I'm loving reading your thoughts! I hope you keep enjoying!
VVVVVVVV
In a Crowd of Thousands
Chapter 7
"Counting Heartbeats"
Loki flew.
His foot hit the floor once between the chair and the kitchen threshold. There, he jerked to a halt for just an instant—
Wooden cabinets, a tall table in the center covered with plates and cutting boards, a white tile floor—
Jane Foster, lying on her side with her back to him, a blue teacup smashed to flinders beside her hand.
He quickly maneuvered around the table and knelt down beside her, eyes darting across her frame.
"Jane?" he called, hesitating—
Then reached down and gently took her shoulder in his right hand while sliding his left hand under her head and turning her onto her back.
Instantly, she started to shiver, her forehead knotting, her eyes closed. Her face had gone ashen, her lips grey. She felt cold, and fragile. He pressed his fingers to her throat, frowning in concentration. Her heart beat rapidly beneath his touch. He moved his palm to her forehead, sending searching sparks of invisible magic shooting through her skull, then back into his hand. No, she hadn't struck her head. At least, not hard enough to cause injury.
"Jane," he said again, louder, pulling her upper body into his lap and winding his arm around her shoulders to support her head. "Jane, can you hear me?"
Weakly, she drew her arms up to her chest. Her fingers quivered.
"Call…Call Rose…" she whispered, her eyes still shut. "Call…"
"Jane, what's wrong?" Loki pressed. "What's the matter?"
"Call…" she mouthed, her breathing coming short and quick.
Call Rose. All right… Loki twisted his head toward the door, then glanced up at the ceiling. Rose was upstairs. He could scream, using magic to amplify his voice—
No, not smart. And he wasn't going to leave her lying on this cold floor.
The next instant, he took her up in his arms and stood. She hardly weighed anything. Tucking her close, he swiftly carried her back out to the couch, bent down and carefully laid her there, her head against a pillow. Then, he turned and snatched a red throw blanket off the loveseat and covered her with it. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she dully glanced up at him as he worked.
"Now, try to stay put," he ordered, giving a small, teasing smile—
Then left her and darted up the stairs, three at a time.
"Rose," he called sharply when he hit the landing and found himself in a hallway. "Rose, where are you?"
"What? What is it?" Rose came out of one of the rooms, drying her hands on a towel.
"She's collapsed," Loki said quickly, pointing behind him. "She told me to call you."
"Collapsed," Rose repeated, instantly sweeping past him and going right down the stairs. "Did she hit her head?"
"No," Loki said, following right behind. The two of them came to the bottom of the stairs and Rose went right to Jane's side and sat down on the small table.
"Hi, honey," Rose reached out and took hold of Jane's wrist, then stared down at the watch on her wrist, as if counting. "Can you hear me, Jane?"
"Mhm," Jane murmured, blinking slowly before closing her eyes again.
"Something hurt?" Rose asked.
"Everything," Jane whispered.
"Still feeling faint?"
"Mhm."
"Need to go to the hospital?" Rose asked.
Loki frowned harder, folding his arms and watching them. He had to fight all his impulses to push Rose out of the way, to press both hands against Jane's upper chest, near her heart, to feel the pulse of her heart magick—to wind his hands around her neck and listen to the rhythm of her life-force, the clockwork of her body. How could this Midgardian woman possibly know anything about that, or what was truly wrong?
"Jane, do you need to go to the hospital?" Rose asked again, stopping her count and leaning toward Jane. Jane didn't make a sound—but she nodded.
"Okay," Rose decided. "We'll get you in the car and take you there right now." Then she pulled a device, called a phone, out of her pocket, pressed a few buttons and put it to her ear. After a moment's silence, she spoke. "Hi, this is Rose Dershewitz. I'm bringing Jane Foster in—she's collapsed. Her heart rate right now is about 120 beats per minute and seems to be getting faster. No, she's not bleeding. Yes, she's conscious. We'll be there in a few minutes. Thanks." Rose put the phone back in her pocket and turned to Loki. "Can you pick her up again?"
"Wh—Of course," Loki said quickly.
"All right, follow me," Rose instructed, standing up and grabbing her purse, and Jane's purse, off a side table, and heading toward the kitchen. Loki came around the short table and bent toward Jane again.
