TWELVE
If you were dead or still alive,
I don't care,
I don't care
And all the things you left behind,
I don't care,
I don't care
If you were dead or still alive
I don't care (nothing can care about)
I don't care... (I'm taking care of it)
And all the things you've left behind
I don't care (you won't be there for me.)
I don't care... at all.
- "I Don't Care," Apocalyptica
Loki sat by the edge of the small stream that ran through Alana's property.
The sunlight was warm and the stream bubbled pleasantly. Dappled light shone through the leaves in the woods behind him.
Yet his mind was not on the sunlight, or the stream. It was fixed, annoyingly, unfortunately, on Alana.
He still didn't understand her.
She should hate him, she should keep him locked up, she should.
It was only logical for a soldier.
Yet, she had made them take off the handcuffs, that day on the tarmac so long ago. She gave him free reign through her house and on her property, she had even programmed his fingerprint into the security systems.
Why was she trusting him?
He wanted to tell himself that he didn't care, but a niggling sensation told him that he was wrong. He ignored it.
He couldn't care. He just couldn't. He'd been too long without a source of hope, without someone who believed he was good.
She's just doing her job, nothing more, one part of him said.
Well, then she's doing it badly, another part said treacherously.
But when she laughed, when she smiled, he could almost forget the pain behind her eyes as well.
Who was she? Why was she so young? How had she gotten free of his magic? Why had she responded in an almost too-perfect way to his thoughts while sleep-talking? How did she know he was an outcast? How did she know he was a Jotunn?
These thoughts swarmed and buzzed in his head, and he could not make sense of them.
He lay down by the stream and let the dappled sunlight warm him.
Alana hummed softly as she pulled at a particularly stubborn weed. She didn't exactly have a green thumb, per se, but she did enjoy getting dirty and planting her flowers. Her white T-shirt was streaked with soil, and the knees of her jeans were green. Her bare feet had turned brown and happily embraced the cool dirt.
She wiped her forehead with her hand, getting some dirt there too, but not caring.
As her fingers worked around the roots, she found her thoughts straying to Loki. She was glad that he seemed a bit more comfortable in her house. It was hard to believe that he had been with her for nearly six weeks.
She wasn't sure how much longer he would be with her. Fury had said that they would try to contact Thor on Asgard, and who knew how long that would take.
Her heart throbbed a bit at the thought of sending him away, but she knew it would have to happen eventually. She was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and she had to obey their orders.
Sighing, and wiping her forehead again, she continued on the weed, letting out a small exclamation of delight as she finally got it out.
Standing up to throw the weed behind her, (and to stretch her legs) she jumped a bit as she saw Loki leaning against a tree, surveying her.
"You know, that's really freaky," she said, pursing her lips.
Loki smirked. "I know."
"Do you like gardening?" she asked.
"I've never done it before. I am a prince, remember."
"You're a prince?" Alana said, shocked.
Loki realized that she hadn't known that and kept his mouth shut, unwilling to put forward any other information.
Alana could see his reluctance and hesitation, and bent down again, saying, "Come here, it's easy. All you have to do is take out any plants that look like that," she said, gesturing with feigned hatred at the weed pile.
Loki knelt down next to her. "This one?" he asked, pale fingers grasping a strangled weed.
"Yeah, that's one. Make sure you get all the roots, like that," she said, momentarily placing her hands on top of his and helping him to uproot it. His hands were cold and she shivered a bit, goose bumps trickling down her spine.
He gave her a hint of a smile.
She returned it, radiantly.
They dug together in silence as the sun slowly sank behind the trees.
"You've got dirt on your forehead," Loki said, when they were done.
"So do you," Alana retorted, smiling.
Loki frowned. "No, I don't."
Before he could react, Alana had grabbed his wrist, preventing him from twisting away, and rubbed dirt on his forehead.
He spun away, retreating and watching her with wary eyes.
Alana felt her heart sink. She had gone too far. "Sorry," she ventured, feeling rather small.
She blinked, and Loki was gone.
Sighing, she wiped her hands on her pants, then slowly walked back inside the house.