Numbing Draught

Sigyn wakes up a full day after the feast, Loki is pleasantly surprised to discover upon returning to the hospital in the evening.

He had been called away to an excruciatingly lengthy but clearly necessary meeting about palace security five hours ago. His father had tried to keep him in the palace for even longer a time, demanding an audience with him, but he had managed to beg him off until later tonight.

While she was unconscious, Sigyn had been moved from the surgical suite to a glaringly white recovery room in the eastern wing of the military hospital, which is ever so conveniently where her mother works. As such, Walentyna has made it her business to check up on her daughter as often as possible.

"Sit up straight," Walentyna snaps at Sigyn, who looks positively drained. Her normally lustrous hair hangs limply about her face, and there is a distinct darkness under her eyes. She draws herself up with her arms, wincing a little as she straightens her back.

"Give me a break," she groans, voice weak and hoarse. Her hand hovers over the gauze-bound wound on her chest, visible beneath the cross-over shirt that sweeps down in a deep neckline.

No one seems to have noticed him standing by the door, too fixated on the woman they had all feared may never open her eyes again after last night. Haldana resides on the left side of Sigyn's bed, and her mother on the right. Her friends stand across from him by the window. The blond one—Quimby, if Loki remembers the brief description Sigyn gave him years ago correctly—chuckles at Sigyn's disgruntled demeanor.

Her mother gives her a light smack on the forehead. "Stop whining." Sigyn grimaces as though Walentyna's order is utterly ridiculous, but bites her tongue all the same.

Haldana holds up a glass to her sister, a concerned crease to her brow. "Would you like some water?"

Sigyn glares at the ceiling, refusing to look at Haldana. "Would you like to choke on a fetid cock?"

"Sigyn," Walentyna exclaims, appalled at her daughter's vulgarity. Meanwhile, the men in the room have all raised their brows in amusement, Loki in mild shock. Usually, Sigyn is not one to make such boorish statements. Not around him, at least. She must be especially rattled after the events of the feast.

Sigyn holds up her hands. "She started it." Walentyna rolls her eyes, and Loki imagines she often hears that excuse.

Haldana crosses her arms, scowling. "I cannot believe you are still mad."

"Well, I was coming around," Sigyn snarks, eyes turning to her regard her sister at last. "But as my life flashed before my eyes, I was reminded of your betrayal!" At the end of her diatribe, her voice is cut off in a bloody, hacking cough. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth and wipe the blood from her chin.

Smiling cheekily, Haldana offers her the water once more, and she reluctantly takes it. As she downs a tentative sip, her tired, dark-eyed gaze floats across the room, latching onto his figure. Loki straightens imperceptibly as she gives him a small wave, smiling back at her.

Nose scrunched up in confusion, Quimby asks her, "What are you waving at? Did you hit your head when you—Oh, shit!" He jumps about a foot in the air when his eyes land on Loki, drawing everyone else's attention to him, as well. Hand to his chest, Quimby explains his over-the-top reaction, "He did that creepy chameleon thing Sigyn does."

"S'not a 'creepy chameleon thing,'" she contends, tongue peeking out to catch a drop of water clinging to the edge of her mouth. Unbidden, Loki's eyes follow the movement. "It's a glamour that makes it difficult for those in the surrounding area to focus on you."

Quimby shrugs. "I see not how that differs from what I said."

Irked, Sigyn opens her mouth to retort, but her mother heads her off. "I am going back to work." Walentyna wags a commanding finger at her. "Do not let anyone rile you up."

Sigyn sighs in acquiescence. "Yes, Mother."

Pleased with her compliance, Walentyna kisses her on the cheek and heads out. Loki moves away from the door to let her pass, but he doesn't miss the glare she shoots him as she exits the room.

What was that about, he wonders.

Haldana stands from her sister's bedside. "I suppose I should be on my way, as well."

Sigyn sends her a look of mock astonishment. "Look at that! That is the first good idea you have had all day."

Haldana scowls in dismay, but holds her tongue. As she makes her way past Loki, she glares at him, too. I certainly know why she is glaring at me.

The door closes behind her, and Loki makes for Sigyn. "How are you feeling?"

He had not been able to sleep the previous night, especially considering that he had spent most of it sitting in a narrow hallway outside of an emergency operating room. Thereafter, he had been kept up with the worry that even after her surgery and all that Manning, her primary healer, had done for her, she would still die, and he would never look into her eyes or speak to her again.

Never kiss her, his mind supplies, reminding him of his earlier self-torment.

