Disclaimer: Refer to chapter one.
Alright, done with college now, (which should mean quicker updates, but who am I kidding?). Minor edit to the bathroom conversation on reasons for helping Loki, but no other changes (although I may consider splitting chapter one up after Caleigh orders Loki out of the closet with a Taser, to fit with the shorter lengths. We'll see if that happens).
For now, moving on with the story.
MINOR TRIGGER WARNING for those queasy about wounds and needles. I have a terrible phobia of the latter, so it shouldn't be very bad, but I will include this nonetheless because simply thinking about writing it set me off.
Chapter 3
The jangle of keys at the door made Loki nearly jump out of his skin, pulling his focus away from records of post-civil war United States and over to the entrance of the small apartment. He slowly closed the book in his hands and readied himself to move quickly, in case the need to escape arose.
When Caleigh's form entered rather than the hostile he expected to (dumbly, he realized when he noticed the time), he audibly let out the breath he was holding. She turned to him with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile.
"Who else did you think would have keys to my apartment?" she asked with a light chuckle.
"Better I be prepared."
"True enough."
The rustle of synthetic material caught his attention, and Loki stretched to peer over the back of the couch to find Caleigh had several bags in her hands.
"Can I offer my assistance?" he asked, standing as she closed the door with her foot.
"I wouldn't object."
She handed him the set of bags with lighter contents, insisting he should not overexert himself or attempt use of his wounded arm, and he complied. He was directed to the kitchen where he took to removing items for her to then put in their proper places. It was…oddly domestic, considering their circumstances. Loki wondered off-handedly if this was the typical life of a mortal.
"Your notes were helpful," he stated as the yellow squares caught his eye again. He passed her a few packages of cold food.
"Glad to hear," she answered as she placed them in the fridge. "It doesn't look like you were as hungry as I thought you would be, though."
He fell silent for a moment, reminded of what he had wanted to resist dwelling on, before shaking his head.
"I was for a short time, but it seems my appetite has not quite returned to what it should be. The food was good; I hope you do not think otherwise."
She regarded him for a long moment, and he realized that she knew he was not quite being truthful, but she did not press him about it.
"Well I hope it comes back around for dinner," she said with a smile. "If only for the drinks."
Her gesture drew his gaze to her right, and Loki was surprised to find bottled mead sitting on the counter. He wondered if she realized her choice of alcohol was well-made. Likely a coincidence considering she had referred to him as an alien rather than a god, but coincidence or not, he found himself struck silent. When his questioning gaze returned to her, she simply shrugged.
"It's the end of the work week for me and you're in a rather difficult situation at the moment. I thought we could both use some."
It took him a moment to respond, "Are you sure you should be treating me to such kindness?"
Her smile and knowing gaze reminded him of her question to him when she was binding his wound. Do you regret what you did?
"If you're conflicted about my treatment of you, then I would say I'm not wrong to continue in the same manner."
She left him to mull that response over as she put a few more things in their places, and took the remaining bags to the bathroom.
A few minutes later, Loki was called over to have his wound redressed. The last two bags had new medical supplies more suited to his needs, along with a shirt to replace his damaged one, and what appeared to be a hat (though she set it aside too quickly, and he could not examine it further).
His reflection in the mirror was decidedly ignored as he passed it.
"If you don't mind, we'll just cut off your old top and toss it. I bought you a button-up shirt, so you won't have to lift your arm to get in and out of it. The buttons might cause trouble until you're up to the fine-motor movements with your left hand, but I can help you with it until then."
He complied and shortly found himself sitting on the edge of the tub once again while Caleigh carefully took her scissors to his shirt, this time to the side. She quickly worked her way up to her previous cut, and then the shirt was able to be lifted over his head to slide off of his right arm without causing trouble for the left. Loki felt somewhat shy with his chest now exposed, but Caleigh did not seem so affected, moving right to work removing the old bandages. He winced as the removal tore dried blood from around the wound and dislodged clotting. The wound, what he could see of it, was a sickly color, a mixture of pus and the ointments she had applied before, and new blood quickly found its way out.
When she pulled out the black bottle from before, Loki involuntarily glared.
"I apologize, but I have to reintroduce you to peroxide," she said in response, though this time she withheld her laughter.
Nonetheless, "You're enjoying this."
"The big bad guy squirming around because of a little mortal disinfectant does tend to amuse." At his somewhat annoyed look, she continued with a serious expression, "Beyond that, no. Pain is not something I find to be enjoyable."
That response sobered his irritation in a way she probably had not intended, for he was abruptly reminded of the pain he must have caused countless people and the smile he had worn despite it. There were moments before his defeat that he had found amusing, and he was not sure now if it had been the mortals' pain or fear or both that had made him grin. Was it the way the man had squirmed under his grasp as his eye was gouged by the mechanical device Loki had forced into his socket, or the screams of the others as they fled in terror or stood transfixed by the violent act?
A phantom pain bit into his eye, causing him to wince and close it until it passed.
