I know it's been a while, but here comes the next two-part installment. Things are heating up in the oven and there's a twist coming along the way. Also, I might be torturing you guys a bit. Love you!
Potent Circumstance: A Prism of Delight and Pain
Chapter 8: Human
"And I hate myself for being human. What good are hearts if you can't use them?"
- God or Julie
Darcy knew she was dreaming, but that didn't stop the terror, helpless abject terror. Because Darcy Lewis was dreaming of drowning. She nearly had, when she had been three years old. And she remembered the entire ordeal.
She remembered the crushing weight of the water all around her, the hard coldness of it and the way it burned her lungs, clogging her throat and stuffing her little nose. It tasted bitter. And what she remembered most clearly, as she sunk lower, dying, was that her parents couldn't save her. They were as helpless as she, unable to swim, unable to teach her to, staring agape with horror at her from the city docks where they had gone to buy fresh fish. She could still see them, watched them begging someone, anyone, to save her, please god, before she stopped breathing. Before her heart stopped beating.
Finally, some man—she never knew who, just that he'd—been out of work and doing odd jobs when he had them—dove in and fished her out, put air into her tiny tired lungs. He carried her to the emergency room with her parents trailing behind morosely, and he smelled like peppermint and aftershave. She recalled being home that night, afraid to close her eyes and thinking she wouldn't wake up. How she'd thrown herself into swimming lessons, sworn she wouldn't die that way.
And then, this. Both her parents drowning in one day, so close to freedom they could taste it. She knew she shouldn't have drunk the spirits. Some of them turned the lights off too quickly, and some of them made her crazy. Some of them made it so she couldn't hide from her memories, brought out so vividly by the affects. She stayed away from those. After all, why drink something to be numb only to feel all too much?
Darcy shuddered, finding a blanket atop herself and pulling it closer. The spirits from Jane's room made everything fuzzy. These spirits merely had the effect they should—making her drunk off of her ass and ending there, no more, no less. No vivid hallucinations and nightmares, no excitement, no crazy. Just sleepy, she reckoned in hindsight. So her nightmare was of her own mind uninfluenced by anything other than shock. She sat up then, noticing Thor asleep in a chair across from her. She didn't know quite what to say. She'd probably embarrassed herself with drunken slurs and red-eyed ranting, not to mention her over-zealous dive into being plastered. That was excluding everything else, of course. Thor himself seemed worried and preoccupied even asleep, his brows drawn together. Darcy didn't want to wake him just yet, as he rarely slept those days. She knew the signs of sleep deprivation all too well.
She reached out hesitantly and stroked stray hair from his face. A beat passed, and she couldn't help but touch him again, tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, and the arch of his eyebrows. On impulse she caressed his cheeks, slid one finger along his nose. Then she remembered herself and withdrew, curling inward. She blinked, darted forward, and jerked back. Darcy rocked on her edge of the seat, torn. But finally, the temptation too great, she cautiously crept over to him and lightly kissed his forehead, lingering a moment, glad he slept heavily.
She searched for a bottle of booze like the one he'd smashed, the blanket wrapped around her, and began to flee. Until Thor's voice startled her. "Darcy," he sighed.
She yelped, the bottle crashing to the floor. It took her a moment to realize that he still slept. She waited a second just to be safe. She stared guiltily between him and the mess she'd made, wishing she had magic. She swore, hurriedly mopping up the liquid. As she cleaned the glass, Thor said her name again and she cut her palm. She bit her lip to muffle the cry. One glance assured her that he hadn't woken up. Frowning as she searched for bandaging, she heard him sigh her name a third time. "Darcy," Thor moaned. Darcy froze, fumbling the wrapping she just found for her wound. The intern turned and found Thor shifting ever so slightly in his sleep, brows drawn together in a different tension than before. His arms flexed, fingers moving, and he groaned. "Oh, Darcy," he whispered. Tears slipped down his cheeks as his hips jerked. Darcy felt mortified. Thor had to be having a wet dream about her.
He confirmed her suspicions a moment later when he developed a tell-tale sign. Darcy, blushing furiously, covered her mouth with her hand, grimacing when she tasted blood. Damn. She'd used her injured one.
Shaking her head, Darcy clambered to get her hand cleaned and bound. Perhaps she could leave before—"DARCY!" Thor exclaimed in a whispered yell, an exhale of pleasure. Darcy stared uncertainly, unsure of what the hell she was supposed to do in that particular awkward situation. Leave? Wake him up? Ignore him? Go into Sigyn's bedroom? None of them seemed appealing, but neither did watching. Her stomach lurched. Shit.