She waves a flippant hand, completely oblivious to his depressing inner monologue. "I'm alright. Manning said I should be back at work in under a month."

"That is most good to hear," he replies, trying his best to put on a comforting smile. "You seem to be in high spirits."

"Yeah," she sighs, shrugging. "So the guy stabbed me. So what? Honestly, I'm just glad he missed my tit." Loki's eyebrows shoot up at her statement, his mouth pursed in bemusement.

Quimby shakes his head, chuckling once more at her antics. "The healers gave her a fairly powerful numbing draught," he explains. "This is as close as she gets to drunk."

Turning back to Sigyn, Loki remarks, "It has quite loosened your tongue."

"I suppose." She shrugs again, a sly grin finding its way to her lips. "Usually, I only get like this after a good licking." Debauched expression still in place, she throws Loki a wink.

At a complete loss for words, Loki's eyes slide back to Sigyn's friends as his cheeks flush. Quimby's laugh has grown into a full-blown cackle, his head thrown back and shoulders shaking with the force of it. Next to him, her other friend, Pontus, wears a scowl. Face still hot, Loki wonders what his problem is.

"What," Sigyn asks. For a moment, Loki believes her to be talking to him, but he soon sees that her eyes are trained on the room's entrance. In the doorway stands a vaguely familiar, nervous, light-skinned man of average height. "Come here to gloat, have you?" The tone of her voice, harsh and obdurate, dampens the shared mood in the room, which had already been low.

The newcomer must feel it, too. He fidgets with the fringe of his tunic. "No. On the contrary, I am here to apologize." Taking a deep breath through his nose, he crosses his arms. "And to salute you."

Sigyn's brow furrows. "Co- Hah." Her voice languishes in the midst of her leaning forward. On instinct, Loki's arm snaps out to steady her, but she waves him and his concern away. Eyes clenched shut, she lets out a shaky breath and returns to her earlier position with her back just short of the bed's pillows. She opens her eyes and tries anew, "Come again?"

The man steps into the room. "It was wrong of me to say that you would not last long on the Guard." He pauses, exhaling slowly. "You—"

"Are you referring to when you said, 'You will soon realize you are running out of time to have babies and resign in disgrace,'" she interrupts, forehead still crinkled in consternation. While her voice is hard and unwavering, her tone is no longer entirely unforgiving.

Out of the corner of his eye, Loki sees Quimby and Pontus glaring at Sigyn's colleague and joins them in the enterprise. If not two days ago this man, who Loki now recognizes as Captain Kustaa from his mother's guard, had been so opposed to Sigyn joining his unit, why is he changing his tune now?

Cringing, Kustaa scratches at the back of his head. "Yes, that. I am really sorry about that."

Sigyn gives a short, disbelieving hum, her eyes narrowed into slits. Loki completely expects her to ask Kustaa if he would like to choke on a fetid cock and shoo him from the room, but then her expression lightens, and she says, "Alright. You are forgiven."

"Really? Just like that," Kustaa squeaks, and Loki internally echoes his question.

Making a dismissive gesture, she says, "I figure you simply realized how amazing I was when I saved your life."

He scoffs. "You did not save my life."

"Please," she scorns, rolling her eyes. "If I had not stepped in when I did, you would be the one in a hospital bed." Kustaa shrugs half-heartedly, unable to deny her claim. "Speaking of people in hospital beds," she goes on, "how is the Captain Teppo?" Loki recalls that Teppo was the first of the queen's men to go down in the fight against Norval.

A sigh of relief escapes Kustaa as he is no doubt pleased that the attention is off him. "He is going to make a full recovery." She smiles at the news, relieved. He takes half a step through the doorway, indicating his departure. "He is right down the hall from you. I shall tell him you send your well wishes."

She brings up a hand, a playful smile in her lips. "Hold on, now. You've apologized, but you said you wanted to salute me, as well. Whatever for?"

Halting in his retreat, Kustaa holds the door frame. "Ah, yes. Well, your victory was quite spectacular to witness, barely conscious though I was."

Face contorting in confusion, Sigyn asks, "Whatever do you mean, victory? He stabbed me, and I passed out. I did not win."

"Er, no," Loki contends, surprised that she does not seem to remember how last night's altercation concluded. "As you were going down, you raised your arm and—" He trails off at the sight of her friends frantically gesturing that he stop speaking. "What?"

"What," she echoes, head swiveling around to Pontus and Quimby, both of whom look perfectly suspect. "What are they on about," she emphasizes, voice unyielding.

