Chapter 12:

Frigga shuts the refrigerator door and resists the urge to start pulling out her hair in frustration.

She's tried hard to stay organized since the accident, because her son relies so much on routine and predictability to function. If she forgets to put something back in its usual place, he won't be able to find it. If she moves one piece of furniture, he could trip over it and hurt himself. Now with Thor back in school, Loki is more anxious and withdrawn than ever, and she has to work doubly hard to help him feel safe until his brother comes home.

But no one can be completely perfect, she thinks to herself wryly. It's the only way she can keep herself calm right now, because somehow there's hardly a crumb of food in the cupboards and she has nothing to make for dinner. How could I have not noticed we were getting so low? Am I really that distracted lately?

There's nothing to do but go to the grocery store, but what is she supposed to do about Loki? Leaving him alone is out of the question. Thor has to stay after school to take a few of the tests he's missed, and Odin is lucky if he can extricate himself from his work by five. She could call one of the neighbors to watch him, but they wouldn't know how to talk to Loki, and she can't leave him in such an uncertain situation.

"Well," she says aloud, watching her son dutifully practicing braille at the kitchen table, "I suppose you'll have to come with me."

Loki doesn't startle terribly when she gently envelops him in a hug—he has probably felt the vibrations in the floor from her pacing.

"Sweetheart," she signs to him, "I need to ask you a big favor."

His eyebrows pull together in confusion.

Bracing herself, she explains the situation to him as succinctly as she can. She expects panic from him, at being asked to go out in public, but he is quiet.

He's been having fewer and fewer outbursts these days, but strangely, it doesn't make Frigga feel more at ease. She suspects that the storm of emotions isn't gone—that he's just directing all of his anxiety, anger, and grief inward instead of out—and she fears that it might eat him up inside. But she doesn't know what to do.

"I…I w-won't be any trouble, Mama," he whispers, wrapping his thin arms around his ribcage.

"Oh, Loki, that's not what I—" she starts to say, but the lump in her throat prevents her from finishing her thought. She presses a kiss to his temple, takes his hand again, and signs, "I know you won't, honey."

/

The grocery store is vast and crowded. Frigga wishes now that she'd gone to a quieter one, instead of the closest. She places Loki's hand around the handle of the shopping cart, so she can push it and lead him at the same time. He hovers close to her, and when she needs to step away to grab something from the shelves, his knuckles around the handle clench to white. He doesn't say a word.

She can feel the eyes on them. People can't tell from looking at Loki that he's deaf, of course, but the dark glasses make it very clear that he's blind. Many people studiously avert their eyes, act like Loki isn't even there, as if that's better than staring.

As she's picking out tomatoes in the produce section, she hears a little girl nearby asking her mother, "Why is he wearing sunglasses, Mommy?" A question posed out of innocent curiosity. But the mother shushes her and murmurs nervously, "Don't point, it's rude," before ushering the child away.

Frigga struggles to keep her composure, taking deep breaths.

You don't have to be afraid of my little boy, she wants to tell them. He's just a bit different, that's all.

Loki may be oblivious to all this, but he seems self-conscious all the same. He keeps his head down whenever Frigga stops the cart, as if to hide himself from the other customers.

However, as they pass the bakery, he lifts his face and inhales deeply. There's a faint smile on his lips. She doesn't blame him—the aroma of sugar and fried dough is overwhelming.

She hadn't planned on getting anything sweet, but she makes a brief detour to pick up a doughnut. A treat for the ride home.

At the counter, the clerk's eyes flick briefly to Loki before moving back to her, smiling tightly. She can see the pity in the boy's eyes, and, again, she feels an illogical swell of anger and frustration.

"How old is he?" The kid asks. He can't be much older than Thor. Maybe 20 or 21.

Frigga swallows.

"He's ten." She answers. "He'll be eleven in just a couple months."

The kid nods, eyes again flicking to Loki.

"He's really cute." He goes on, looking back to her. "I'm sorry. Was he born like this?"

Frigga has to swallow down a snappish reply then. The boy's just trying to be nice, she knows. Though it rubs her the wrong way, the way he's addressing only her. He can't know Loki's deaf, she thinks. It's like he equates Loki's blindness with an inability to understand. Worse still, his questions are only serving to remind her of everything they've lost. Of everything her baby's lost.

Stiffly, she shakes her head.

"No." She mutters, and can't quite keep the coldness out of her voice. "There was an accident. "

"Oh." The boy says. "I'm sorry." He repeats.

"You don't need to apologize." Frigga tells him. "It isn't your fault."

She feels bad afterwards, after the kid just nods and hands her her order. She doesn't mean to be so snippy. There's just something about that kind of attention, the sorry looks and words…

She'd always imagined people congratulating her over her youngest son. Telling her how proud she must be, to have raised such a brilliant, talented child. She'd envisioned scenario's of Loki going up on stage in front of hundreds, even thousands of people, accepting some prestigious award for some scientific or mathematical discovery. Or whatever field Loki had chosen to go into, because her baby boy was just that smart, just that gifted. He could have been anything he wanted…

She'd never imagined this…

/

As Frigga checks out, the cashier tries to be friendly to Loki.

"Helping your mom with the shopping, huh? That's fun," she says brightly.

There's a beat of silence.

"He's not trying to be rude," Frigga explains awkwardly when Loki doesn't react; "he can't hear you."

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't—" The girl looks mortified.

"It's fine," Frigga assures her mildly.

The cashier is flustered as she finishes ringing up the groceries, and at first gives Frigga the wrong change.

As Frigga gathers up the bags, Loki tugs gently on her arm. She bends down so he can talk softly in her ear, without being heard by anyone else.

"I can carry something, Mama," he says, holding out his empty hands.

He's trying to make my life easier, even now, she thinks, her heart swelling with both affection and sorrow.

She kisses his forehead and lets him carry the two lightest bags to the car. Once it's all in the trunk and Loki is buckled in, she hands him the doughnut, and his eyes widen with unexpected delight.

"Thank you for being so patient," she signs to him, "I know this was hard for you."

She doesn't immediately drive home. She sits in the parking lot, watching him eat the pastry, occasionally running a hand through his dark curls. It's a comforting scene to watch, because he already seems able to shake off the discomfort he'd felt in the store. He wasn't aware of the stares, the whispers, the avoidance, even if he might have guessed it was happening.

But Frigga knows, and it's almost unbearable.

For a moment, she presses her face against the steering wheel and lets herself cry. She hates the way people seem to be afraid of her son. They just don't know how to react, she tells herself, but that doesn't make it any less awful.

She hates the way the ladies in her book club expressed their sympathies shortly after the accident—their notes sounded almost like condolences. As if her son had died. She had come very close to responding, We still have our son, thank you very much, his survival was something of a miracle, and we are grateful for it, even if things are difficult now. But she had swallowed her anger and replied politely.

Now her politeness is starting to fray apart, and she needs to get a grip on herself. It's so hard, when all she wants to do right now is lash out at anyone that might hurt her baby boy.

She gathers Loki into a fierce embrace.

"I'm sorry other people don't understand, sweetheart," she murmurs into his hair.

/

AN: All credit goes to ladymacbeth99 for this chapter! Thanks for reading guys!