Unable to take anymore, Darcy fled towards the door. The exact moment she got level with Thor, he nearly whimpered her name, a desperate keen, and his hips gave their biggest rut yet. Darcy tripped headlong, landing in a heap in his lap. Thor gave a guttural moan at the actual physical stimulation, forcing Darcy to muffle his scream with both hands as he came in his sleep. What made everything worse, aside from feeling his boner against her where she perched precariously, trying not to fall again, or his wetness through their clothing, had to be his piercing, earnest, horrified eyes gazing back at her.
"Darcy?" Thor now only sounded appalled and stunned. Darcy made quick work of getting away from him, nearly throwing herself onto the floor.
"I-"
The door to Sigyn's room started to creak open. Darcy scrabbled onto the sofa, the blanket tangling around her, and feigned sleep. Thor stared about helplessly, landing on a second blanket. He managed to grab it and spread it out and pretended to be asleep as well. Sigyn peered out sleepily, eyes still heavy. Seeing nothing stirring, she hesitated only a moment more, closing her door firmly. Darcy was afraid to open her eyes. When she finally did, she found that Thor already had his open, and was staring at anything but her.
"Darcy—"
Darcy buried her face into her pillow. "No."
"I must-" She shook her head at him, clutching the pillow in place so tightly it seemed as if she might smother herself.
"I don't want to talk about it," she wailed, muffled through the pillow. Thor cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably.
"It was not on purpose."
"Of course not," she retorted, "you can't help what thoughts're in your brain, can you?"
"I had not been thinking on it," Thor insisted urgently. "I swear it!"
"Right," Darcy muttered, struggling into an upright position and looking like a ruffled bird. "It just happened."
"So you understand," he appealed.
Her nose scrunched. "Unfortunately." She huffed, dragging her fingers through her unruly hair. "It means you have repressed desires on which you aren't acting."
The expression on Thor's countenance would have been comical if not for the discomfit in which they both found themselves hemmed into, drowning in despair. Thor licked his lips uncertainly, nervously, something Darcy never saw him do. He cleared his throat again, swept his overly large hand through his hair from the middle of his forehead straight back. It fell, parting in golden waves.
"You-you can't do that when she gets back," Darcy stuttered, gesturing wildly at nothing in particular. "When we get Jane back, I mean. Don't do that to her. Whether she wants you or not, if she's in the room and that happens again...It just can't."
Thor exhaled wearily. He rubbed his temples. "I know, Darcy. I know."
Darcy discarded the pillow while heaving herself onto the balls of her feet, flinging the blanket away. As she moved, Thor apparently noticed her bandaged hand, because he caught it when she bent to retrieve the blanket to fold it and put it away. She stiffened, unsure if he should be allowed even that small contact. His thumbs caressed the edges of the wrapping curiously.
"What happened here?" He sounded genuinely concerned, enough so that Darcy, biting her lip, relaxed a bit, though she tried to pull away before answering. "I was trying to sneak out with a fresh bottle of spirits from Sigyn's stores, but I...uh...I dropped it when I heard you saying my name. The first time."
Thor jerked his touch away in surprise, then seemed embarrassed. "The first time?"
Darcy's cheeks and neck felt aflame. She stared into the embers of the dying hearth fire. "Yeah. The second time happened while I was cleaning it up. It startled me so badly that I sliced my palm open. The third time I almost dropped the bandages."
She saw Thor swallow thickly from the corner of her eye. "My apologies….Anything else, Darcy?"
"You kept getting...um...more enthusiastic?" She winced. He cringed. "Ah," he said, "I am sorry you had to bear witness to that."
"I think my hand's sorrier, actually," Darcy muttered. Thor pinched the bridge of his nose and kept flicking a loose thread on the sofa.
"So, um...what did you see?" Darcy flinched at the morbid curiosity to know what exactly Thor had been doing to the Darcy in his head. Thor stared fixedly at the ceiling, breathing heavily through his nostrils.
"Lady Darcy, perhaps it is best not to—"
"I want to know."
Thor nearly bit through his lip. "No."
Darcy started to insist when a knock came at Sign's outer door. Thor and Darcy shared a glance, both pairs of eyes darting toward it. Darcy held a finger to her lips to silence him and shook her head no.
'Maybe they'll go away if we ignore them,' she mouthed. Thor frowned at the door as another knock came at it. He started to go and answer it, however, Darcy tackled him, and together they fell back into the chair he had occupied. They stared at each other, eyes wide, even after the person had gone.
