Carl Jung saw Hermes, the messenger God, as a mediator between the conscious and unconscious parts of the mind. In college, I'd sometimes imagine Hermes carrying me to and from realms. Sometimes my morning passage to the waking world was simple as opening my eyes. Shrinking at the bright morning light as it ushered me awake. Other times, it felt like the fleet-footed god dropped me on my ass.
That morning was one of those times. It felt like falling. Stumbling down a pitch-black abyss as I reached my hand for something, anything, to hold on to. I didn't want to wake up. My bed felt like cement. When I awoke, I was sprawled out like a chalk outline. My limbs displayed every-which-way. I was sore. Stretching towards the ceiling, my muscles felt like taut rubber bands on the verge of snapping. Slowly rising, it felt like there were little pebbles wedged between each vertebra of my spine. I wanted to lay back down, but it was like my mattress was full of stones.
I clumsily pulled myself out of bed and got ready for the day. Checking the clock, I was early for once. I was able to shower and enjoy it. It was strange. Coming from such a vivid dream, where the water was perfect and scented with luxurious oils, it made the standard shower seem bland. The water ran cold too soon. The small cubicle of space given made me feel claustrophobic. Worst of all, I was lonely. I pressed my back against the cold checkered tiles and let the frigid water cascade over me. White soap and conditioner circled the drain. I watched them mingle and dance before slipping into the darkness.
While the shower was refreshing, it did nothing for all the knocks and aches that riddled my body. I approached Loki's door, accompanied by new guards, all while feeling like a bruise. The new guards we quiet. They didn't bother to introduce themselves or even speak. At my door, they simply tilted their heads to say, "Let's go," and walked on without me. They also wore dark reflective visors over their eyes. I couldn't identify them even if I tried. Not that I knew the names of many people here.
I was given a revised dossier before they unlocked the door. It was half the size of the original. No Nordic mythology, no profile on Loki's psychology, or history of sightings. They even took out the bits about the Battle of New York. From the quick scan I was able to process, it was solely developed with Asgardian tech in mind. Notes about longevity, near immortality, and science disguised as sorcery. Thor's hammer and other relics we've been able to gain some knowledge on. Things that could advance the human race by centuries. They felt more like talking points and less like psychology. I thought my job was to understand Loki's psyche, not pitch him ideas on how he could benefit us. More concerning, there was nothing on Thor. In the old file, there were at least clues about his last known locations, people he spoke to, and hypothesis of potential whereabouts. I made a mental note to talk to Banner later about it.
When the door opened, I was surprised to see Loki sitting so carefree in his bed. No handcuffs, no collar, and no chains to tether him down. There were two brand new bookshelves, black and sleek, packed frame to frame with books. A metal rack with wheels held six hangers, each with displaying a variety of civilian outfits. They all looked brand new. Fresh and clean. The air inside was so light. It felt like spring. It was nice to breathe, even the circulated air felt fresh.
He was flipping through an old, cracked tome, bound in some old pine colored fabric that was wrinkled and shredded in parts. The pages were thought, like handmade parchment, and yellowed with age. His finger slipped under one of them with nimble care. His dark brows pressed, nearly touching, as he focused intently on the symbols in front of him. It felt wrong to break his concentration. He didn't even notice when the door slammed shut, clanging loudly with all those locks. He licked a fingertip and flicked the page, caressing the next like a lover's curves. Eyeing the characters, as if searching for something special.
"Sagar til Laevateinn" was etched roughly into the spine, as if embroidered by shaking old hands in weathered black thread. Nordic runes, I couldn't identify, adorned the cover and spine in patchy engravings. I waited, making sense of the new dossier as he read silently. Every-so-often my eyes were peer up and watch him. It was hard to pull myself away. I liked watching his lips twist as he got lost in thought. He'd twiddled a lock of hair through his fingers or nibble on the tip of his thumb as he read. The silence was nice. I couldn't imagine him shoving a knife, or dagger, into someone, but the longer I watched him, the more vivid the thought became. Loki, dressed in his Asgardian leather, appearing in his room and driving a sharpened object into his chest. Gods, the blood.
