Twenty-Eight – Diagnosis

Kyra was nervous when Sif walked her into the medical building on the edge of the inner city. The building was an architectural masterpiece in resplendent gold. Her boots echoed openly on the tiled floor as they passed through stone archways. Sif led her into a room filled with equipment that was foreign to Kyra. It all looked incredibly advanced, and she didn't doubt the Asgardians were way ahead of Midgard in terms of medical advancements.

An older woman with a tight greying bun approached. She wore long robes and had a kindly face. "Mareth, this is Kyra," Sif introduced.

"Hi," Kyra said.

"A pleasure," Mareth gave Kyra a warm smile, her accent crisp but friendly.

"Kyra has a problem we're hoping you might be able to solve or at least advise her on." Sif nodded, encouraging Kyra to speak.

"I think I'm dying." That seemed as good a place as any to start.

"Perhaps we should sit." Mareth led them into a little antechamber where there were comfortable chairs set around a fireplace. "You look healthy," she said after Kyra sat. "Why do you think you're dying?"

"When I was six years old, I was injected with a serum my parents invented. It was supposed to bring about mental abilities such as seeing through lies and illusions. It also allows the person injected to cast illusions and break them. I'm not entirely sure what else. I just know the one I was injected with was flawed. They hadn't perfected it, and it's slowly killing me. I didn't even discover my abilities until I came to Asgard. I think suppressing them kept the illness at bay, but using them opened the floodgates. When I cast illusions, I black out."

"You're human." It wasn't a question, but Kyra nodded. The woman clucked her tongue. "When will humans learn they are not meant to have powers like that?" Rhetoric as the question was, Kyra had to agree. "I mean no offense to your parents," the doctor went on, "as long as they're not the ones who injected you."

"They weren't."

"Human bodies and minds just weren't meant to have the same abilities as Asgardians or Light Elves."

"Is there a way to reverse the serum?" Kyra asked.

"I'd have to understand its elements first," Mareth said thoughtfully. "Do you mind if I run some tests?"

"That's why we're here. Thank you," Kyra told her, biting back her nerves. She'd never liked going to the doctor, but Mareth's calm demeanor put her at ease.

"Shall I come with you?" Sif asked.

"Would you?" It felt better having her friend with her. There was someone else she half-wished was here, but he didn't even know where she was. Kyra hadn't spoken to Loki since the day before when she'd asked for space. He was respecting that rather too effectively, and Kyra wondered if they'd be able to rebuild what she'd toppled.

"If you'd just lay down here," Mareth requested, motioning toward a low stone table in the center of the room. There was a cushion on top, and Kyra's shoulders sunk into it as she lay down. Mareth pressed a button, and a screen lit up next to her. She slid a finger over the surface and an image appeared above Kyra. It was an x-ray, she realized, but like nothing she'd ever seen before. Definitely more advanced.

"This will help me see if anything is obviously wrong," Mareth told her. "If we can isolate the issue, we can start looking at possible solutions."

"I know you don't know anything yet, but do you think there's chance of reversing it?" Kyra asked.

"I won't know until I take a closer look, but I'll certainly try my hardest." Mareth looked at the scan of Kyra's body, zooming in on her brain. She frowned. "Now this is interesting," she said. "The frontal lobe is showing much more activity than is usual in a mortal—that will be the serum. There's swelling though—that is most likely caused by an overload of power. If the serum were perfect, it might be able to counteract the power of what it's gifting you. There's a reason human brains don't use all the potential in them. It would be overwhelming if you had full access to your mental abilities. It's one thing to learn to use magic, quite another to be injected with something that gives you abilities. Your mind doesn't have a chance to adjust to the change. It overloads, and damage is caused."

"If I quit using my abilities altogether, would that do anything?" Kyra asked.

Mareth pursed her lips. "It will slow the degeneration. In time, damage might heal, but only if we're able to remove the serum from your mind altogether."

"Can you do that?"

