Just when you thought it was safe to return to FanFiction dot net...
Nakitakunaruno, Dakishimetainoni
Chapter 6
Heimdall stirred, in a haze, and gazed vacuously toward the ceiling. It was still black as pitch in his room, a certain indication of midnight; what had woken him up?
No sooner had he asked than a searing pain suddenly made itself known, coursing through his head at record speed, ensuring that any subsequent attempt at sleep would be futile. He clutched his eye—or where it should have been, rather—in agony, once again unpleasantly reminded of why he was in Midgard. He cursed unhappily and muttered a few choice expletives against Loki before managing to sit up in bed and glance at his alarm clock: 1:23 a.m.
Wonderful.
As the ache receded somewhat, Heimdall stood and ambled his way into the kitchen, still vaguely drowsy despite the pain. He hated this so much. He hated Loki. So much.
The only light that shone in the kitchen was a dim microwave clock, but the moonlight flooding through the window provided plenty for him to see by. He groped around the pantry for the only thing he thought might cure his head's imminent combustion and withdrew, successful in his quest for the tall bottle of mead he kept stocked (unbeknownst to Freyr) behind the first aid kit. He poured himself a glass of the golden liquid and quickly put it in the microwave, craving a cure as soon as possible; he was afraid his pain would return shortly, this time with a vengeance.
The room was promptly permeated by the spirited aroma of mulled mead as Heimdall took a careful sip of his concoction, its piquant flavor warming him satisfyingly.
"Heimdall," a whispering voice cut through the silence, startling him. He almost spilled his drink, but luckily didn't start badly enough to do so—however, his heart was pounding, and so was his head once again. His eye met two rather frightening orbs of black staring back at him, Skadi's eyes having lost their color amidst the blue moonlight as she peeked above the back of the couch.
"Damn it, Skadi," he cursed angrily, again cradling his head in retaliation to its painful assailant.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!" Skadi insisted, realizing that he wasn't feeling well and adjusting her tone to a more apologetic one in light of this. She stumbled off the couch, taking a small spill in the process with the blankets tangled around her feet, and moved across the room to better assess Heimdall's condition. He attempted to ignore her.
"What's wrong? Are you sick?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern.
"…No. I'm fine."
"You certainly don't look fine."
"Leave me alone."
Skadi pouted, contemplation written clearly across her face during the slight pause. She wasn't sure what to say.
"You shouldn't drink alone, Heimdall. Here—pour me some, too."
"Pour it yourself."
"Fine," Skadi muttered, glossing over the spot where she would usually protest and badger Heimdall until he gave her a glass like a proper gentleman.
In no time they were sitting formally across from one another at the dining room table, silence enveloping them. Heimdall found it comfortable, but Skadi could hardly stand it. She had to say something!
"Heimdall," she murmured, still keeping her voice low so as not to wake Freyr. Heimdall didn't look like he was in much pain anymore, so she decided to venture forth with conversation. "What are your plans?"
"What do you mean?" he asked ambiguously, knowing full well what she meant.
"You know full well what I mean." Damn, she knew. "What are your plans for taking care of our problem?"
"Since when did Loki become 'our problem'?"
"Since Odin dispatched me to succeed where you've failed."
Heimdall glared at her. The more he drank, the more his headache receded, but he still couldn't get rid of this pain in the neck.
"You aren't going to help me. I can kill Loki myself, without you."
"History would suggest otherwise. Stop being stubborn and let me help you. Otherwise, I'll kill him all by myself and you won't ever get to exact your vengeance."
The violet-haired god scowled and swirled his drink aimlessly, watching the golden ripples refract the blue light of the moon. What she said wasn't set in stone, but it could, conceivably, happen. He didn't want to let it… but he also didn't want her help. Not now.
"…Hmph," he huffed in irritation, turning his gaze to the glittering city outside rather than the persistent goddess across from him.
"Heimdall," Skadi spoke again, not allowing him to escape the conversation through his noncommittal sigh. "Please."
A surprised Heimdall turned back to her; but it was her turn to avoid eye contact, as she watched her mead instead. Never before had he heard her voice so genuinely pleading.
"You aren't the only one who's lost something to him. I don't need to kill him myself; rest assured that you may deliver the final blow. I just need to have a hand in it. For my father," Skadi murmured, the slightest tinge of sadness lacing her words.
Heimdall sighed, suddenly weary in the face of her emotion. He didn't want to be in this conversation anymore. His mead was gone, as was his headache and his patience.
"Whatever. I don't care what you do." He stood and, leaving his glass unattended on the table, went to his room.
"…Is that a yes?" Skadi called after him, disconcerted by his sudden forfeiture. All she heard in response was the closing of his door.