After a moment of hesitation, Quimby pipes up. "Okay, it's, um—"

"Don't do it," Pontus interrupts.

"I must! It's time," Quimby retorts, visibly distressed. Pontus shakes his head, but holds up his hands in acquiescence.

Sigyn watches the entire encounter, looking more and more anxious by the second. "Quimby," she urges.

He gives a deep sigh. "You killed the Lord Norval last night."

"What," she shrieks, and the half-empty glass on the table beside her bed explodes into a thousand pieces.

Before the shards can strike anyone or anything in the room, Loki holds up a hand and wills them to freeze mid-air. One of them stops directly beneath Sigyn's jaw, its sharp edge dangerously close to the brown skin of her throat. Carefully, he directs the pieces into the receptacle by the door. In doing so, he notices that sometime during the commotion, Kustaa had managed to slip away unnoticed.

Breathing fast and hard through her nose, Sigyn asks, "What the Hel just happened?"

"Your distress translated into a violent telekinetic reaction," he explains, a grounding hand on her shoulder. "It's okay," he assures her.

She takes a deep breath before speaking. "I—Sorry, I—"

"It's okay," he calmly repeats. She cups her hands around her mouth as her breaths start coming in shorter and shorter. "Are you alright?"

She nods quickly, giving no verbal response. Once her breathing finally calms down, she moves one hand to tug on a wisp of hair hanging behind her ears as she twists her lips in displeasure.

Pontus pipes up. "She's never killed anyone." He pauses. "Correction: she hadn't killed anyone." He pauses again. "You know, until now."

"I think he gets it," she snaps, glaring rather viciously at him.

He raises his arms in surrender. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"I will shoot you whenever I like. Why you would take it upon yourself to deliver such a message is beyond me," she returns, shaking slightly. She leans back, settling herself against the pillows, but quickly sits up again, hissing in pain. Her voice comes out in a sob, "Fuck."

In an effort to comfort her, Pontus and Loki both step forward. Pontus awkwardly pats her on the head while Loki makes another attempt at consolation. "Try not to worry too much about all this." He gives an inelegant shrug. "I mean, I kill people all the time."

At this, she freezes up and ceases worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes flick to the side, scanning him. "You do, don't you," she says softly as Pontus starts stroking her hair after each pat.

Sensing that all the judgment—and all the eyes—in the room is suddenly fixed on him, he retreats as quickly as possible. "Or maybe, you know, don't." Smiling uneasily and refraining from wincing when she does not return that smile, he opts for an out. "My father told me he wanted a word with me this evening, so I am afraid I have to leave."

As he nears the door, she mumbles, "Okay, bye," her tone hollow in this face of his abrupt departure. He nods in farewell, and once he is past the threshold of the door, he hears her tell Pontus, "Stop petting my hair."

"It's so greasy," Pontus says, his voice a mere whisper in the hall.

Half an hour later, Loki strides into his father's sitting room. He gives Odin a quick bow before sliding into the chair across from him. "Father," he greets. "There's something you wished to share with me?" Throughout the day, he had spared little thought to what the upcoming conversation might concern, but he had been significantly preoccupied by Sigyn's predicament. Fleetingly, he had supposed it would be about last night's attack, and at worst, he had thought it a ploy to keep him away from the hospital.

Odin nods, his signature half-frown set on his face. "Yes. I have been meaning to speak to you about something of great importance." Loki nods, and his father continues, "It is a shame the match between you and the Lady Haldana did not pan out."

Loki's brow furrows at the abrupt and peculiar choice in topic. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Is it," he ponders aloud.

"It is," Odin affirms. He crosses his hands in his lap. "You are a prince. It is important that you find a worthy woman with whom to spend your life. Your mother and I, along with the Lord Andor and the Lady Magnhildr, had thought the two of you would make a favorable pair."

Trying his damndest not to roll his eyes, Loki gives his father a tight smile. "Alas, it was not to be." He hesitates briefly before continuing, "However, seeing as you find Haldana so appealing, there is someone very similar to her—"

"Are you referring to her bastard, flannfluga sister," Odin interjects, his disapproval evident.

At his father's choice of words, Loki suppresses an uneasy flinch. "I-I wouldn't—"

"Nor would I," Odin agrees, purposefully misunderstanding Loki. He stands, stepping around his chair and coming to stand beside Loki's. He places a hand on his son's shoulder. "Don't waste your time, my boy. She's not for you."