Sif was amused as Loki loudly and abruptly turned over the sheet of paper in front of him and started scribbling on it, ignoring everything else in the room. Glancing at his writing she saw… math. She had not one clue what any of it meant - something to do with the project, probably - but she suddenly felt very protective, wanting to shelter him against the irritated looks he was getting for not paying attention. Not that he cared; he'd probably not notice anything short of a bomb going off. But when Fury cleared his throat, she glared to tell him to quit it and leave Loki alone. The tesseract was a better use of his time than his reckless choice to join the mission anyway.
When Loki left, she was glad for him. At least now he'd get to work in peace.
A bit later, they took a coffee break. When she stood and stretched, thinking wistfully of a glass of wine for all these aches, Grundroth glanced at the door. "I should check on him."
She volunteered, "I'll go bother him- I mean, see how he's doing."
They exchanged amused looks, and she was glad they were part of the same team now. "I will follow soon," he promised.
At the general's cottage, all seemed quiet, and when she knocked on the door no one answered. It was odd, though, because she heard something on the other side of the door. Did the general have a dog?
She called for Loki again, wondering if he was that deep in his math, he couldn't even hear her. But then, she heard a groan she recognized, from when he'd been beneath her and shot in the back.
Something was terribly wrong. She shoved the door open.
Blood. So much blood.
Loki was sprawled on his back, the front of his shirt and trousers dyed red, as were his hands. There was a bloody trail across the wooden floor all the way to the rug of the living room. God, had he crawled all that way?
She let loose a scream through the open door, knowing that would carry better than a shout, and thank God, she heard some people running toward her, while she started to tend Loki.
His skin had turned translucent looking and was cool to the touch, indicating blood loss and shock. Grabbing the blanket folded on the back of the couch, she threw herself down at his side and shoved the blanket against the wound in his upper abdomen. His breathing was shallow and slow, obviously pained, and when he tried to talk it was so halting and difficult, the fear rose up inside that he was dying. He managed to tell her about Rumlow, and she vowed to shoot that man in the head and put him down like a fucking rabid dog.
But Loki struggled to say her name, as if he was going to pass on one last message and it struck her in the heart. She didn't want to hear any final words, no goodbyes.
"Shut up," she told him. "Just hold on. Don't let go. Don't you dare. Don't you let that fucker win. You're going to live a long, happy life, filled with people who love you, and you'll see this amazing future you're making for us. You have to!"
Her voice broke, and the wet heat in her eyes threatened to break free as his eyes shut and his head lolled to the side. Terror that he was gone clutched at her, before she saw him breathe again. He'd passed out, but this was still bad. She could still lose him.
She remembered him so handsome, dressed in his finery to address parliament, every inch a prince, and then after his panic attack, vulnerable and apologetic, and the touch of his lips when they'd kissed.
"Don't leave me," she whispered, staring at his face and watching for every faint breath, as she held the blanket as tight as she could to slow the bleeding. And she prayed to anyone who would listen not to take him away.
The world needs him, she implored silently. But that felt dishonest, because it wasn't the world's loss she was thinking about, so she added, I need him, please. Even if we're not together, even if I ruined everything between us, please don't take him from me.
Finally people came. Grundroth ran in, boots halting halfway as he stared in abject horror, before he snapped to and pulled his radio to issue rapid orders.
"Rumlow did it. Loki told me before passed out," she told him urgently.
That added some other commands on the radio and a few seconds later she heard the base alert klaxon start to blare.
Grundroth ignored it, to kneel across from her and make a quick assessment of Loki's pulse at his throat, and he barked orders at the younger soldiers hovering helplessly. One of them got a cushion off the couch and put it under Loki's feet, holding them there with a shocked face, and another disappeared into a connecting room and came back with a blanket to spread over Loki's lower body.
Medics arrived, with a large, fancy first aid kit, and Sif found herself displaced as strangers gathered around to help him. No one was speaking English anymore, so she could only watch what was happening, heart in her throat, and listen to the urgent commands of the medics and Grundroth, who stayed white-faced and shouting into his radio and his phone.
They tended him so slowly Sif wanted to scream at them to hurry up. Why were they not doing more, and doing it faster?
But when the gurney arrived and they lifted him onto it, it all seemed to go fast instead: his shirt and jacket had been cut off, and there was an IV and pulse monitor, attached to him, and they were rolling him out. Grundroth had his weapon drawn as he paced the stretcher, wary of Rumlow or anyone else making another move on the helpless prince.
She stood and moved to follow, but some Jotunheim soldier she didn't recognize, blocked her. "Miss, you must stay here."
"But I-" Oh. Right. She couldn't go with them. She was nobody. She wasn't family; she wasn't his fiancee or girlfriend. At best, she was a friend. She had no place at his side right now.
