Loki flopped on the bed, like a fish on land, unable to get comfortable or shut his eyes for more than a few minutes. The sound of a helicopter sent him scrambling for clothes, unwilling to be in a sheet-toga if the house was under attack. His heart was racing as he yanked on pants and a t-shirt, before he cracked open a shutter to see a second military helicopter parked not far from the first, and Margud out there to greet new arrivals.

Relief so intense he nearly threw up washed through him and left him shaking. He sat on the bed, with his head in his hands.

I need to get a grip. Assassins are not everywhere. They are not coming in helicopters; they are not coming into my shower. Grundroth promised we're safe here, and I need to stop being stupid and listen to him.

Inhaling a deep breath, he stretched out on the bed again and grabbed his phone to look for distraction. Instead he saw texts and emails he didn't want to deal with and cleared all the notifications, then reconsidered. He looked for Erik or Jane's messages hoping they had something about the project, but they were all either older "saw your speech, great job". There was one from Darcy that at least made him smile: OMG superhot prince suit. Followed by an entire screen of drooling emojis.

That was followed by a bunch of less amusing "are you okay?" messages.

No, he was not okay, he'd freaked out in the fucking bathroom. That was a completely logical place to freak out, having nothing to do with anything. Pathetic.

And now he was wide awake, even though he knew he was exhausted.

I am safe. I am surrounded by people protecting me.

The mantra seemed to have the opposite of his intended effect; making his heart loud in his ears and he was tense, braced for something. He finally pushed himself upright, put his phone in his pocket, and went to the room next door to boot up the computer on the desk there. At least he could work.

Twenty minutes later he was staring at one of his in-progress files with no idea what he was looking at. Useless.

The house seemed deserted. Sif was asleep on the bed in the smaller guestroom, and he stayed in the open doorway watching for a moment. She looked cute in her baggy pajama bottoms and shirt, though he missed being able to look at her legs.

Silently he pulled the door almost closed and wandered out to the main room. Grundroth and Margud must be sleeping in the staff cabin, though he saw watchers out there in the dusky gloom of the early morning.

Pouring himself Scotch off the bar, he threw himself in the big armchair and took out his phone again. He could call his father or Tony, or Thor, or Kit. They were all probably worried about him. He sent out a group text to them all: Unhurt and safe. I'll call when I can.

But there was only one person he wanted to talk to.

Loki hesitated once he'd found the number before stabbing connect. As soon as he did it, he regretted it, but didn't hang up - she'd only call back anyway, once she noticed he called, so he might as well leave a message. He'd tell her he was okay and she could pass it on to Thor.

But still, he called the personal phone of Frigga, queen of Asgard, at one in the morning, because he was closer to her than he was to Thor. Each summer after Loki's mother had died, Laufey had packed him off to vacation with the Asgardian royal family for a fortnight. It had been a public gesture to bring the two nations closer again after the dispute between them had nearly come to war, but mostly it had been because Loki had been sullen and argumentative. As intended, Thor's ebullience had helped pull Loki from his moodiness, but Frigga's kindness and patience had been what had unlocked the loss into something that could heal.

Given the hour, he didn't expect her to answer. "Loki? Sweetheart, is it you?"

The sound of her voice was like a knife, slipping right through all his careful defenses, and to his shock his eyes burned with sudden heat. "It's me," he said, hoarsely, and lifted his legs to curl up in the armchair. "I'm sorry to wake you…"

"No, no," Frigga reassured him. "You didn't, and I'm glad to hear from you. I won't ask where you are, but I will ask how you're doing?"

"I'm okay."

She hesitated, to let that one fall to the ground, then said gently, "Dearest, you don't call me in the middle of the night because you're okay. Talk to me, I'm here."

With his free hand, he picked at the fringe on the arm of the chair, rubbing at the worn velvet. "I was okay after New York, I was. But now, this time… I don't know, it's different. I'm- I- I can't sleep," he said. the incessant ticking of the clock on the side table filled the silence of the house. He admitted, "I … freaked out in the shower. I kept imagining the walls were falling on me, and I couldn't breathe. Grundroth had to coax me out like a child." He forced a laugh, "Oh, God, why am I saying this?"