"If I can isolate the serum in your blood, I might be able to make an anecdote. I'd need to study it. I can't make any promises." Mareth pulled a needle from a table beside her. "May I take a sample of your blood?"

Kyra nodded, holding out her arm. She winced as the needle penetrated her skin, drawing blood into a glass tube. "I'll study this, and let you know as soon as I have a result. It's possible the affects can't be reversed, but there's always a chance."

"A chance is better than nothing," Kyra said, trying not to feel too discouraged. "Thank you."

Mareth nodded, swiping the image of Kyra's brain away. "In the meantime, don't use your abilities if you can help it. Using them will only speed up the damage."

"Understood. That's the last thing I want," Kyra said. "Anyway, I got along just fine without them most my life. I was hoping to train with Sif though—with a sword, maybe some hand-to-hand combat. Would I be hurting myself more if I did that?" she asked.

"I don't see why it would." Mareth gave her a small smile. "It's a good distraction anyway. Try not to worry, and come see me in a couple of days. I hope to have good news when you return."

The world seemed a little brighter when Kyra and Sif left the medical facility. She knew there was still a chance Mareth wouldn't be able to find a cure, but there was also a chance she would. She thought of how easy it could have been to stay on Earth and wither away with no hope of a cure, cursed with something she didn't think human doctors would understand. Her thoughts flitted to Loki, and she wanted to tell him she had a chance, that he might still be true to his word when he'd said he wouldn't let her die. She stopped herself. She wasn't going to get his hopes up only to dash them if there was no cure.

"Did you want to rest for awhile?" Sif asked, brow creased with worry.

"Actually, can we start training now?" Kyra asked, flexing her wrists. She felt pent up energy waiting to release itself—all the frustrations from the last few days, all her emotions and the turmoil they'd wrought. She needed to let it all out.

Sif's brow smoothed as a smile lit her face. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Sif let Kyra borrow some armor, the shoulder plates and armguards a foreign weight. Sif substituted her sword for a blunt one, equipping Kyra with the same. It was strange holding a sword, and she felt like she was ready to head off to a cosplay convention. This wasn't make-believe though. The sword was real as was the potential to get injured. She swallowed down her reservations and focused on Sif's instructions.

"Sword-fighting isn't just about being able to swing a sword," Sif told her. "It's about balance and anticipation. You always want to spread your feet out, bend your knees just a little. It helps brace you for impact and allows you to pivot easily."

Kyra mimicked her stance, trying not to notice the stares of the soldiers training around them. She must look a fool in her borrowed armor. She ignored them and focused on Sif's words.

"Let's practice some basic maneuvers," Sif said. "You need to know how and when to block just as much as how to fight.

They spent the next hour running through the motions of a fight in slow motion, Kyra learning the weight of the sword and growing used to the motions that came with wielding it. By the end of the hour, her arms and wrists were aching, and she asked if they could take a break. Though swords were basically long, heavy knives, Kyra found she missed the ease that came with fighting with a knife. It was less exhausting while still being affective.

"How long did it take you to become proficient with a sword?" Kyra asked Sif.

"It took years to get to where I am, but of course I've lived many lifetimes to hone my skills. Fighting is an art that takes constant practice, but don't let that discourage you. You can still learn the basics quickly and be able to defend yourself."

"I wanted to learn to fight when I was a teenager. Even though I couldn't remember the night my parents died, I knew by then they'd been murdered. I guess I always had this fear in the back of my mind that their murderer would come back for me some day. I thought if I could fight, I'd stand some chance. My foster parents did not like that idea. Not one bit. I think they thought I was trying to arm myself against them somehow. They couldn't fathom a threat great enough to merit self-defense lessons. They suggested art club or choir instead as if I could wield my voice or a paintbrush against someone who wanted to hurt me."

"You do wield your voice like a weapon," Sif told her. "I've heard that sharp tongue. Particularly where Leo is concerned."

