Dr Vidia did not smile at her patient as he entered, or visibly react when he refused her handshake to steal around the coffee table and perch delicately on her couch.

She would not throw pretenses into the air. She made no attempt to comfort him. She knew he would scorn the hollowness behind such familiar expressions from a stranger. She knew, through his file and through the babbled explanations of Freyr Njordson down several long-distance lines, that Loki Liesmith wasn't the type to fall for it, whatever 'it' may be.

In this light, Angrboda tried to present a version of herself to Loki which was as close to the reality as possible, and that was someone who was cool, tolerant and level-headed. She had dealt all through her career with people who were dancing on knife edges – even as a student she had volunteered at ChildLine, talking teenagers out of blowing out their brains in between coffee breaks. She knew what it meant to hold lives in her hands.

She also knew that she was going to do her best to help her patient, and not only because it was her job. She had seen colleagues grow insensitive after years of repeated experience, and vowed never to let herself do the same. From what she understood, this single session might be, for Loki, the difference between life and death.

As all this flashed through Angrboda's mind, she arranged the hem of her skirt over her crossed legs, and Loki inspected her couch as if he would rather be sitting out in the street. This nonchalance of his was a very well practiced façade, she knew. She was more than accustomed to patients putting up false fronts to defend themselves.

Dr Vidia finally broke off their mutual visual inspections to introduce herself; Loki interrupted before she could finish a sentence.

'I know who you are. Obviously. And you me,' he said, before continuing his inspection of the doctor and her office. Despite being raised in America, his accent was distinctly British, like his mother. Which was going to be worth investigation later on.

'I had rather expected a chaise longue,' he noted with a sober huff, as if the seating arrangements were, to him, the world's most solemn issue. 'But I suppose we can make do. Such a well-tended desk,' he nodded towards the room's windowed wall. He continued his sweep around the room, peering at a portrait on a bookshelf. 'Is this your daughter?' It wasn't. He knew that.

Angrboda sighed quietly through her nose. 'Loki. I understand if, and, as you know, why, you don't feel ready to talk sincerely to me. But I think there are other ways to get around that than this… rather obvious inversion tactic.' She quirked a brow at him, giving her first smile since he'd entered. 'Actually, I'd expected a bit more from you. But then again I suppose you aren't really trying, are you? You're probably weary of all this by now.'

Loki, who had angled his head away from Dr Vidia during her dialogue and pointedly avoided her gaze, slid his eyes back over to her and fixed her with a stare. He had stilled almost entirely.

Loki was not a narcissist, but she knew nevertheless that he wasn't going to open up to her until she could prove herself, and her intelligence, to him. If Loki knew that Dr Vidia was getting to him, then he would also know that she was, in his eyes, a worthy opponent, at least somewhat. This session was going to be as much about showing that she could see, really see, and understand, and, hopefully, help Loki, as it would be actually doing it.

Well. Angrboda was more than confident in her analytical abilities.

'I also,' she continued, 'suppose that I'm more or less accurate in my estimations of what you're thinking about me, and this,' she gestured around the room, 'right now. But you should know, Loki, that I'm ready to take you seriously. And if you don't want to talk, you should know that I am. And so I will.' Time to cut the crap, as they say. They would get nowhere here if they spent the whole time working against each other.

So Dr Vidia talked to Loki. She covered the basics – she told him what he'd done that wasn't his fault and what had been done to him that wasn't his fault, and listed the psychological issues she, as a trained professional, could tell he was facing despite the fact he had probably diagnosed himself with them eons ago.

Angrboda carried on a conversation with Loki without any input on his part whatsoever. With every new topic, she explored and addressed his every possible response to it and stance on it. She spoke about things that people (who were working towards too utilitarian a goal to truly care for him) had flung in his direction before with more depth than he could ever have perceived imaginable. She spoke, for a whole hour, about forgiveness and crime and empathy and morals, about the definitions of what she spoke of and the flexibility within them, about debt and about repentance and blame and failure. She covered, or at least she hoped she did, as much as Loki could possibly imagine within a single hour. She talked to him about choices and about trust. She told him that people always had a choice, but that there are some situations that those who claim that it's impossible to be forced into anything have obviously had the good fortune to never be in. she told him about the people who were there for him. She talked about the light at the end of the tunnel. Around 45 minutes into her monologue, she began to feel doubtful, and embarrassed, under his consistent scrutiny, but she persevered. Finally, she told Loki that he had a choice now, and everything she had discussed with him had to be considered when it was made, but when all was said and done that choice had to be made about, and for, no one but himself.

She said, 'and that is all I have to say.'

Loki stared, not for the first time, fixedly and directly at her, deep in thought. When he finally spoke, it was with such rawness and emotion that Angrboda barely recognized that she was listening to the same person who'd sat down with her an hour ago.

Loki told Dr Vidia that in a few minutes he was going to need to, if she pleased, borrow her laptop. Then he told her about the bottle of arsenic he had in the second drawer of his bedside table from the top. After a pause, he continued talking. And although he hid his face in his hands, and his speech became progressively more broken until he was essentially sobbing openly, he didn't stop talking.

Angrboda nodded to say that, yes, he could use her laptop to prevent whichever hosting platform from publishing, presumably at a specified time, his suicide note (which probably contained less 'I'm sorry for what I'm about to do' and more 'here is a list of information I've withheld from various relevant agencies for reasons which are personal, and therefore no longer appropriate'). Then, she closed her eyes in relief, palming her cellphone through her coat pocket only to decide that that could wait for later.

Instead, she waved through her translucent door to indicate to her secretary that her next appointment ought to be cancelled, and returned her attention to Loki. She didn't at all attempt, physically, to comfort him.

She just listened.