Darcy gulped. Yet another screw up to add to her long laundry list of them. She'd just tackled Thor Odinson...and he'd let her knock him over. Darcy nibbled on her lip nervously and tried to slither off of him. She'd landed in a heap, face planted into his shoulder, an arm above her head, and a leg at an odd angle. Tossing her hair to get it out of her eyes, she turned her head to the side, nose accidentally brushing against his neck. Her movement dialed down to zero when Thor moaned softly, just as he had been when dreaming about her earlier. He immediately had shame written all across his features. Darcy gave him a questioning look, but understood immediately when she felt something poking into her knee of all places. Darcy literally sprang back over to the sofa like an Olympic gold medalist of gymnastics.
Thor coughed, abashed. Without giving him a chance to speak, Darcy shot to her heels and strode right by the cabinet containing the spirits this time, skirting completely around the room. She twisted the doorknob to the door wordlessly, flung it open wide, and vanished into the hallway, breaking into a sprint. Thor sighed and dropped his head into his hands. How and when had things gone so horribly, terribly wrong for everyone? And when had he started running off Darcy Lewis simply by being in the same room?
Thor shivered as he lowered himself into the frigid bathwater, sliding in to his waist. He dove under, glad he had a rather large tub, and swam the short distance back and forth. He let himself sink to the bottom, bubbles drifting upward from him. He propelled to the surface, gasping as he broke through, water streaming. He swam back and began scrubbing furiously, never feeling quite so filthy. Not for the dream. Not for coming in his sleep. Not even for having such torrid fantasies of a woman. What distressed him was that it was Darcy, the woman he'd only recently found he fancied, and one which he had had to make a promise to never to cross those lines. Mostly so he wouldn't break her or Jane's hearts. Apparently, though, his heart, and more obviously, his body, disagreed. But his brain did not. Thor threw his cloth and brush across the room irately, five thousand percent done with the paradox of himself. It only ended in him beating the water like a petulant child, then going to fetch the items with quick, precise strokes.
As he bent to get them where they'd sunk, wrapped together as they'd been, he couldn't help staring at his excitement. He hadn't noticed because of the numbing affect of the icy water, but it still bobbed as darkly reddish-deep violet as ever, swollen even. Groaning in consternation, he tried laps again, if tiny laps considering what he needed, tried immersion underwater again, tried scrubbing, even tried thinking of Sif to make him lose his arousal, but it didn't work. He'd have to get to actually face the source of his duress, and none of those things would help him do that. He leaned his head against the cold tiles once he'd crawled out, sprawled flat. His skin began to warm from the air, and his excitement shuddered at having warm skin on skin contact. He felt it pulse, like a heartbeat. Taunting him. Making a frustrated noise, he sat up straight, lightly rubbing a finger up himself from base to tip, shivering. He sought for something safe, picking the time Jane had shared with him when he'd first gone to earth. He tried to touch himself the way she had from memory, tried to put his fingers where her trembling ones and her warm mouth and tongue had been, grasped himself so hard when he had to give up that it hurt.
Cringing internally, he tentatively thought of Darcy and instantly felt a pulsation. Him imagining Darcy made his entire frame jolt. He did it again, then left off, feeling guilty. He instead tried focusing on someone he knew he didn't fancy or love that he'd been with, trying to find any way to gain release. That fell through, too, though, so he brought to front a stronger memory of him with Jane, one where they'd gone to the library for research, found an old astronomer's den—Naryu's—on the way there, and...
"What's this?" Jane stared around curiously, then her eyes lit in realization. "Is this..?"
She breathlessly picked up a star chart. Thor came up behind her, looking at it over her shoulder. "Yes," he gently took it from her hands. "My sister's work, I believe. I never found where she kept it all. This must have been her workspace."
"She watched the stars?"
"She could use them to tell the future," Thor added with a smile, laying his head on Jane's. His hands rested on her tummy, but glided higher as she continued to stay absorbed in a journal of Naryu's. She didn't notice them dip into her cleavage line until quite abruptly she found Thor cupping both her breasts, completely popped free from any binding.
Jane went very still. She waited, knowing...
Thor fisted himself at what would come next in the reverie of the past...
Thor withdrew his touch. Jane whirled around, only to be whirled back around. She yelped with surprise as he braced her against the nearest, clearest (though perhaps messiest, with stuff piled all on the opposite end) table and slid his hands up to the front of her bodice again, unlacing her ribbon from behind, pressing himself against her as he did—breathing heavily in her ear, nearly hyperventilating from lust, as he undid the first two buttons in the back to kiss her spine, feeling how she trembled and made exquisitely soft moans of anticipation. He bent, gathered her skirt up and bunched it about her waist, underwear pulled aside, and she braced her hands against the table with her back arched in readiness. She heard fabric shifting as he fumbled to disengage from his pants, so steeped in sudden desire he could barely think.