Kyra had half-forgotten she'd given Loki's guard alter ego a name. "Yes, well, much of a pain as he is, he'd never hurt me." She'd hurt him with her words, and she was starting to wonder why she'd pushed him away. She knew a part of it was the fear of needing him, of relying on him. She didn't want that kind of attachment to someone. Her cheeks still flared to think of that night in the hotel room when she'd all but thrown herself at him, too distraught to think clearly. But after her meltdown when they'd been talking… That had been the first time since she was a child that she'd been able to just talk to someone and to have them listen. It was the first time anyone had opened up to her, trusting her with a painful past. They were two birds of a feather, and she somehow knew they'd find their way back to each other whether they made that conscious decision or not.

"Ready for another round?" Sif asked.

Kyra raised an eyebrow in challenge. "My arms might fall off, but let's do this."

Loki returned to the palace as quickly as he could. Asta seemed to sense his urgency, putting on an extra burst of speed when the city came within sight. Loki had returned to his Odin guise with an impatient flick of his powers. He didn't know what he was going to do or if he was going to tell Kyra of this. He just needed to make sure she was all right. Whoever had her picture meant her harm. He didn't need to know who had left the jacket with the photo in the pocket. Someone had been watching Kyra on Earth and had somehow followed her here. For a second, he had this crazy idea that maybe Krentz had faked his own death, and he had somehow followed them here. But why would he need a photo of Kyra when he well knew what she looked like?

He left Asta with a stable boy, giving her a pat on the neck before moving toward the palace. He wasn't sure if Kyra would be in her room. He didn't know where he was, and it gave him an uneasy feeling he didn't like. He tried her rooms first, but she wasn't there. He took on the guard's guise to move around more easily without being recognized. He was headed past the training grounds on his way out into the city to try to hunt her down when he heard a familiar voice.

Kyra was training with Sif. She wore Asgardian armor—shoulder and arm plates—and held a blunt practice sword which she spun not entirely inexpertly toward Sif. She had a natural grace to her and an intensive concentration. She'd braided her long, dark hair back into a tight plait, and her olive skin gleamed with sweat and sunlight. She looked every inch an Asgardian warrior though he knew she'd never believe him if he told her that.

He stood watching from the shadows, not wanting to interrupt her concentration. Her smile was genuine, and he saw none of the worry she'd held when they'd returned with dire news of her well-being. He wanted to ask how she was, if she'd reached out for help. He should have been the one to offer, should have enlisted all the medics in Asgard to find a cure. He hadn't. Somehow he knew Sif would have insisted, and that gave him some comfort. He didn't know why he hesitated, why he kept out of sight. She hadn't said she didn't want to see him. She just needed space, and he realized he needed it too now that he'd seen how much his life had come to revolve around her in such a short amount of time. He had an entire city to focus on, a throne, all he'd wanted and worked so hard for. Why was he hiding in the shadows, hesitating to speak to Kyra?

He watched her a moment longer as Sif showed Kyra a complicated maneuver. Kyra bit her lip in concentration, and Loki could see that her arms were trembling even from this distance. She didn't give up though, copying the movement with near precision. Loki had to admit she had a natural skill for weapons. They weren't easy to master, but Kyra had a sense of self-preservation that allowed her single-minded determination to master something. It was smart of her to learn. She couldn't use her abilities to protect herself, and so she was learning how to defend herself through the only other means she could think of. That she thought she needed to learn to protect herself made him feel as if he'd somehow failed her. Hadn't he promised to protect her? But he couldn't protect her. Not from the demons of her past. Perhaps not from anything. And she wasn't his to protect. She had made that very clear. Despite his resolution as he turned away, he knew he wouldn't hesitate to throw himself into danger to save her.

Back in the palace, he found himself walking in a familiar yet unexpected direction, his feet carrying him all the way to the doors before he thought better of the idea. It had crossed his mind that Amora might have been working with someone—someone who wanted to harm Kyra or someone she'd hired to harm Kyra. He'd be lying if he said that was the only reason he was visiting the dungeons.