Nodding, she moved back, ending up against the wall, watching as the others took him away. The soldiers and medics gathered their things and left, so she stayed there, alone. She sank down to the base of the wall, her knees pulled up, with only the pool of his blood across the rug to look at.
She heard a helicopter take off, presumably heading straight to the hospital.
Holding out her hands, there was blood all over them. She should go wash, but if she washed his blood off, would that be like washing him away? Would it doom him? If she got up, maybe he would die. It was superstitutious, she knew that, but she stayed on the floor, just in case. It was all she could do for him.
"Sif!" a familiar voice exclaimed, stirring her to alertness.
Thor stood there, handsome face frowning with worry for his friend. "There you are," he said. "I am heading to the hospital if you wish to come with me."
She wanted to go with Thor. She wanted to hear that Loki would be all right. But she had no place there, as had been driven home already.
"He'll be in surgery for hours," she said, her voice strange to her ears. It seemed too normal. "I can't wait around and not do anything. What I want to do is hunt down Rumlow."
Thor squatted down before her. "Rumlow? One of the Americans?"
"Loki told me so, before he passed out."
"But he is no asssassin, merely a soldier in the American team. Why would he do it?"
"Money," she answered in disgust, then heard herself and gave a short laugh. "Funny, I'm condemning him for trying to murder Loki for five million dollars, when I was thinking about doing it for a tenth of that. So who's the worse person, him or me?"
Somber blue eyes met hers and he put a hand on her knee. "The difference is, you didn't do it. You saved his life."
She snorted and waved a hand vaguely at the blood stain on the rug where he'd lain. "I did a great job, too."
"Sif, if - God forbid- he does not survive this, it isn't your fault," Thor reassured her. "Only Rumlow is responsible."
She listened to him an gave him a wan smile. "I hear you. And I'm sure you're right, but I'm not feeling that right now. The only thing that's going to make me feel better is Loki alive and Rumlow's head on a plate."
He glanced at the same pool of blood, and his gaze was hard when it came back to meet hers. "We can do nothing for Loki right now, that is in the hands of doctors, but about the second? Perhaps we can do."
Intrigued, she frowned at him. "Oh?"
"We join the hunt." Thor stood up, looming over her at this angle, and he held out his hand. "Come with me?"
She put her hand out but didn't take his, seeing the blood drying on hers. Thor likewise hesitated, seeing it, but then grabbed her hand and pulled her effortlessly to her feet anyway.
"We will find this murderous villain," Thor promised her, his larger hand still engulfing hers. "And we will bring him to justice."
While Sif was washing her hands, the phone in her pocket buzzed, and she pulled it out, hoping it was news. It was a text, from an unfamiliar number, saying simply: Grundroth. Please secure Lokis phone and laptop. Royal Guard will take them later.
She texted back. "Yes, I will. How is he?"
The reply was brief and stark: "In surgery."
She tried to tell herself that surgery meant he hadn't died on the way to the hospital, so that was probably good news. These days, prompt medical attention meant people could survive far worse injuries. She put her phone back, dried her hands, and asked, "Thor, do you see Loki's phone? Grundroth wants me to take it and his laptop and hold them for now."
Thor looked around on the floor and to the adjoining rooms, and shook his head. "No, nothing."
She checked the office, poking through his bag in case the phone was there, before she put the laptop in it. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she went back out in the living room to search there. But after looking all around the house, under the sofa even, it didn't turn up.
"If Loki didn't have it with him when the paramedics took him, and it's not here…." she started, frowning. "Did he drop it? Or," another idea hit, "did Rumlow steal it? I bet he took it, the bastard. A trophy," she spat in disgust.
Thor rubbed his chin. "That… might help us.' He explained to her questioning look, "Loki's phone is like mine; turning it off does not stop it from transmitting." He pulled out his own phone. "I will contact a friend in our defense ministry see if he can track it."
'Track it'. Find the phone, find Rumlow. Her eyes met Thor's, reading the same hope there.
On his phone, Thor identified himself and asked for someone named Heimdall, and that was as much as Sif understood. While he spoke to his friend, Sif reached out to set the overturned table back on its legs, but pulled her hand back, leaving it. the table and blood trail to the door made a distressing yet encouraging picture of his courage, and it had to mean he would pull through. He hadn't come through all this, to give up now.
Thor hung up and turned to her. "He will contact me when they have it going. We should get ready."
"Ready?" she repeated, unsure what he meant them to do.
"We are going after him, are we not? That means weapons and, for that, I will need to speak to General Leifvettr."
"I, uh, have a 9mm," she admitted. "Grundroth gave me one during the car shoot-out, and I never gave it back. It's in my case."
His look turned appraising and he nodded. "Good. Tell no one. Get it, and meet me at the carpark. we will borrow a vehicle and join the hunt."
... tbc..