A glancing moment of pity was all he had spared them. Perhaps it was because he was stripped of everything that made him an immortal, was wounded in a way that should have been so minor to him and forced to understand the reality of the difference in pain, but he could no longer find that moment of pity acceptable.
He had lost the ability to deny the source of his regret; that by itself was difficult to face, and Loki had forced it away, buried it and ran for text bound between hard covers. Now the book was closed and he was once again at the mercy of his thoughts, except now there was a new facet. Where before it was simply the understanding of innocence, Loki now was faced with pain – not his own, but theirs.
He wondered if Thor had had such a jarring experience during his banishment.
"Loki?"
There was a hand on his shoulder he had not noticed before, and he realized suddenly that his mind had drifted. Caleigh wore a concerned look (Do not look at me like that, his thoughts demanded. You should not be concerned for me), and his eyes fell downcast.
Had he been smiling when that child was buried alive?
"…I had laughed," he admitted. "At the pain and fear I caused."
She regarded him silently, and neither of them moved or spoke for a long moment. Shame abruptly consumed him when he realized Caleigh, kind as she was, could have been one of those mortals at the mercy of him and the Chitauri army. He would have laughed if she had fought him, relished in her fear if she had cowered. How typically human, he would have thought.
"…I left the TV on," she noted when he said nothing more. Her voice carried a tone that told him it may have been intentional. "Tell me what you saw."
He did not want to, as if keeping secret his discoveries would allow him one more chance to prove himself wrong. To share them with her would be to make them truth, rob him of his second chance, his right to say he was not wrong to do what he did.
He would be lying to himself, of course, because he knew, but then he had always been good with lies.
Caleigh seemed to understand his inner turmoil, and quietly went to work cleaning his wound. It was not that she had accepted his silence for an answer. Her taciturnity was simply patience, and he was distinctly aware that she expected him to answer before their conversation shifted gears. It was a feeling similar to one he encountered only with Frigga, when he had done some wrong and she served him with false disinterest until he finally found his courage to speak. It was always an insufferable silence, thick with her unspoken demand and his stubborn determination to remain tight-lipped.
His chest felt tight, and he was aware that he was caving to the need to break the silence. Part of him howled against the thought of being so open to a woman hardly his equal (quiet, you), thrashing madly about in protest, and the other part desperately desired her input, squashing the angry half when it wasn't being overwhelmed.
Overwhelmed. Now that was a good word for this whole issue.
The woman was not his enemy, he reminded himself. Point for the side in favor of talking. Despite being human, despite living through the pain and sorrow he had brought down upon her realm, she had defended him…
…No, not defended. She had not said a single word to him or others that was in defense of his actions or his character; rather she had pointed out truths, asked him questions. There had been insults, but honest ones if he allowed them that. She had not even told the men he was not there.
Caleigh had not pushed that he was wrong or exclaimed the righteousness of his opponents. She made clear that it was a dumb move on his part, noted the obstacles in his path, and likely disagreed with his actions, but she maintained the same attitude toward him that she had from the beginning – that attitude of simply doing a job. Her threat at the beginning seemed to be an act, even, considering her actions following it. There was no anger, but no offering of forgiveness either.
She was something of a neutral party, somehow, despite everything, and Loki found the resistance in him melt away in realization of that.
"There had been a report of a child. She had died earlier today, despite initially surviving my attack."
The dabbing at his arm ceased as she returned her full attention to him, and he opened and closed his hands a few times as he realized something.
"Please, continue. I do not believe I will be able to speak easily under your gaze."
The angry half had retreated, sure, and he wanted to talk now, but those words died on his tongue the moment her eyes had gone from objectively looking at him to subjectively analyzing him. He gave her a fleeting glance, catching the look she was regarding him with, but she simply nodded and returned to her task. After a few moments he found his ability to form words returned to him, and he continued.
"I had seen civilians during the battle, but I had given no thought to them. Where I come from most are trained to fight in some way, or are at least prepared for battle to occur even during times of peace. The report made me realize your people are not. They do not even understand our existence. The wars in your realm occur in pockets; this place is not one of them.
"I took the lives of many who should not have been involved in my war, and I…I regret that. Perhaps it is because of my current condition, but I find I can understand a little more with regards to mortals."
There was no lightening of whatever weight sat in his chest that typically accompanied such confessions. He was not sure if it was because he did not entirely believe his own words, or if it was because Caleigh was the one he was speaking to.
She seemed to wait long enough for the silence to tell her that he had no more to say before setting aside the wash rag, leaving him aware again of both the pain of his wound and the crushing inability to speak once more. Words had always been his way out, rarely had failed him, and yet here…
Caleigh seemed to be able to take all of his words from him.
"I would not expect you to find it easy to see yourself through the eyes of a mortal when you were something much more powerful," she started. "This change has put you in a position to understand the things you could not before because now you are experiencing them yourself.
"You will never truly understand, even as you are now, but you can come closer to it. This wound, for instance, has helped you understand physical pain as you could not before. The news story made you aware of existences beyond those who directly opposed you, and you seem to have realized that ignorance and innocence, though similar, are very different."