"Hush, sweetie, you can tell me anything you want, and you know I will love you just the same." she murmured soothingly. "I think it's all right for you to be affected by all these terrible things lately. Fear is nothing to be ashamed of, you know, especially when people are shooting grenades and bullets at you. I saw the picture of your car on the news, and I was terrified for you. I can only imagine how terrifying it must've been to be inside it. There's nothing wrong with you. Maybe you'll need help later, or maybe you recover on your own, but it's been less than a day. On top of jet lag besides. Be kind to yourself."

The gentle absolution in her voice caught on his heart, until he felt it was too small in his ribs. He brushed the wetness off his cheeks with the back of his hand and yet felt more at ease. "I - I love you," he whispered. "You should know that. Just in case."

"Oh, sweetie," her voice broke and she sounded like she might cry, too. "Of course I know, but I'm glad to hear it. But I am not glad that you're thinking about things to do 'just in case'. You're going to be fine. You're such a brave boy." The tone of her voice reminded him of that time on the yacht he'd finally cried for his mother on Frigga's lap, and she'd stroked his hair. "You're the other son of my heart. Since the day you came to vacation with us, prickly as a hedgehog."

He blurted a laugh, surprised into humor. "A hedgehog?"

"A little black hedgehog," she said and now he could tell she was smiling as she teased him, "You were all moody, but when you curled up to sleep you looked about five. You were the most adorable thing I'd seen in years."

"Oh, God, I was not adorable," he complained, embarrassed, and her rich laugh made him feel much better.

"Of course you were. Now then, tell me all about this young woman you like. Thor said you didn't tell him much."

He hesitated and glanced toward the opening to the hall. He and Frigga were speaking Asgardian, so Sif shouldn't know he was talking about her or what he was saying, but he still wanted to check if she was there. He answered, "Not much to tell. She's here, but only because she feels guilty for what she thought about doing. And I think she likes the excitement of it, but it's not what you're thinking."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Because if you like her-"

"She made her intentions clear. And it'll never work out anyway," he said, more sharply, to get her to drop it.

"I didn't know you saw the future, darling," she reproved and advised, "Don't shut the door too early. There's something about her that you're drawn to, even Thor saw that much. It would be a shame for you to send her away too soon. And that, is the only motherly advice i will give you on that topic," she finished, knowing without a sound from him that he was bristling at her insistence on pursuing it, when he'd told her it was impossible. She gentled her tone, "Be sure you care for yourself, and I hope you can visit soon."

"I will," he promised.

"Now call your father, I'm sure he's quite anxious to hear your voice, too."

He was tempted to lie that he already had, but she knew him too well. "I will. Thank you."

"Good night, my dear. Keep safe and sleep well."

He ended the call and was about to dial his father, when a sound in the hall sent him twitching back into the chair and his heart was pounding. Only to see Sif emerge into view.

"Hey, sorry, I heard voices, and I thought I should check," she said.

"No, no, it's fine. I apologize if I woke you."

She sat on the opposite arm chair, tucking her long legs up. "No, I was awake. It's still light outside."

He chuckled dryly. "It's the north, Sif."

"I get that. I didn't realize how far north." A bit of a silence fell and she broke it, asking, "Are you doing okay?"

He snorted. "No not really. You saw." He knew she had been there, but he'd been so out of it, he had only a brief memory of her face between leaving the table to shower and now. He tried to hold his head up, remembering what Frigga had said about it being okay, even though he wanted to crawl in a hole. Cracking under pressure wasn't exactly the impression he wanted to give to SIf, or anyone. "You seem to be dealing better."

She shrugged. "It's not a competition. Besides, you'll notice I'm awake, too."

He didn't think that was the same thing and far less embarrassing besides, but decided he'd prefer not to talk about it anyway. "There are some books in English," he nodded toward the bookshelves. "If you want. And a computer in the other bedroom."

She glanced at them but didn't seem very interested. "Later. I was curious about the farm Margud mentioned."