He rubbed his cock-head along her folds and entrance. Jane cried out as he stuck two fingers he'd wet into her, pumping them in and out, trailing up to her clit. He used his knees to separate hers as his familiar weight settled between her legs. Thor thrust into Jane in one motion, completely sheathed. Jane groaned. Thor unsheathed almost entirely, waiting with his leaking, twitching cock at the ready as he toyed with her clit. The more he stroked and caressed and grasped roughly at it as he toyed with her, the wetter she got. He caught some fluid with his working finger, offering it to her to taste. She shook her head no and squirmed. At that, her entire back pressing into him, he slammed in as he rubbed mad circles over her clit and spasmodically teased a nipple. He left her breasts, bent her over fully and jerked nearly out again, crushing back inside. He couldn't help the desperate whiplash of his hips as he screwed into Jane, nor the sucking on her shoulder as he did.
Jane's walls were flaring, pulsing around him, tightening. He ripped himself out and whipped her around again, lifting her onto the table. He crawled up after her, immediately inserting himself back into his desperate actions. Her legs hung from either side, dangling off of the table as he moved, mouth on her breasts like a nursling. Jane had said nothing. Just let him open her legs impossibly wide, not realizing he wasn't just shoving his body against and into her, but also his insecurities.
...Thor's hand picked up its pace, squeezing his throbbing shaft...
And suddenly his memory had been corrupted. It changed, as if someone had painted over graffiti on a wall and crafted a new image overtop it. For in Jane's place he suddenly saw Darcy, and he ripped his hands away as if he had burned himself. No. No. Absolutely not!
Thor buried his face in his hands and outright wept, giving up completely.
Maybe he shouldn't be allowed either one of them. If he got what he wanted, he'd lose what he had. But what did he have? What did he want? Nothing made sense anymore. It was all a paradox.
Clearly, he didn't deserve either one of them.
Jane hadn't spoken or uttered any other sound for the past hour. She had stayed close, silent, tracing the bridge of his nose, until Loki fell asleep, and then discreetly crawled away to perch on her own once she had dressed. Silas padded up and curled around her ankles, batting at the drooping crown of a flower growing at the base of the rock Jane occupied. Jane reached for the feline and petted him, scratching his ears. He purred, stretching leisurely.
"You're the only one things are simple with," Jane murmured, staring out at the countryside. She plucked the flower beside the one he kept playing with, hoping it wasn't poisonous, and put it in her hair. Tired of being alone, she picked her way back to Loki.
When she returned to his side, he still slept. She crouched, studying him. She bit her bottom lip, nails digging into her palms. Sometimes, looking at him, she got angry all over again, and she wanted him to hurt, too. Sometimes she felt guilty, and some other times she felt sorry for him even knowing he would hate it. Sometimes they got along amiably, and she even liked him. Sometimes she could feel genuine affection. She knew he could and had been terrible, and awful, destructive, and she didn't love him. But staring at such a naked, vulnerable, heap of self-loathing, something he'd said Jane had to ignore his own, Jane felt something very deep in her, something that twisted her in knots. He had her relearning emotions. Her human heart ached because of this man. It could love him, as twisted as it would be at the moment, though it didn't. It fluttered erratically, Jane once more struggling between instincts to protect the innocence in him and the old dilemma of how they'd "started off on the wrong foot". Thor hadn't always been perfect, hell, she'd almost killed him twice, literally. Not that it was the same(or on purpose). She was pretty sure either one of them could hit her with a car and she would have recovered quicker than she had been over the days that had passed since everything had went into motion.
She had the small comfort that the berries hadn't compelled her completely—or perhaps that would've been the mercy? Why had she done it? Yes, he invoked something inside of her, lit some spark that would have been a healthy flame if they'd met under different circumstances, other ones than his war crimes against her people and her slapping him while she was dying and then his...his...she pulled on her hair a bit. She wanted to hate him outright, knew she should have, but she couldn't. She wouldn't make excuses for him, she wouldn't plead with herself that he was misunderstood. So what if he was, so was Hitler! But then again, Hitler did everything out of hatred instead of heart, and later coercion. Hadn't she heard of someone from some weird television program or something via Bonnie, some angel named Castiel that had done similar things, in a way, without being the root of all evil? Not to delude herself into thinking Loki was some sacrificial lamb at the alter. No—he was anything but. Jane tried to shake her ponderings away for the moment.