Something in the way she shifted demanded that he look her in the eyes despite his desire to search the pattern of the floor for something interesting. He gave into it, and she continued.
"You are not blameless for your actions. You should have known what was right and what was wrong. Understanding and knowing are different things, however, and you are lacking in the former. You knew it was wrong but not why. I believe that why is beginning to become clear to you, Loki. Much clearer than you may have expected or wanted, but nonetheless clear."
She had taken on that tone from their previous washroom conversation, reminding him of Frigga yet again but with a sharper edge, less mother and more teacher (though Frigga had her moments, thankfully few and far between). Gone for the moment was the simple mortal woman offering him assistance he did not deserve, replaced with a figure of authority whose words were important pieces of wisdom.
"…Why do you believe I am worth this chance you are giving me?" he asked, the same question as before, just different words attached to it.
"Because everyone should have a chance to come to a new understanding."
Silence reigned again for the better part of a few moments before Caleigh broke their eye contact by closing her eyes. She smiled and gave him a few pats to his upper back.
"Take it slowly," she advised. "If you let yourself become consumed by what you suddenly understand, it could break you just as easily as it could make you better. Take it in in pieces until you can handle the whole of the picture, and you'll do just fine."
Loki found himself reminded of one understanding he was not given a chance to take in slowly – that of his lineage – and found himself nodding in agreement with her. She was right.
A smile came to him.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, let's get this arm taken care of, much as it displeases you."
He grimaced, though more mildly this time.
Caleigh was possibly more thorough during this round than she was with the last, and he found out why shortly after she finished with the peroxide. She had picked up a suture kit during her shopping, worried for the time it would take for the wound to heal the way it was. After leaving him for a short time she returned with cubes of ice to numb the area around the wound. They were held directly to his skin, making it difficult for him to forget that it should be like ice itself, but he held back his complaints. When the feeling had dulled to a tolerable ache, she set to work closing the wound.
It took some time, and she paused every now and then to numb it once more and to reapply her disinfectant, but she finished it off expertly. She cleaned the blood once again from his arm and wrapped the stitched wound with a protective layer of gauze and a thicker material to keep everything in place. It began to ache as the feeling came back to it, and she promised him some pain relievers once they were finished.
They tidied the room of his old wrappings and any used supplies, and then double-checked to be sure that the blood had been cleaned both from him and the tub before Caleigh presented him with his new shirt.
"Green?" he questioned as she helped him into it. A little big, but not by too much.
"It seems to suit you. Some say it's good for relaxing and brings peacefulness," she replied with a note of interest.
"…The one called the Hulk turns into a giant green rage monster."
"The powers that be are trying to help him out."
Loki had to think about that one as she secured the buttons, until she interrupted him to ask how many buttons he wished to remain undone. He figured two was safely decent and not too restricting, and she fastened the ones around his wrists.
"If it makes you feel better, the hat I got you is black," she added, pulling it out of the bag to hand to him.
"What made you decide I needed something like this?" he questioned as he looked it over.
"I figure at some point you'll start feeling trapped and beg to go outside," came her tongue-in-cheek reply. "When you do need to go out, it would help to disguise you at least a little. We'll tie your hair back as well."
He considered that. Safe as this place was for him, she was right; he would likely grow restless stuck in the small quarters.
Lastly came a sling she had purchased (apparently she remembered having lent hers out to someone), and a rolled cloth under the strap on his right shoulder to keep it from irritating the skin there. While his arm ached from the wound and the stitches, it did feel much more comfortable now than it did hanging at his side.
They returned to the kitchen for the pain relievers she had, and he was offered two for the time being, along with a glass of water. She was unsure how they might affect him and wanted to be certain he did not get too much too quickly, especially as they were not meant to be taken when alcohol was to be consumed. It was not something that would work immediately, a fact he was relatively disappointed about, but would last longer than the topical creams once they did.
He was mildly embarrassed when his stomach reminded him that while his mind had lost the will to eat earlier, it still needed to be filled. Caleigh laughed a little at his expense, but turned around and began to collect cooking pans and utensils.
"I took the liberty of deciding on dinner while I was out," she revealed as ingredients accumulated on the counter. "I can't get some of the ingredients for the original recipe here, but I think I managed with alternatives. Orange chicken goes great with this mead."
"Really, you should not feel the need to cook for me on top of everything else," he reminded her, though he found himself anticipating the meal.
"Surely you don't expect me to let you starve to death during your banishment. Besides, it gives me an excuse to cook a good meal. I never quite feel up to it when I'm going to be eating alone."
"'I'm not letting you get out of this through an untimely death,' is it?" he quoted her statement from early that morning.
"Precisely."
And we'll leave it there for now.
It's getting there. I really do have this planned out – it's mostly just trying to find the time to write (and time away from people to really focus). I apologize for the length in comparison to the first chapter, but I get the feeling it will stay right around here for the rest of the story.
Until next time!