The mention of it brought it to mind, and the tightness eased in his chest. "Yes, we have a farm. The family. It's the oldest crown property in Jotunheim, going back generations."

Her tone was flat with disbelief. "A farm."

He smiled. "Even in Viking times, it wasn't pillaging and looting all the time. The king had to eat, and despite what Thanos told you, it's never been our way to impoverish the people so the king eats well. So, a farm. It still works as a farm; we grow vegetables and herbs for the table, and keep chickens. If you'd stayed in the palace long enough to eat breakfast, the eggs come from there. I used to collect the eggs when I was little." He remembered his mother, smiling at him and he'd felt so proud with his basket.

"Oh my God, tiny you in short pants carrying eggs. That sounds so adorable!" Sif exclaimed in delight.

That being the second time in only a few minutes he'd been called 'adorable' Loki frowned and wanted to insist he was not adorable. But Sif was smiling, so he let it go. He tipped his head against the high back of the chair, happy to remember those days when his family had been all together, and he'd gone to school like a normal kid. The farm was still 'home' in a way the palace had never been. "When this is over, I'll take you there, so you can see it for yourself," he offered.

"I'd like that." She fell silent but then an idea made her smile. "You know what else you've offered me that you haven't delivered on? You promised we would get to dance."

"I did. And then assassins sort of ruined my plan, sorry about that."

"Nonsense. There are no assassins here." She stood up and stalked over to his chair, and held out her hand. "I think we should dance."

He looked at her hand and then her face to see that she was serious about this. "You want to dance? Now?"

"Sure, why not? I know your foot hurts, and I ache all over, so let's not do anything super vigorous, but… I want to say 'fuck you' to Thanos and assassins ruining our day. Let's live for right now. That's what I want. Does that make sense?"

Despite her bold words, there was a bit of uncertainty in her face: a fear that he would reject her offer, or make a fool of her. He inwardly shook his head that someone had made her doubt that much, when he would probably not refuse her anything she wanted. Certainly not a dance. He had promised, after all.

He took her hand in his. "I think that's a splendid idea." His lower back and legs felt made of one piece of wood, and getting them to move needed her hand to pull him to his feet. He still stumbled, embarrassingly graceless, and had to chuckle. "The rest of me doesn't agree. I apologize for stepping on your toes in advance."

"Back still hurt?"

"Strangely, being flung about in a car didn't help it." He gingerly stretched and gestured to to the entertainment system. "Shall I find some music?"

She shook her head. "Can we just dance?" she asked more quietly.

Curious, he agreed. They joined hands and he curved his left one around her back, touching her lightly. Her other hand gripped his shoulder, finding one of the bruises from the seatbelt. He flinched at the touch. "Sorry," she murmured, moving her hand to his outer shoulder. "I have one, too."

He saw the bruising at the neckline of her t-shirt, matching his, and wished he could kiss it away. She was marked, hurt, because of him, and he hated it, even as he admired her willingness to be involved in this mess.

They didn't move, standing together. "You're warm," she murmured, and he thought that was absurd because he felt so cold. He'd stood under the shower trying to get warm, until the walls had squeezed him, and it hadn't helped. The chill had lodged inside him, and he doubted it would ever go away. But her hand was warm where it gripped his, and when he laid his other hand flat on her lower back, it was if he was touching the glass doors in front of the fire. He held her in place so he could step closer. The heat from her body helped him as much as the shower had not.

She stayed still, fingers twining with his while her other hand absently smoothed the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder. For no obvious reason, he was suddenly aware of his pulse, thudding in his veins so loudly surely she could hear it.

"Shall we?" he asked, his voice sounding strange to himself.

Her eyes looked into his, and he caught his breath on how beautiful she was. She was right there, inches away from him, her breath on his skin, her hands touching him. Right there. This gorgeous, dangerous, amazing woman was right there.

"Yes," she murmured. "Yes, we shall." But instead of moving her feet into a dance, she leaned forward, tilting her head and lifting her chin, rising up on her bare feet…

This is not happening. I am dreaming this.

But he wasn't. Her lips touched his.

tbc...