since their second.

Her cheeks were not as hollow as they had been the last time he'd seen her. Her arms were no longer boney. Clothes were beginning to hang correctly on her frame. The dark circles under her eyes were still there, but not as prominent as they had been. She looked healthier, almost as if she were… glowing. The doctors weren't lying when they'd told him she'd been eating more recently. He supposed he should be happy about that- that was what married people cared about, wasn't it?

With a mental sigh, he lowered himself into his designated chair, prepared to do exactly as they did last time and not talk.

Apparently, she wasn't having it. "We can't just sit here in silence, again, you know," she muttered. Loki arched an eyebrow.

"Can't we?" he asked, a hint of mockery in his smooth voice. "I was perfectly content to do so." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"What's the point of putting us together, then?" she asked wearily, eyelids half-closed. Her posture was different from last time as well. Instead of being curled up into herself, she was lounging in apparent comfort, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.

"I didn't ask to be here," he spat, straightening up. "I was hoping you could tell me exactly what it is we're doing here."

"I'm supposed to be helping bring you back."

"Bring me back?" He snorted. "Bring me back from what? There is nothing to bring me back from! This is what I am." He gestured to himself. "This is what I always have been."

She blinked and stood. "No, it was you. But it isn't anymore."

Without being excused either by him or by the observing party outside, she left the room, leaving him sitting there alone.

After a pause, a guard entered to collect him and return him to his cell.

"What was that?" he snarled at the confused guard as his wrists were once again encased in metal chains. "She isn't allowed to leave. I didn't tell her she could go."

"Well," the man said in a gruff voice. "Sadly, buddy, you don't own her like you think you do."

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Thor's shoulders trembled as the weight of the sky continued to fall on them. Each day, the burden seemed to grow heavier and heavier, pressing down on his failing strength. Gods weren't immortal. They were powerful, yes, but deep in his heart, the god of thunder knew that one day, that power wouldn't be enough. The sky was slowly crushing him to death over the course of seven years.

Nobody came to help him. They were probably dead for all he knew. In the beginning, he'd tried to contact his brother through their mind link nearly everyday, but the message was always backed up. It never went through. As the years went on, his attempts became less and less frequent. Now, he'd only try maybe once a month to get through.

The last time had been roughly seven weeks ago. Again, there was nothing but a blank receiving end. Something was keeping Loki from getting and responding to his mental messages. He didn't know what.

But he still held onto hope. If his brother had died, he would have known. That was what kept him going. As long as Loki was still alive, Thor pressed on. When the day came that Loki had passed, that was the day when Thor would give up. He would let the sky crush him. With his parents and Jane likely dead, Loki was the only thing he had left.

Really, that was the sole reason he continued to try and contact his brother. He was past the point of caring about being rescued. All he cared about now was knowing that Loki was safe. That's what prompted him to make another attempt today.

Loki, he thought, channeling it through his brain to the link. If you can hear me, please respond. Please, little brother. Tell me you can hear me.

There was only silence on the other end. Thor knew he shouldn't have expected a reply. His eyes began to water with unshed (and still manly) tears.

But, then… There was a faint crackle on the opposite side.

I hear you, brother.

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Author's Note: Hello! I think this is the fastest I've updated in a long time. I'm really glad it's finally summer.

If you are still reading this, please let me know. I've noticed a slight decline in the number of reviews I've been receiving per chapter, and not to sound whiney and desperate or anything, but I just want to know if I've lost any readers and what I can do to make this a better and more interesting story. I am definitely not being ungrateful, though- I absolutely adore each and every one of you, whether you review or not.

Thanks for reading, and please review!

-SketchbookPianist