"Beg your pardon," he murmured, slipping his arms under her again and taking her up. He was instantly tempted, as her head rested against his shoulder, to continue his own investigation—but Rose called again.
"Come this way," and she hurried through the kitchen. Scowling, Loki followed her through the kitchen toward a back door, which Rose opened. There, the three of them went down a short flight of stone stairs and out to a very small, covered area, where a white car waited.
"Here, I'll lay the front passenger seat down," Rose said, opening the car door and maneuvering the seat so that it lay all the way down. Loki followed her, bent his knees and lay Jane out on the seat. The next second, he had to step back as Rose quickly adjusted the red blanket, and clipped a strap across Jane's hips.
"Okay, climb in the back behind me," Rose instructed, shutting the door and going around to the other. Loki raised his eyebrows.
"You…You want me to come along?"
Rose opened her door and looked at him.
"Don't you want to?"
"I…Yes, yes, I want to."
"Then hurry and get in," Rose advised, climbing in behind the wheel.
Loki quickly rounded the car, managed to open the door and clamber inside the tiny space behind the driver's seat. His head nearly touched the ceiling. He shut the door, glancing over at Jane.
She lay very still, her brow furrowed in distant pain, her eyes shut.
Rose turned the key, and a rattling rumble issued from beneath the hood. Then, the little car backed out of the covered shelter and into an alleyway. Rose turned the car and they headed forward, down the alley and turned into a broad street. Soon, they joined the flow of constant traffic, the endless river of cars and people rolling by on every side. However, they came to a dead halt at every light that turned red, and stayed there until it turned green—why, Loki had no idea. Why not just force their way on through? Didn't they need to move quickly?
His jaw tightened harder and harder with every passing moment, his arms folded over his chest. Again, he had to fight the impulse to reach out and press his hands to Jane's head. If he did that, he had no doubt Rose would try to banish him from the car, the trauma of which would upset Jane—
Which he didn't want to do.
But he could climb out and knock every single car out of their path with one clap of his hands. It would be noisy but effective. Then maybe they could—
That moment, they rounded another corner and pulled into a curved drive in front of an impressive, gleaming glass tower. Before its doors, surrounded by a glittering fountain, stood a tall, bronze statue of a nude woman, her arms joyfully thrown out to the sides—but her face was solemn, her eyes searching the sky. Rose stopped the car…
A young man wearing all blue was already hurrying out through the sliding door, pushing a chair with large wheels. Rose got out of the car, rounded it and opened Jane's door.
"Hello, Jane, my name's Richard," the young man smiled down at her. "We're going to help you into this wheelchair."
Uneasy and bewildered, Loki opened his own door and crawled out, watching their every move. Together, the man and Rose maneuvered Jane out of the car and onto the wheeled chair, putting her feet up on pedals. Then, with Rose striding after, the man pushed Jane around the fountain, and back toward the sliding doors.
His feeling of unease mounting, Loki trailed after, gazing up and trying to decipher the meaning of the golden words that hung like a bold banner above the doors:
SAINT DOMINIC CENTER FOR WOMEN'S CANCER RESEARCH
VVVVVVVVVVVVV
Loki paced in the hallway. Up and down, up and down.
His beaten shoes clicked on the polished white tiles. He could see himself reflected in their shining surface as he walked, his head low, his hands in his pockets. The walls were a very light grey, and at measured intervals, bland paintings of abstract squares and rectangles—each painting the same size—hung in silver frames. Three small, plastic chairs sat against the wall. Straight ahead of him, now, the wall at the end of the hall was actually a floor-to-ceiling window, where the pale sunlight poured in, and he could see the skyline of New York City. That city was silent now, at this height. Silent and geometric as one of these paintings.
The air in here smelled like a chemical—clean and sterile. Not unlike some areas of the TVA. Occasional footsteps sounded in faraway, larger rooms, but all remained quiet and calm.
Loki paused, gazing down the long hall toward the rooms, his eyebrows drawing together.
Didn't these Midgardians know anything? Halls of healing needed to be open to the sun, and filled with the song of flowing water…
He turned back, staring out the big window at the buildings, and the wide blue sky beyond them.
