She blinked heavily, rolling onto her back. There was a bright bulb above her head, and she squinted into the light, trying to gather her muddled thoughts. She was in the sitting room, and the view outside the windows was of streetlights and stars. How long had she been out? What had happened? She had been talking to Darcy, there was knock at the door. Then what?
"H-hello?" She jumped, her heart pounding in her chest at the voice. It was behind her, and in her hurry to turn over, she wrenched her painful thigh. She let out a groan. It felt like she had done serious damage to it.
"Gah! Loki?" she gasped in pain and confusion. She couldn't think straight. It was unmistakably his face, his voice, him. But she had watched Thor cradle him as he died. She was there. She saw the last breath leave his body. It was impossible!
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you. Are you hurt?" That tone. She hadn't heard it from him before. What did he mean? Why was he here? She couldn't say any of this, her tongue felt dry and swollen in her mouth. She just gaped at him.
"How?" she eventually managed to croak.
"You look like you're hurt. You were unconscious for a while," he said, avoiding eye contact. She began to look at him, really look, and saw the deep grey circles under his eyes, how much thinner he was. And his chest. Blood was seeping from a wound she saw him receive months ago!
"My thigh" she blurted, taking stock of the damage she had received. She was loosely wrapped in blanket she had pulled out to sit on while talking to Darcy, Ian and Erik. Her head was resting on her soft laptop case. Had Loki done that? She tried extending her leg, but yelped in pain. Loki jerked forward at the sound, hurrying from across the room to her side, stumbling over cardboard boxes on the way.
"Where does it hurt?" He sounded nervous, and genuinely concerned. This was not the distant, composed Loki she remembered. The dead Loki she remembered.
"Never mind me, what about you!" She gestured to his chest, surprised at the panicked note in her voice.
"I'm fine. Where does it hurt?" he reached towards her.
She struggled up to her elbows, trying not to wince, and pulling the blanket from around her, bundled it up and tried to push it against his chest wound.
"How bad is it?" he asked, not seeming to notice the blanket or her efforts at all.
"Not too bad," the wobble in her voice betrayed her. He looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers, and she saw the nervous energy behind them. He was in pretty bad shape.
"My leg hurts, a lot, but you're worse. Lie down" she felt better for taking control, and what she said was true. He looked at her anxiously, then slowly lowered himself onto his back.
The blanket was already covered in blood, and she kept wincing as she pulled herself to sit next to him. She carefully lifted her makeshift compress, taking a closer look at the wound. It was bleeding, certainly, and was quite deep, but it didn't look infected. In fact, it looked fresh. She didn't ask questions though. That was important. She could find out what had happened later.
"I need to try and stitch this up," she said, looking around at all the boxes, trying to remember where she had packed her medical supplies.
"I'm fine," he protested, but she ignored him. She spotted the box labelled 'things', and began half-dragging, half-crawling towards it, making sure not to wince too much when Loki could see her face. It was the wrong box, but thankfully the next one along contained her bulky green bag. She made it back to his side, but had to breathe for a few moments before continuing. He seemed to have realised that resisting was pointless, so he just lay quietly, watching her every move. His eyes reminded her of a bird, darting around so quickly. He was on edge. She too worked in silence, sterilising, stitching, and bandaging.
"It's the best I could do. I'm no professional though," she said when she had finished. He had kept his gaze on her face and hands the entire time, and hadn't flinched at all, even with the creams and wipes that should have stung. Judging by the state of him though, she assumed he was putting on a brave face.
"Now your turn," he replied, pulling himself into a crouching position by her thigh. By now, it was agony, and even the tiniest movement caused her muscles to scream in pain. His fingers were cold and slightly dirty, so she silently passed him a disinfectant wipe. He looked at it with his head cocked slightly to the side.
"To clean your hands," she explained. Understanding lit up his eyes, and he wiped them clean, before gesturing to her jeans. She debated not letting him help for a moment, but the pain was bad enough that she gave in.