Extra guards lined the corridors—on Odin's orders. Loki cast an illusion of himself to enter the dungeons unseen. He closed his eyes and focused, seeing through the eyes of his illusion self. Though his footsteps made no noise, Amora looked up sharply as soon as he set foot in front of her cell. He let her see his illusion but not the guards standing at the end of the cells.

Amora's lips curved up in a smile, and he knew this had been a mistake. He might pry answers out of her eventually, but not before she'd had her fun. She stood, coming as close as she could to the wall of the cell. "Are you working with someone on the outside?" He got straight to the point, hoping to catch her off guard. Amora scoffed, red lips parting with what looked like genuine surprise.

"And how would I be doing that when you've locked me up in this charming hole of a cell?" she purred, her words holding a touch of iron. She resented being locked up though she tried not to let it show.

"You and I both know you're more than capable of managing it."

"Did someone threaten that delightful little mortal pet of yours?" Amora looked amused at the thought, and Loki clenched his fists, his illusion mimicking the emotion. Amora missed nothing. Her lips parted, and she gave him a superior smile. "They did, didn't they? You really do care about her." Her words were sprinkled with surprise. "Well, whoever it was, they're not acting on my orders. I was working alone. I like it better that way. Less chance to be stabbed in the back."

He tried not to flinch at her words. "That's not what happened."

"Oh, so now you want to talk about it?"

"Not especially." This wasn't what he'd come here for. Was it? Despite the centuries that had passed, what had happened between them still sparked with a sort of static electricity. There had been no closure, but he wasn't interested in bringing up the past. Not now. Not ever.

"Oh, come on. For old time's sake." She watched him closely, waiting for his reaction. He didn't give her the satisfaction.

"If I find you're lying, you'll be begging to see the inside of this cell again because it will be much more pleasant than the alternative." He turned to walk away.

"You never used to wear your weaknesses," Amora called after him. He paused though he knew he should keep walking. "But now they're stitched into every fiber. When I do find my way out of this cell, she'll be the first one I exact revenge on."

He wanted to turn back, to threaten her. He forced himself to fade his illusion, coming back to himself in the corridor. Going to see Amora had been a mistake. He'd learned nothing, and he'd given too much away. If Amora knew that Kyra was his weak spot, then it put her more at risk and made him vulnerable.

There was one person who would be able to tell if Amora were lying, but Loki was not letting her anywhere near the dungeons. He should tell her. At least then she could be prepared, but she had enough to worry about without adding a possible stalker to the list. He stopped short when he reached the upstairs corridor. Kyra was walking into the castle, still wearing her armor. Their eyes met, and she opened her mouth as if to speak. Nothing came out, and he had turned to stone.

Then they both spoke at once, their words colliding midair. "I saw a doctor today–" "There's something you should know–"

Kyra flushed. She was suddenly so awkward around him as if she didn't know how to behave in his presence. Had he pushed her away or had she pushed him? "Sorry," she apologized. She was always apologizing, and he didn't know why.

"You saw a doctor?" He latched onto her words. He studied her face for any sign of what she was about to say. She looked calm. Perhaps a bit nervous, but she seemed to be nervous around him. Gone was the easy comfort they'd had before. Perhaps that had only been an illusion.

"She's going to look into the serum, see if there's any way she could counter it. She…she didn't know one way or another." She twisted the arm guard on her left wrist, the gold glinting in the sunlight that streamed in through the stained glass windows.

He should have been the one to take her to see the medic. He'd made a promise and rendered it empty the very next day. He remembered Amora's words. You never used to wear your weaknesses. But now they're stitched into every fiber. He stiffened, and Kyra noticed the movement despite its subtlety.

"I just thought you might want to know," she said, words coming out in a harsh rush. She turned to leave, and he reached out as if to grasp her arm. His hand paused midair, and she stopped to look at him. There was a wariness there he hadn't seen before. He didn't understand it. He drew his hand back. She watched him another moment before turning to leave.

"I did," he said softly. She paused for a heartbeat, tilting her head ever so slightly toward him. Then she was gone.