As he awoke, he felt the crisp starch of sheets at his fingertips and a cotton patch over his right eye and he throttled his mind just to remember his name. It wasn't long after that the pain began, insane burning that he felt deep inside his body. He winced. He couldn't move his legs; he could barely move his arms. Regardless, he forced himself up, but his arms collapsed under him and all he managed was a half-hearted flop back into the pillows. There was a fabric patch over his right eye, however his current state blurred his vision and he could barely see anyway.

"Damn," he muttered, his muscles screaming at him, informing him in the politest terms that they did not appreciate being abused in such a fashion. He turned his head slowly and painfully. He was in the Healing Room, Asgard, and for a while he wondered if the last few years had been real, or just an incredibly vivid nightmare brought on by a slightly too hard hit to the head with a hammer courtesy of Thor. Besides, he hated to think that Valhalla looked like this, it was too tame.

"Loki," that was the one voice he had not expected to hear. He expected Thor, or maybe one of his myriad of followers, but not Odin. He seemed inordinately relieved, and yet sort of confused as though he didn't know what to say. His face was anxious and pinched, like he had spent many days awake, his eye was sort of red and he lacked his omnipresent air of superiority and decorum trading it for unkempt scruffiness and a stink that could even raise those in Valhalla.

"I don't know what I did, but it can't have been that bad," he joked, having a tiny laugh to himself, but then he winced at how much it hurt. He decided not to do that again.

"You sacrificed yourself," Odin said simply, "to save all the realms. You closed all the portals and resurrected those you killed."

His brow furrowed for a moment, "I won?"

"Yes."

"I don't remember winning," he croaked out, "but then again I am having a hard enough time remembering my own name." Odin's hand curled around his.

"No one knew when you would wake, if at all," he began to talk faster, "I was afraid-," he continued, "that I would not be able to say to you . . . all the things a father should say to his son."

There was a long, awkward silence, "who are you?" Loki whispered, "And where are you hiding the king?"

"I am your father."

He said nothing, instead opting for a confused, shocked, almost vacant stare.

"I am very proud of you," Odin admitted.

There was a long pause, "are you feeling alright?" Loki said, trying to breathe as shallowly as he could, "are you ill? Dying? Dead? Am I dead?"

Odin smiled at him, "no, you are not dead."

"All my life-," Loki sat up as far as he could, "you have never spoke to me this way," he winced again, "and our last one on one talk was a little . . . harsh."

"That is not the word I would have used."

"So either you are dying, I am dying or you are actually a Valkyrie in disguise."

"None of those," Odin sighed, "why can you not accept the fact that I was wrong, and I acted like a fool?"

"Did I just hear you admit that you were wrong?" Loki asked, "or do I have water in my ears?" he sneered because of the pain, "again."

"I am a fool, and I understand that now," he smiled slightly, "although I do not understand why you did not tell us what happened to you."

"Regarding?"

"You were tortured, "he said, "Why did you never say?"

"Would you have believed me?" Loki arched an eyebrow and smiled sadly, "I am known for lying, you would have just assumed that I was lying even if I had told the truth to you. I am hardly Balder."

Odin nodded curtly, but Loki saw the sadness in his eye, "we never talk."

"Talk," Loki offered. Odin smiled awkwardly, and Loki arched an eyebrow, waiting. There was a long silence between them, "do you still play chess?"

Odin smiled, "I never stopped," with a swipe of his hand, an ornate stone chessboard complete with carved pieces.

"Are you sure you have time for this?" Loki asked.

"Everything's under control," he said, "Thor is filling in."

"Ah, where does the subject of compensation come up?" Loki smiled. It was all he could do without his body burning, "Is this the same game we were playing five hundred years ago?"

"Did you really stop to think about this?" Fandral asked her again, "did you seriously think about this or are you having adverse side effects from that hit on the head? Did you read the sign that said 'do not disturb'?"

"Too late," Sif replied, gritting her teeth.

"Loki keeps saving out lives," Volstagg noted.

"And trying to kill us!" Fandral argued.

"Stop complaining," Hogun told him, "it is the least we can do."

Fandral stopped outside the Healing Room, "I think I left my goblet there."

"We have brought no wine, Fandral," Volstagg sighed.

Sif growled, "You are not getting out of this, Fandral." She put a hand in the middle of his back and practically pushed him inside.