Papers in the dossier fell on the floor with a loud "smack!". Loki's eyes jerked from the book and caught me mid-panic.
"How long have you been sitting there?" he asked. He closed the tome with a thud and tossed it aside.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. "Ten, maybe fifteen minutes," I answered as I scrambled for the papers.
"My, you're the regular rogue, aren't you? I didn't even notice," he smirked.
"I didn't want to disturb you. You seemed really interested in your...uh...book," I replied.
His brow perks. "Sagar til Laevateinn," Loki said, his voice rolling into a melodic Scandinavian accent. "Old Viking legends about swords and spears, magic and deception," he cocked a look my way with a jovial smirk.
"It looks old,"
"Because it is old, in your terms. Roughly 14th century? Your boss was kind enough to get me copy to add to my growing collection," he gestured to the bookcases.
It dawned on me that Loki may have been alive to see the 14th century. I was barely old enough to remember the 90's. By the time I was born, Kurt Cobain was dead. Loki could've been seen the birth and collapse of a dozen nations before my great grandfather took his first breath.
"What language is it?" I asked.
Loki picked up the heavy-set book with one hand and flipped to a random page. He revealed a scribe of angled characters, ancient runes written by an ancient hand. "Norse," he chirped happily before closing it again. "Just a bit of light reading."
"Are you fluent?"
"Yes. Is it not customary for those of those of the aristocracy to learn a dead language or two?"
I shrugged, "I wouldn't know. Is that what it's like on Asgard?"
His smile faded slowly as his gaze shifted towards the barred windows. I watched him contemplate for a moment or two. It was like watching someone pick a lock. Meticulous and calculated. My cynical mind wanted to tell me he was deciding between a lie and truth, or maybe a lie and another lie.
"Education was rigid, but one of the few things I enjoyed in my childhood," he began, "My mother was my teacher. We had tutors for things like arithmetic, astrology, fencing, and martial training, but she taught me the things I truly love."
His eyes filled with a dreamy look. Like a child watching a meteor shower. A warm feeling flooded my chest, like breathing in the scent of hot chocolate. An oven about to full of homemade cookies just about to "ding!" My head was swimming with nostalgic joy. I felt a smile creep up my cheeks.
"Tell me about the things you love," I requested, wanting to hold onto this feeling.
"The art of language for one. It opened up whole new realms of scripture and literature for me. Old Norse, modern Norwegian, Latin, English, obviously, and so much more just on Midgard alone. Did you know, the Chitauri have 192 ways to say 'hate'?" Loki's smile perked up as I chuckled, "She taught me every little bit of magic I've ever used. Every illusion, every trick. She was a master of the craft. It all started with these little sparks."
He twirled his fingers around each other. I noticed the thin silver chord around his wrist. No longer needing the bulky weights of handcuffs, but still not able to conjure his magic must be its own burden. Especially when reminiscing about something so important to him.
In the back of my mind, I could almost envision the sparks. His heart practically glowed when he spoke of his mother. The feeling was so intense, it was like I could catch glimpses into his memory. Foggy, almost static images of neon fireworks spraying over someone's palm. The sound of a child's laughter. The feeling of a mother's pride. It was all there, gently sloping out of Loki's mind like a waterfall made of smoke. Slow moving curls of joy that seeped from him. I wanted to stay like this. Have a normal conversation about family and happy childhoods. See him smile.
"You must have loved her a lot" I said.
There was a quick pain. A sharp pinch inside my heart. I watched Loki swallowed hard and it floated away. So did the warmth and the joy. Replaced by numbness.
"Yes, well, she was my mother," he replied dourly. "Shall we get on with it then?"
The scene was over so quickly. It was like watching someone leave in the middle of a movie. He sat at the table with me, locking his fingers, and leaning into his elbows as they rested on the course surface. I wanted to reach out and hold his hand. Comfort him. Maybe absorb some of the burden, but I didn't know what that would do to me. What it could do to him. Instead, I flipped open the new file and recounted the notes. Tried to find a starting point.
"Did anyone talk to you?" I asked, skimming a page about disease and medicine.