Jane picked through her books for something, and choosing one, sat back, delving into the book to pass the time away. Theoretically, she could run then and there, break away and leave him. But why didn't she? She laid the book over her legs and placed her fist under her chin in contemplation. Perhaps she knew he'd just find her sooner rather than later, or perhaps some voice in her kept reasoning with her to try and salvage whatever was left of him as opposed to throwing it all away. After all, Thor hadn't come as Prince Charming, though he had far less of a rap-sheet-if just as many mistakes. Her nose wrinkled. Straight back to Thor. Her brain would not let her off as easily as she had hoped, it seemed. She loved Thor. She still did and probably always would. It was a love that had to happen, though. It hadn't swept her off of her feet or swamped her, hadn't been overwhelming. He'd been so very good to her, so kind and loving. They'd grown into each other, like planting the seed of a plant you knew nothing about, and waiting until it grew up to know what you had. But what if that tree wasn't the tree you were expecting? What if that tree was a Beech and not a Cherry, though? It didn't mean you couldn't love it. But which man was which?
Wait, what? Since when had these men become goddamned trees? Jane buried her face in her hands. Not only did nothing else make sense, stretch into any rhyme or reason, but she didn't. She didn't make sense to herself, and had a certainty that no one else would understand. What Jane knew, however, was that she didn't lay down and take things or give up without a fight. But she kept her calm. She was slow to anger unless injustice was involved, and usually slow to forgive true injustice, unlike other things. But something in her had forgiven him, forgiven, but not forgotten, what happened. She sighed. Hearts and heads and souls were all such funny things. Who would opt for a heart, if given the choice, if everyone knew how easily hearts could be broken, how fickle they could be; how screwed up brains could get; how wounded and tarnished souls could become? Jane smacked her forehead. What was she, a philosophy major instead of a scientist now? What would Bonnie say?
Jane nearly leapt out of her skin when Loki rolled over and curled into her, laying his head in her lap. The man was clearly still knocked out, but he'd found her anyway. Jane exhaled wearily, running a hand through his hair. He purred as Silas had at her gentle attention, Silas who sat nearby grooming himself. What had her mother said? Ah...'I know it is a bad thing to break a promise, dearest, but I think now that it is a worse thing to let a promise break you. Never let someone use your promises to undo you. Never let your word be your downfall. Instead of being true to what may no longer be true, be true to yourself.'
Oh how right she had been, had she not?
She felt a tremendous tremor go through the ground beneath her feet at that moment, one that knocked her over, and still the ground shook for a few seconds while she stared at everything from her side. She sat up gingerly because she had fallen on her arm, and gazed about warily. She heard a roar, and without consciously deciding to, shrank toward the man that had caused so much discord since when it came down to it, if anyone were to protect her, he would. Strange comforts and strange occurrences.
Silas caterwauled and leapt into her arms, cowered against Jane's chest with whiskers twitching. She tried to shush the cat as Loki scrambled into a sitting position. Jane, prying one arm free of Silas, reached for his shirt and tossed it to him while he tried gathering everything else. Strangely enough, it had gotten eerily quiet. The birds had stopped singing. The world had hushed itself, and breathing seemed too loud. Then a terrible roar came from some distance off, that distance doing nothing to soften it. Silas' claws were digging into Jane's skin by then, and she dropped him. He meowed pitifully, quickly finding purchase again by climbing onto her shoulders.
The three of them waited for a very long time before any of them made a sound.
"Mew?" Silas poked his head up and swiveled his ears inquisitively. Jane unfurled from how she'd folded herself up to seem smaller and less noticeable, uncurled hands that had turned into claws as they gripped her close to Loki, barely allowing him any movement. For one long second, he seemed more surprised at her confidence in his willingness to prevent harm from befalling her than at the actual disturbance, and seemed to quite enjoy it, too, but then a sharpness overtook him, and he cradled her against his chest as if she were the most precious treasure in the world, one he had to make sure nothing happened to. Jane, still startled and heart frantic, allowed it, and Silas pressed against both of his people, trembling.
"What was that?" Jane whispered. She leaned away and shaded her eyes to better see Loki's face. He sighed, shredding the thawing grass by his bare foot. He took her smarting arm, rubbing a hand over it that instantly made it feel better. He'd taken the pain out of it. His fingers lingered unconsciously. "I think," he said slowly, "that that was my sister coming after us."