The Halls of Healing. In Asgard. Where Eir, his teacher, had patiently showed him all the secrets of healing magic—of the potions, baths and touches that could be used to seal a wound, to mend a bone, stop the bleeding. Hours and hours spent in her wise, bright presence. Hours that filled the memories of his youth, amidst the scent of flowers and fragrant tinctures, incense and broths. How could anyone not feel better in such a place, amidst the golden light and quiet music?
Grinding his teeth, Loki paced back the way he had come, glancing to his left for the hundredth time at the white door marked 300. Jane Foster was behind that door, with the healers and Rose. She had been for at least two hours. And, despite his superior hearing, he couldn't detect anything but the occasional low voice from within. So he paced. What else could he do, short of breaking into the room?
Another half hour passed. Then another. Finally, Loki sat down on one of the thin chairs up against the wall and set his elbows on his knees. He pressed his palms together and rested them against his lips, glaring at the door in front of him.
He wasn't going to tolerate this much longer. He had come to this timeline specifically to get help from Jane Foster and Stephen Strange, before the fabric of the cosmos ripped to shreds, and He Who Remains appeared in some new form or other. But he couldn't get Jane's help if she was ill, and guarded by a bunch of ignorant Midgardians. As soon as he was allowed in, he would heal her, and together they would find Stephen Strange and set to work on the real problem.
The door opened.
Loki's head came up.
A man in a white, starched robe stepped out, gave him a businesslike smile, then started off down the hall. Loki got to his feet—
Rose came out next, and quietly shut the door behind her.
"How is she?" Loki whispered urgently, stepping up to her. "What's happened? Can I see her?"
"She's asleep right now," Rose answered, her expression guarded.
"Yes, but you see," Loki gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile, pressing his hand to his chest. "I was once one of the chief healers in Asgard—taught by the masters for centuries, then taking on students of my own. I'd like to help her."
Rose looked up at him with cautious interest, and Loki held her gaze.
"Please," he insisted, keeping his voice low. "Please, just for a moment. I shan't disturb her."
Rose paused for just another moment, then nodded.
"You can go in for a little bit," she sighed. "Lord knows that the poor girl could use all the help she can get."
Loki's smile faded at the sound of that. Rose opened the door again. Loki nodded at her, then slipped past and into the room.
It was a small room, with a set of windows directly ahead, decorated with long, mauve curtains. The lights had been turned down, so only the sunlight came in. Jane lay in a bed with its head against the wall to Loki's right. A tall computer stood on her right side, its black monitor displaying jagged green lights. It beeped softly.
Loki slowed, and stopped, his gaze drifting across Jane's slight form as the door clicked shut behind him. She was swathed in white blankets, and she wore a pink, short sleeved gown. Her face looked slightly less pale, now, and the tension had gone from her forehead. She breathed deeply and evenly. A paper bracelet encircled her left wrist, and a strange little white device pinched her forefinger.
Silently, Loki drew closer, suddenly feeling as if the world was holding its breath. His gaze rested on her face, tracing the curves of her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, her lips. He paused directly beside her, feeling his frown deepen. At last, he stretched out his hands, and gently rested them on her: his right hand pressed to her forehead, his left hand to the base of her throat. He drew in a deep breath…
And closed his eyes.
Magic pulsed out of his hands and into her body. In an instant, she lit up like neon in his mind: every bone and blood vessel and organ—every heartbeat and breath, every pulse of the magick deep within her.
And in the next instant, there it was.
There—a twisting, blood-red, glowing monster, its limbs like thorny, gnarled vines. A creature with a thousand razor-sharp, ravenous mouths, its tentacles wrapping around every vein, every bone…
And deeper! Deeper even, than that. Deeper and smaller, into her marrow, the very fiber of her muscles. The vines put out smaller vines, which put out even smaller ones, which pushed and pushed deeper inside her, through every tissue like a million microscopic needles.
And this monster flashed and twisted angrily at the touch of his magic; malignant and sour, brutish and vengeful.
Completely, totally alien.
Loki gasped. He jerked his hands back, opening his stinging eyes.
The light vanished.
Jane lay before him, breathing silently. And he stared down at her in horror.
"What is this?" he rasped, his face tightening in pain and confusion as his gaze flashed over her. His fingers quivered, and he gripped the rail beside her head. His heart had begun beating faster.
