I got a new charger earlier than expected, but I got it at a very busy time, namely the Harvard Model United Nations 2014. So I've been writing whenever I can, between committees, and when I'm "writing working papers' (yeah right...), and I've finally got a chapter done. I hope you like it. There's some wonderful angst and plot movement (sort of) in this one. Enjoy!

The following morning, Jane and Thor rose early to make breakfast. Soon the whole of their motley gang were drawn into the living room by the crisply crackling scent of bacon frying, and the sweet spice of nutmeg-cinnamon pancakes. All but Loki, that is, for he was still unconscious, although Thor reported that his wounds were greatly healed, and he should be awake and about quite soon. Jane was the only one who seemed to feel any genuine good cheer at this news; Darcy and Ian smiled half-heartedly, and Erik muttered something about "the sooner he's gone the better" under his breath.

They made small talk throughout the meal, purposely ignoring the elephant in the room, and taking what little time they could to simply enjoy the good company, and get to know it a bit better.

After breakfast, however, when the dishes were cleared, cleaned and put away, the air grew heavy, the atmosphere serious, and discussions began.

Erik immediately began rambling enthusiastically about the 'convergence,' and Darcy took that as her cue to leave. It's not like she would contribute anything to the conversation, and they could fill her in on what she had missed when she got back. Besides, she had forgotten about Loki's laundry last night, and it would be rude not to finish what she'd started.

She really didn't want to have to listen to uncomprehendingly science-y talk.

Darcy fetched his clothes from the washing machine, where that had sat all night, shook them, checked them for any remaining bloodstains, and threw them into the dryer.

As she waited through the drying cycle, she absently picked up Loki's ornate shoulder guard from where it lay among the rest of his leather, belts, straps, and metal. The whole piece was worked with beautiful carvings of fantastical animals, and foreign-looking designs. They were foreign, she supposed, just in a much more drastic sense than usual. She set the shoulder guard down again, and pulled out her iPod.

Half an hour later, the dryer beeped. She pulled out his clothing, noting, now that it was no longer crusted in dirt and blood, the quality of the cloth. The tunic was woven of the finest threads, unnaturally soft, light, and airy; yet sturdy, and the deepest, brightest green. The pants were a slightly denser weave, and from a distance seemed to be made of thick leather, yet still smooth and gentle.

"Lucky asshole..." She muttered, neatly folding the garments, and carrying them to the guest room.

She hesitated when she reached Loki's door, slowly pushing open the door and peeking in, wary of the sleeping god. Her eyes widened. Thor wasn't lying when he said Loki's wounds were healing.

The deep bruising around his eye had faded to a sickly– but barely-there– yellow, and the cuts on his face had healed to shiny pink thread-thin lines. Placing the clean, folded laundry on the dresser, she lifted the blanket; and, sure enough, his formerly bent, broken arm was straight and whole, and the hideously swelling bruising around the fracture all but gone. She leant closer, scrutinising the skin around his various wounds.

"Damn." She murmured absently. She would kill for super voodoo-healing-magic, not to mention skin as smooth, clear, flawless, and– she quickly touched his cheek– yes, soft, as his. She straightened, stood contemplating the sleeping god for a moment more, then turned and exited the room, quietly pulling the door closed behind her.

She stood in the hall for a moment more, then, with a sigh, rejoined the party in the living room.

It was dark. So very, very dark, and cold, cold, cold. His thin frame shook, his brittle, aching bones screaming in protest. He gasped, tearing as the brutal spasms shook him, sharp fingers digging bloody pits in his arms as he desperately hugged himself for warmth. He curled over on the hard, hard, cold cold cold ground, whimpering, muttering, soft sobs pushing past his bloody, shredded mouth. It was so cold, cold; and blue blue blue blue blue blue, spreading, crawling, clawing its way down from his heart, burning through his arms, freezing, freezing, and cold, and so blue.

He screamed, clawing at the blue with ragged black nails, get it off, get it off, get it off. He convulsed with a sob, wretched and desperate.

'Mother, mother, help me, please please please, mother, mother, mother, mother, momma, momma, momma please. Please, please, please...'

He sobbed, cried out, tore the burnt earth and hard rock with his nails, breaking them and leaving bloody, fleshy trails along the ground.

'Loki?'