"Look away?" She didn't like the helplessness of her tone. He obliged instantly though, turning his back on her. She wriggled out of the jeans slowly and carefully, only crying out once. It was a matter of pride for her to try and stay quiet through the pain. She draped the blood-stained blanket over herself, trying to maintain some decency.
"Okay, you can turn round." This time she made sure her voice was strong and calm.
He turned and moved towards her. He lifted the blanket a little, being careful not to touch her. There was a bruise already forming on her thigh, a deep blue colour. The sight of it made her wince.
"Can I touch it, just a little? I need to establish how serious it is," he asked. She nodded, her teeth gritted in anticipation.
He began by placing one hand under her knee, gently bending the joint. It was painful but bearable. Then he put two fingers gently on the edge of the bruised area, applying pressure lightly. She gasped slightly, and he immediately pulled them away. He repeated this movement on several different points of her leg, his head bowed forward, long hair tucked messily behind his ears.
"I think you've just bruised it. It doesn't seem broken," he said at last. She let out the breath she had been holding, and he helped her to sit with her back against the wall, lowering her injured limb gently to the floor. Her skin felt cool in the absence of his touch.
"Okay," she said. "Now, want to tell me what's going on?"
"When you and Thor went to that cave, I watched you go."
"But you died! I watched you die, Loki." Jane interrupted. She knew spoke too loudly, but it was all too much. She couldn't make sense of it.
"No, I didn't. I was temporarily unconscious," he replied, and she could have sworn she heard a note of sullenness in his voice.
"We thought you had died. If we knew you were alive, I swear we wouldn't have just left," she said, trying to make him hear her honesty.
"I believe you," he said, continuing with his story. "I began crawling to follow you, but when I finally reached the cave, you had disappeared. I must have fallen unconscious again. When I woke, I was in this old empty building, here on Midgard. It took me a few hours to determine what world I was on, and to be able to move at all. Then I traced you with some simple magic. But when I got here I heard you sobbing, so I came in. I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to go." He said it all quietly, with his head hung as though he was embarrassed.
"Don't apologise, please," was all she could think to say. "That time on Svartalfheim though, it was months ago. Your story only accounts for a day, maybe two."
"It all happened while the worlds aligned. If it were possible to travel between different spaces then, why couldn't it be possible for me to travel in time as well? You must know better than most how the two are intertwined." She couldn't deny it made sense.
Jane winced again as she tried to move. He offered his arms for support.
"I'm fine," she said stubbornly, finally managing to get to her feet. She could just about handle putting weight on her sore leg, and agreed with his diagnosis of just a bad bruise.
"Do you know why you collapsed?" Loki enquired from behind her.
"I don't know. I don't remember," she said, feeling frustrated. She hobbled through to the bedroom, collapsing onto the unmade bed. Loki followed her in, slightly resembling a lost puppy. He perched cautiously at the end of the bed.
"Jane," Loki said, and she interrupted before he went further.
"If you want to stay here for a bit, I'm not going to protest." She was suddenly exhausted, and she felt her eyes beginning to drift shut.
"Thank you, Jane." She heard him say, before she slipped into sleep.
Loki sat at the end of the bed for a moment or two, watching her breathing even out. Things had gone remarkably well so far. He hadn't anticipated her having such a strong reaction when he approached the door, but by throwing a shield around his illusions, he was able to counteract the effect. She was clearly exhausted, and would no doubt have more questions for him upon waking, but for now she seemed to be, if not happy, then at least willing to have him here in her abode.
His plan was still in its infant stages, but judging by the way she accepted his help, it would proceed smoothly. He got up from the bed, and walked through to the main room, careful to limp and look weak until he was out of the room, just in case she saw him. He would have to be careful to maintain his ruse. However, he doubted she had that much knowledge about him and his race, so he would be able to 'heal' fairly quickly. He picked up the blood-stained blanket, and took it to the kitchen sink, beginning to scrub it clean. It was important he made sure she thought he truly cared for her. His 'reformation' had started when he helped her and Thor, perhaps most specifically when he saved her life, but he knew he still had a lot to do to earn her trust. And he could start by cleaning the blanket.