Only to see Loki looking up at them with a slightly relieved look on his face, "by Valhalla, they finally enter! Did you draw the short straw?" he smiled up at them and sniffed the air, "is that boar?"

"Among other things," Volstagg swung the large sack off his back, "beef, pheasant, fruit, a big bit of pumpkin . . . and some other stuff."

"Any cheese?"

"Definitely," Volstagg grinned, "I would never forget the cheese. After all you have been through; you deserve the best cheese in the realm!"

"Excellent," Loki smiled again, "are you sure it was wise to allow Volstagg to carry the food?"

Volstagg, however, took this in his stride, "That bag has become a lot lighter during the trip, now that you mention it," Volstagg cleared his throat.

Loki began to laugh, but soon after it degenerated into a wet, hacking cough, and he sat up with great difficulty, coughing into his bandaged hands. Volstagg put a hand on his back and soothed down the coughing. When he calmed, he drew away his hands, covered in blood, "Oh, damn."

"Perhaps we should go," Fandral said awkwardly.

"Go on," Loki croaked, "you obviously have somewhere better to be."

"Bye, now."

Sif grabbed his arm as he went to leave, "you are not going anywhere."

"We are here as you called us your friends," Hogun finally explained.

For a moment, Loki had no idea what to say. Even if his throat was not ripped raw by coughing, he had no smart comeback, nothing clever to say.

"I think we broke him," Sif said flatly.

"I did?" he completely ignored Sif.

"Indeed," Hogun said.

"I must have been out of it," his brow furrowed, "how long have I been . . . here?"

"Fifty seven years," Sif said as her face flat and emotionless. Loki was not sure if she was kidding or not. It had always been hard to tell with her.

Volstagg clapped her on the back, "Sif was making a jest!" he bellowed.

"You need practice," Loki said stiffly.

"You have only been here for three months," Hogun the Grim answered for him in his usual manner, "but those three months have been . . . eventful."

"Sif has been running a betting pool," Fandral grinned, "the whole court was betting on how long you were going to take your beauty sleep, or whether you would end up pushing up the daisies."

Loki glanced at Sif, "so you're rich now?" Sif's face didn't change, "where's my cut?"

"Thor put a stop to it," Sif said bluntly.

"He said it was immoral, insensitive and demeaning," Volstagg finished.

"And morbidly funny," Loki added, "one would think that Thor would know me a little better, after spending over a thousand years as my brother, of course."

None of the friendly neighborhood warriors said a word, and the few seconds of awkward silence rolled into a few minutes. It was almost deafening.

"Should we tell him?" Fandral asked his comrades.

"We should," Sif told them.

"Are you sure that is wise, Lady Sif?" Hogun asked her.

Loki's glare cut into her a moment after she had said it, "stop and explain," he glared at each of them in turn, "what should I be told? And please, no lying. I hate it when people lie to me."

Sif and Volstagg exchanged glances, "he'll figure it out eventually."

"I concur."

"The tension is killing me," Loki narrowed his eyes, "would you be so kind as to tell me what you mean to tell me before I die of old age?"

"Don't look at me," Fandral shrugged.

"Good grief," Sif rolled her eyes, "when you threw yourself into the Void and you closed all the portals between the Nine Realms too," she explained, "you said they were too dangerous, and for once, I agree with you. Unfortunately you destroyed Bifrost at the same time. I guess we can't get rid of you that easily."

"Could you have perhaps made an effort to be less abrasive and sarcastic?" Fandral snapped at her.

"No," Sif answered.

Loki was silent for a moment longer, deep in thought, "gone?" he asked.

"This is all left of Bifrost. It was removed from your eye as the Healers rushed to save your life," he placed a small, multicolored crystal in his hand, "Sorry," Volstagg said simply.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, "do not be, Volstagg. It is not your fault," a tear began to form in his injured eye, "please leave. I need to be alone. Take the food away. I have lost my appetite."

"Alright, Loki," Volstagg said.

"What a relief," Fandral sighed.

"I hope you find yourself well soon," Hogun farewelled him with a curt bow, and the Warriors Three began to forward out, Sif behind them.

"Sif."

Sif turned, "yes, Loki."

"Thank you for being honest," he told her, "perhaps brutally."

She smiled wryly, "It's as much as you deserve."

Loki smiled at her, his eyes slightly dewy, "thank you."

Sif was smiling as she walked out as Loki stared at the remains of the Bifrost, the tiny crystal that fit into the center of his palm. He could never go back.