"Your sister!" Jane exclaimed, bemused. She tilted her head, and he apparently noticed the flower in her hair. He caught her cheek gently, staring, then lightly touched the spot she'd tucked it into.
"Bitterblue," he murmured, "one of my mother's favorites...and one of mine. It looks lovely with your skin, Jane." Jane squirmed uncomfortably under the observation, not able to get away from his intent gaze, and unable to ignore how he saw her as beautiful, looked like he wanted to melt into her because she'd worn his mother's flower, his flower, in her hair as an adornment. Jane swallowed, suddenly wishing very much that Loki would get angry with her again. Her heart hurt too much when he stopped being quite so insufferable. The distance made things easier. It made lines clearer. It said things so they didn't have to.
He leaned closer and lightly touched his lips to her forehead. "I wish you knew how sorry I was," he whispered against her skin. "Sorrier than I have ever been. Contrite and sincere."
He nuzzled her cheek, drew her into a pleading hug. He rocked her slightly, like a baby frightened by the dark. Jane then wished, fleetingly, that he would hold on just another moment longer, because despite everything, it was comforting when someone held you like you were worth more than anything else that ever existed-that not only did you matter, but you mattered the most; that they desired your existence, not because it made theirs better, but because it felt, to them, that the universe would lose its pearl. That you were an integral part of all that was.
Jane hated it, but Jane also loved it. Jane felt bitterness because of it, for when he held on too tightly, so tightly that his grip bruised; but also mercy, and even happiness, sometimes, because there were times when things weren't so bad and she could pretend that nothing had gone wrong at all. Which had Jane wondering how much of a curse it might be to love him after all. She still didn't. But what of it if she ever did? It might just break her, smash her to bits and shred what was left. Or it just might set her free.
"Calm yourself, Naryu!" Mordred thundered. As he watched, Naryu lashed her tail in consternation and snorted. Mordred ruffled his wings and folded them over his back tiredly. He sat on his haunches while Naryu paced, her wings flapping every so often. She bared her teeth. "Why is it that if something can go wrong with them, it will, and I'm left to clean up after them every single time?"
Mordred sighed, blowing out a billow of smoke and ash. "Because you're so blessed," he replied darkly, scowling. "Or they're both idiots. Either way."
Naryu laughed bitterly. "How true." Her neck arched as she peered at the ground beneath their feet. She could just see faint glimmers of residual magic left over from whatever had happened at that particular spot. It was the right color to be her brother's, but she sniffed at it anyway with her dragon's nose, serpentine tongue licking out at the air. Yes, Loki and Jane had been there recently. Triumphantly, Naryu started preening, shinning the scales on her chest and belly.
Mordred chuckled, rolled his eyes affectionately, and began the process of turning himself back into his original shape. He waited for Naryu to do the same. Without being the same species, she naturally towered high above his head and out of his line of sight. He cleared his throat once, twice. The third time, sounding a bit impatient, he got thumped hard on the back by her tail and nearly tumbled over. He sat up ruefully rubbing his head just in time to see her shrinking back, a throaty chuckle still in her throat.
She grew serious, though, and turned, frowning, in the direction the essence trail led. She shaded her eyes, then turned to regard Mordred solemnly.
"I did tell you about mother and how she used to bring us here, did I not?"
Mordred nodded. "She brought you and Loki here when you were younger."
Naryu bit her lip and again glanced at the sky and about them. "The Day of Colors," she muttered. "I wonder..."
Mordred tilted his head curiously as he watched her think. He hadn't felt particularly special until Naryu had stuck up for him, saving his life at the market. He had only been a simple Druid boy, after all. He remained just a Druid, and her constant companion and a champion for his people, putting a face to their persecution under The Reign of Terror—that of the Pendragons'. Naryu had helped make things better, had cared for him, saved Morgana, deposed Uther and his reign. Straightened out Merlin and Arthur both. She had loved him and befriended him in spite of the horrible prophecy surrounding him—one she made sure never came to pass. Almost as she had done for her adoptive brother. He remembered them all doing magic together once or twice, but he also recalled that they both had issues sharing her, and therefore getting along. Not that she didn't put her foot down. But as alike as they were, Mordred and Loki couldn't always be in the same room together. The fact remained that they almost had too much in common.
Naryu nodded to herself, as if agreeing with another, and said, "I think that he's going to go to the celebrations."
"The celebrations," Mordred said confusedly, broken from his musings. "That would be foolish. Surely he's not that sentimental?"
"He surely is," Naryu remarked.