He looked up. Mother, momma, she was here, she had come, she would help him–

'Momma!' He keened, the broken, helpless cry of a child.

'Loki? How could you do this?'

He froze. 'Momma what? I didn't–'

But he had, because, soaking through her dress, spreading and wet and so, so warm, was blood, blood, deep and red and seeping, steaming; and in his hand was a dagger, and there was blood, blood, on his hands and shirt, and running down to puddles under his scabby knees. He dropped the knife, mouth open in an agonised wail, stumbling towards his mother. He held out his arms 'Momma, I didn't–'

But he was cut off by a roar of rage, and a familiar hammer smashed into his side, throwing him back onto the rocks. He felt his ribs cave in under the force of the blow, a sharp pain in his chest, and the sticky drowning throbbing of a punctured lung. In his pain-hazed eyes Thor was a terrifying vision of snarling anger, squinchy red face, and sharp bare teeth.

'You monster! How dare you touch her!' Thor drove his foot hard into Loki's face, and Loki jerked back, blood and broken teeth falling to the ground. He sobbed through the pain, struggled to speak through his broken mouth.

'Brother...please...'

But Thor paid him no heed, rushing to Frigga, where she lay gasping on the ground. Loki, bloody and tears streaming down his face, struggled onto all fours, and began painfully dragging himself towards them. An inch, two inches... His limbs trembled, spasmed, and he fell to the ground, a wretched, sobbing, choking cough pushing blood and mucus out of his lungs and mouth. He lay, helpless, as a dark figure detached itself from the outcropping, slinking behind Thor. It looked up, his laughing eyes and bared teeth glinting out of his shadowed face, and fought Loki's eye, then plunged a dagger into the back of Thor's neck. It yanked it out, and Thor slumped over, blood spurting; and Frigga's eyes slipped shut, her breath stilled.

And Loki screamed.

They had been talking for almost an hour, and had a decent plan. Erik had revealed his findings about where and when the convergence would take place, and they had figured out a basic plan of attack, and then told Darcy about it. Jane had just gotten up to throw something together for lunch, when a raw, broken, terrified scream rang through the apartment.

Darcy started, Ian fell off his chair, Erik's eyes went wide, Jane dropped the pan she was holding, and Thor dashed to Loki's room, bursting through the door. He was quickly followed by the rest, piling round the doorway.

There was a long, thin-stretched, shocked silence, finally broken by Darcy's 'Oh my god.'

Loki was huddled in the middle of the bed, violently shaking, bony shoulders heaving with sobs, skeletal fingers tearing at his hear. He was thin, much thinner than he had been, joints protruding and skin waxy; and that skin marked over with scars. He rocked back and forth, murmuring to himself 'nononononomyfaultmyfaultshe'sdeadandit'smyfaultand–' he broke of with another sob, then began his mutterings again.

It was Thor who first moved forward, tentatively approaching the bed.

"Loki?"

Loki's head whipped up, even as he threw his body backwards, hands raised in defence. His face twisted into an animalistic snarl, his eyes flashing with blind rage and terror. And then he recognised Thor, and his form slumped, convulsing with another sob; and they could appreciate the full horror of what the saw.

His face was a wretched, awful thing of nightmares. What Darcy had earlier observed to be flawless, smooth skin, was now marred by terrible burns along the right side, and dotted with other scars, of varying size. But the worst was his mouth, which was all around covered in pockmarked punctures scars, rips unevenly healed, grotesquely torn and improperly healed. Jane sank to the floor in shock, Darcy ran off with her hands over her mouth, Erik ran after her, and Ian collapsed in a dead faint.

"Loki..." Thor trailed off, arms hesitantly out, unsure. Loki stared at him unmoving, mangled face twisted in agonised sorrow, before throwing himself into Thor's arms, clutching him in a painful, sharp, bony grip; burying his face in Thor's shoulder. Thor met Jane's eyes over the trembling god in his arms, and Jane nodded, then quietly towed Ian's unconscious form from the bedroom.

And if the choked "I'm sorry, I killed her, it's my fault, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry." that followed her round the corner broke her heart, she didn't let it show.

And when, an hour later, Thor and Loki came out of the room, Loki whole, unscarred, and only healthily slim once again, not even Erik mentioned a thing.

so I'm realising now that this is really short, but whatevs... I'll try to get another chapter done and up soonish. :)