He had to get her out of here. These Midgardians could never cure this, not in a thousand years. Neither could he. He'd never seen anything like it. But Eir—Eir and his mother, they could. He would take her to Asgard, he would bring her to the Halls of Healing. Together, Eir and his mother and he, along with the other healers, would look through the library, they would bring all their collective knowledge to bear against this red, ruthless monster. They would even call in the students and hear their theories. And until they found the answer, they could try various purging baths, and even a draught from Idun could—
Loki's eyes went wide.
His heart skipped a beat.
Then another.
Wait.
The file.
The file in the TVA. The file he'd found when he realized Sylvie's plan for survival.
RAGNAROK
It had happened. It had happened on this timeline.
There was no Asgard, with its eternal song of tumbling waters.
There was no royal library, flooded with the scent of ancient books.
There wereno Halls of Healing, with golden sunlight pouring through the windows, and the scent of lavender and jasmine heavy in the air…
There was no Eir, with her gentle smile and brilliant, intelligent eyes.
She was dead.
So was his mother.
Loki's knees hit the floor. His legs had weakened and he sank there, his hands still grasping the edge of the bed. He screwed his eyes shut and pressed a hand over them as overwhelming pain shafted through his chest.
The next moment, he swiped tears from his cheeks and sucked in a bracing breath.
Fine. Fine, that was just this timeline. What if…
What if he used the TemPad and took Jane back to the TVA? From there, he could find another timeline, a different timeline in which Asgard hadn't been destroyed!
Or better yet, what if he simply took her back in time, on this timeline, to before Ragnarok? What would happen then? Could he even do that? Was it even possible to go from here on Midgard to back in time, and end up in Asgard? What if—
A strange noise jangled to his right. Sniffing and swiping at his face again, Loki turned…
Jane's black purse sat on a chair, there. And the corner of her phone stuck out of it. He could read the name on the phone as it jangled.
Stephen
Loki leaped to his feet, staring at the phone.
Stephen? Was it…?
It kept jangling. Loki clenched his fists.
It jangled again.
He lunged for it. He pressed the green button, and held it up to his ear. What was it that Midgardians said when they picked up this device—?
"Hello?"
A pause came at the other end. Then, a voice. Deep, cautious and measured.
"Hello. I'm looking for Jane Foster."
Loki swallowed, fighting back his shaking, and took a breath.
"Jane is asleep at the moment. At the…The Cancer Research Center."
"The Cancer Center? Is she all right?" the voice asked sharply.
"I'm…" Loki took another breath, glancing down at her. "No, I'm afraid not."
Another pause.
"Sorry, to whom am I speaking?"
For the third time, Loki took a deep breath—and shut his eyes. The truth felt like poison in his mouth—but right now, he didn't have a choice.
"You are speaking to Loki."
This time, the quiet at the other end became deafening.
"Loki," the other voice finally said flatly.
"Yes, Loki—son of Odin, brother of Thor," Loki snapped.
"That's…an interesting way to put it," came the cool tone. "I'm Dr. Stephen Strange. You might remember—we met briefly. You threatened to kill me."
Loki's jaw tightened and he glared at the wall in front of him.
"No," he bit out. "I don't remember. Because we've never met."
"That's also interesting," Stephen Strange said, his voice like a knife. "Explain."
Loki paused, going still. He folded his right arm around his chest, and closed his fist.
"Does the word 'variant' mean anything to you?" he asked slowly.
Stephen Strange said nothing. Nothing at all.
Alarm built in Loki's chest. Had he stopped listening—?
Zzzzzzzzppppptt!
Loki whirled around as a vertical wheel of blinding yellow sparks suddenly invaded the room.
The next moment, that circle of flashing, spitting sparks opened a tall door right in the middle of the air—a door into an entirely different place.
A tall man strode through. A man in a dark blue tunic and trousers, beaten boots, and a billowing scarlet cape. He had dark hair dusted with grey—a short beard, high cheekbones, and blue eyes that flashed like lightning. He lifted his right hand and held it out. It trembled slightly. He raised his eyebrows.
"Loki? I'm Dr. Strange. Come with me. We need to talk."
To be continued…
Review! What are you thinking about?