"But why risk it? He's got a hostage, he's on the run—"
"And this place is still...sacred ground, all right...from our childhood. Unsullied, and one of the last things of mother we have left."
"But how do you know he's acted on this impulse of sentiment?"
Naryu looked at him squarely. "Because I would, Mordred. Because I would. We three think in many of the same ways."
Mordred bit the inside of his cheek. He had forgotten how much she had in common with the both of them while also being something else entirely. And of course—how could he forget?—Frigga had mothered her, too, before Mordred had been a thought or a sidelong glance in the lane in front of a stall. If anyone could get inside of Loki's head, it would be Naryu. She knew both of her brothers so extremely well. Mordred became concerned when a shadow fell across her countenance.
"What troubles you?" he inquired gently. "Rethinking dragging him in by his ankles are you?"
Naryu closed her eyes slowly. Reopening them just as slowly, she said, "I didn't know things would be this messy or complicated when I set out to retrieve him. Oh, Mordred! I don't know that I can keep doing this!"
Mordred enveloped her in his arms, and she huffed dejectedly. She pressed her eyes into his neck over his pulse. "I don't know what the right thing to do is anymore. I'm supposed to find them and bring back Jane. But what if I get there and Jane no longer wishes to leave? What if I arrive and things have changed so profoundly that even if she did, she could never function as she used to with Thor? And Thor...I did not notice at first, as preoccupied and...and.."
"Furious?" Mordred supplied. Naryu nodded into his neck. "Yes, furious. As preoccupied and furious as I was, I did not see the changes in him. Now I can sense that all is not well. He is in turmoil, those Midgardians Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis are in turmoil, Loki is in turmoil, and you are in turmoil, and without involving politics or love or grief...Oh, Mordred! They are so different than when we were children, before...everything. What has changed since I first picked up an orphaned prince in a temple, prying him from his dead mother's arms to have us both to be taken in by her lover, the rival king? When did the world start rotating in the opposite direction?"
"I think," Mordred tried, after searching for what he wanted to say, "that it always went in that direction, but no one noticed it until they realized they had been standing backwards."
Naryu half-sobbed half-laughed, and Mordred tightened his hold. She didn't need the added stress, not when she had been dealing with his problems and those of others for years, and now could not even stop to grieve. So when she began to sob—she never cried, never sniffled or grew teary in the slightest—he said nothing, merely stroked her hair, hoping he would be enough, because with things how they were, she only had him, surrounded by and bombarded with reminders of how love had robbed her.
Darcy did not expect to see Thor for the next few hours. She had run until she tripped, and then sat in the floor until she was tired of feeling worthless and being cold. She braced against the cool stone walls and maneuvered upward, leaning against it. Shivers wracked her body, but still she stayed, until a sluggish part of her mind suggested dully that she go apologize to Sigyn, at least, for being a blubbering drunken mess, stealing her liquor and losing it all in one go, and crashing on her couch. And for her acrobatics, if she'd broken anything. She thought she vaguely remembered her foot catching a vase, but couldn't be sure. So she made her way back, feet numb, meandering wildly until she had more than a little confidence in her sense of direction. She knocked on the door, fidgeting, and hoped she didn't look as horrible as she felt. She had a sinking feeling she did.
Sigyn answered after that first tap, as soft as it had been, and absolutely beamed upon seeing Darcy. She ushered her in immediately and sat her on the couch she'd slept on the night before. Grateful, Darcy avoided looking at where Thor had sat, instead focusing on the tired-looking Sigyn.
"You came to apologize." Darcy jumped. When had Sigyn appeared at her side, and offering a mug of something steamy? Darcy took it with shaking hands, trying to hide her jitters and failing. Sigyn mercifully either pretended not to notice or actually didn't. Darcy cleared her throat, nodding wordlessly. Sigyn shook her head and clapped her lightly on the shoulder. "There is no need. I would not hold your grief against you. I only wish I could have been more help."
Darcy squirmed uncomfortably. "I, uh...I kinda took one of your bottles of spirits, and maybe broke a vase." She ducked her head, shocked to hear a chuckle from the other woman. Her head shot up.
"Spirits are made to be ingested and enjoyed," she explained, gaze sparkling. "And I always hated that vase anyway. Odin gave it to me as a birthday boon." Darcy hung her head again. "Even if you hated the vase, the liquor….It got wasted. I accidentally dropped it." She flushed, more self-conscious about what had startled her so badly that she had dropped it than about the actual breaking of the bottle or the mess. "I, uh, sorta cut my hand, too. I'm sorry if I messed up your arrangement trying to get a bandage out of your supplies."