"Not really. Your superior came and unchained me. She apologized for the misunderstanding and said, 'No hard feelings'" he replied with quotation marks. "She also offered me the amenities you see before you and said, 'I hope this can be the start a beneficial union'. Whatever that means."
Agent Hanna. I wondered what her game could be. There were times where she couldn't bring herself to call Loki by his name. Now she was making him his own personal library, stocked with ancient myths and legends. I couldn't get a grasp on where she stood.
"What's on the agenda today? More Thor talk?" Loki asked.
"Why, do you have new information?"
"Nope," he popped his lips. "You can't track down your two-ton lightning rod?"
"Nope," I popped back. "It's not my department anymore. You're clear of any suspicion regarding his disappearance."
His eyes went wide. A minute state of shock washed over him. "That's a first," he chuckled to himself.
"Not use to people trusting you?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Are you saying you trust me?" he replied, slipping in a quick wink.
I shrugged. "I might be coming around. I've been made aware that you can get a little stabby."
Loki looked at his hands and then back at me with a small smirk. "I hope whoever told you that made it clear that they were just trying to scare you. I bet they're very sorry for doing that," Loki gave the more sincere apologetic smile that he could muster. I don't think that I was ready to forgive him that easily.
I rolled my eyes at him and waved it off with a smile back. I wasn't emotionally prepared for that conversation yet, or the consequences that could arise. Instead, I diverted to the file, and the demands made by Agent Hanna on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D. It inquired about a temporary alliance between Loki Laufeyson and S.H.I.E.L.D. in order to conduct mutually beneficial experiments which the hope of sharing technological information in exchanged for limited freedoms. Basically, Loki would work in the lab with Dr. Banner and help him understand Asgardian technology, in return, S.H.I.E.L.D. lower his threat level, and allow him time outside of Avenger's Tower. Escorted by a S.H.I.E.L.D. employee and only for a limited amount of time. He was also required to wear his anti-sorcery bracelet at all times. Failure to meet these requirements would result in confiscation of privileges. I assumed that meant books, clean clothes, and they might chain him to the bed again. Honestly, the whole thing felt messy. I didn't like presenting these terms. I wasn't a lawyer or agent. I was a behavioral psychologist and an empath. I suppose, Hanna figured I was her best bet at getting him to agree.
After reading the terms a few times over and asking me questions that I didn't have the right to answer, Loki agreed. He looked directly into the camera and crossed his arms as he said it.
"But she's my escort," he demanded.
Agent Hanna waltzed in with the two guards at her side. For once, she had a friendly disposition. A spry flowery aura of calm. "I think that can be arranged. Mrs. Bright are you confident in your abilities to handle this task?" she asked with a smile. Her dark eyes creased as her cheeks rose.
"Yes, yeah. I can handle...him," I stammered, darting a look at Loki.
I was happy to have a new task, but a part of me was worried. Somehow, I felt helpless, though I couldn't figure out why. Maybe it wasn't even my emotion. Someone could've been projecting, and I was just caught in the frequency, but still, it resonated with me.
Hanna gave me curt nod. She asked Loki to come with her and I was to be taken back to my dorm. The guards took the new file and escorted me to my room. No conversation. The eerie quiet. While it was nice to see Loki leave his cell for once, I couldn't help but feel as though I'd done something wrong. Perhaps my paranoia was getting the better of me. Watching him walk off with Hanna, both of them so confident and poise, made me uncomfortable. I was only a few steps behind him. They were about to turn down the hallway and disappear when I reached out and grabbed his shoulder. So long as it wasn't skin, it was okay.
Loki snapped his head and looked at me. His face sharp and stern, but once he caught me, his expression softened. He almost reached out to touch my hand, but of course he recoiled with hesitation.
"Yes, Elaina?" he asked softly.
My eyes flittered between him and Hanna. "Let me know how it goes. Maybe we can get coffee later. I want to hear everything about your new freedom," I said.
A smile crawled along the edge of his feathery lips. He left me with an assuring nod before following Hanna. He disappeared around the corner, and I felt my heart sink a little deeper.