Sigyn picked up both of Darcy's hands, turning them over. She dropped the uninjured one and focused on the wrapped one. "I wish you had told me. I could have healed this easily. You only had to knock and I would answer your summoning." She grinned. "I needed somebody to thank for getting rid of that atrocious adornment you broke anyway."
Darcy blushed even deeper, horrified at the thought of Sigyn walking in and seeing what she herself had witnessed. Hurriedly she shook her head, emphatic. "No, no, no, I'm fine! I just wanted to apologize and all for being a pathetic nuisance last night."
Sigyn waved off her plea of forgiveness. "I do not begrudge you your period of mourning. It was completely understandable, Darcy. Do not apologize for that." She curled her fingers over her palm, cupping her hand between both of hers. Darcy felt it grow warm, then fade to normal. Sigyn stood, smiling encouragingly at her. "If at any time you are in need of assistance, do not hesitate to ask it of me. I will help you."
Darcy nodded, hesitated, and replied, "I don't think anyone could help my situation."
Sigyn sighed, pausing, pondering. "I don't believe there is any helping it now," she murmured. "Everything has shifted." Her stare met Darcy's. "Things are not as they seem. I can feel it in my bones." Her hand shot out and clasped Darcy by the wrist. "Do be careful, however you choose to act."
Darcy, baffled, agreed without another thought and excused herself. She slipped out into the corridor again and stared long and hard at her feet. Then, after a minute of filling with confusion, she padded back to her room.
Once inside, she stripped, took a quick bath, and then sat alone in the middle of her bed. Hair still wet, she got up and went to the library, staying there for most of the day. No one bothered her, and the quiet there soothed her agitated nerves somewhat. By the time dinner came around, she had been brought a snack courtesy of Sigyn's maiden, and had gorged herself on whichever literature came closest to hand that she could read. She went back to her room, changed her mind at the door, sidled in only to get a cloak, and exited again, heading toward one of the many palace gardens.
Wandering among the rows absentmindedly, she didn't realize there was someone crying until she nearly tripped upon them stumbling into a little clearing in the middle of what appeared to be a small maze network of rose bushes. She crouched, ready to console them, when she realized it was Thor, who'd quietly been in tears whilst swigging from a flask. She had been close to stepping on his crotch and falling on top of him. Thor sat up quickly, rearranging his limbs to make room for her. Darcy, after an awkward beat of hesitation, dropped to her knees beside of him, switching into a cross-legged position. They sat in companionable, if awkward, silence. Every once in a while, she heard the flask contents swish around as Thor tipped it back for another shot. She tried to speak, but found she had no idea what to say. She kept waiting for Thor to speak, or at least make a sound to indicate he hadn't died beside of her, but he remained as silent as she.
Darcy turned her head to say something, anything, maybe even to ask for a swallow of whatever he was having if it'd get her drunk, but Thor dove in at that breath, kissing her wildly, unapologetically. The raw emotion behind it stunned her so that she could barely react at all. Helpless, she felt like someone watching from afar as it all took place, as Thor cradled her head and brought it closer to continue kissing her. Then the part of Darcy that wanted to respond rose up and roared to life, kissed Thor frantically, because both of her selves understood that there would only and always be, could only and always be, snatched moments in between everything else. Or so it thought. Darcy didn't protest when Thor's left hand laid aside his drink and cupped her cheek, neither when his lips met her throat nor when his right hand fiddled underneath her dress onto her knee. It all ended there, however. Almost simultaneously the two broke apart.
The fire pounding in her blood fueled her acceptance of his hand to stand up, then promptly sit on the nearest bench. Thor cleared his throat, becoming apologetic.
"I had wanted to ask if you would go to a celebration with me in Vanaheim," he explained gruffly once prompted (and sure she wouldn't run away, Darcy guessed darkly). "I did not intend to..."
Darcy did not pursue the end of that sentence. Instead she merely nodded her consent. "Yes, I'll go with you."
Thor beamed. "I promise I shall do better next time, Darcy. I...lost control."
Darcy, instead of answering, looked at a statue of a Valkyrie bearing a box with a heart inside, the lid crafted to be eternally half-open and half-closed. The heart itself looked patched. Broken. The irony was not lost on Darcy, whose fists clenched in her lap. She didn't know that she'd care very much anymore if he lost control again. But she would not help him to it. She would not push him into the abyss to fall with her.
Too late, she realized Thor had already been in the darkness with her the entire time.
Speak to me?