SIX
And I've been a fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around
Our love is pastured, such a mournful sound
Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground
So I like to keep my issues drawn
But it's always darkest before the dawn
- "Shake It Out," Florence + The Machine
Loki landed gracefully but silently next to a pine tree.
He had been terrified that Odin would find Alana. And then, a month or so passed, and he had gotten complacent, had left her alone in the library for too long.
And so he had lost her, again, and had panicked, disguising himself as a healer and listening in on Thor and Odin's conversation.
Odin had thought she was his slave.
Odin had clearly wanted to catch him, and so Loki had not stolen her away, and so had waited, but the sight of her in pain had hurt him badly, and Thor had left with her, so he had waited, waited for her to return back to her home.
And then his idiotic oaf of a brother had brought her to London, and so he had had to wait even longer to see her. After so many years apart, he was not too patient now.
So he had waited, pacing up and down the library, hiding and cursing himself, until she had flown back to her own house, the house that he knew so well. He had landed past the gate, in her woods, but he still had to get into the house.
One thing he had not expected was that it was night. He had planned to visit in the day, and he knew that he should come back later, but he couldn't resist. She was right there, and he had to see her.
He quietly slipped towards the house, but froze when a light turned on upstairs.
He frowned. It was two o'clock in the morning, by his judgment. Why was she still awake?
He watched through a window as Alana walked back to her bed and sat down on the edge, placing her head in her hands. He could tell that she was exhausted.
Sleep, he willed her, but instead she stood up and began pacing the floor, rubbing her temples.
Alana was absolutely exhausted. She hadn't been able to sleep since London.
She was so confused, so frustrated. What was going on with her? Where was her memory? How was her past related to Lucas?
Loki, she reminded herself sharply. Loki, not Lucas. He lied to you, Alana, he could have helped you all along!
She couldn't take it anymore. It was two thirty in the morning and she was wide-awake.
Pacing the floor helped her relax somewhat, but she was still much too wound up.
Sighing, she walked to her closet to grab a sweater. Her hands drifted towards a soft gray one that she hadn't worn in forever.
As her hand brushed it, feeling the soft wool, a flashback hit her hard.
Standing at the kitchen counter wearing the gray sweater, trying to make pasta, (not working out so well) and long, pale arms wrapping themselves around her waist. She feels a shiver go down her spine as he kisses the side of her neck. "Smells wonderful," a low voice murmurs. She laughs and says, "It's probably going to taste terrible."
She can feel him smiling mischievously behind her. "I didn't mean the food."
She stumbled, clutching the edge of her dresser and knocking over a pile of books stacked there.
A few tears slipped out of her eyes. The flashbacks were coming so often now, and they hurt even more. What was happening to her?
Loki watched concernedly as Alana stumbled. She must have had another flashback.
It pained him to see her like this, lost and alone, hurt him like a dagger in his side.
He couldn't wait any longer.
Praying that his thumbprint had not been erased from the database, he crept up to the front door and pressed his thumb against the gleaming black pad.
The front door unlocked with a small click, and he was in.
Looking around at the familiar layout, the same chairs and tables and piles of books, calmed him almost as much as seeing Alana again.
He caressed the torn copy of Hamlet that he had read out loud to her so many years ago.
He gazed at the bowl of apples on the coffee table, remembering how she threw one to him on his first day there.
He missed her so much.
He noticed a leather-bound book on a side table; the sketchbook he had given her on Asgard. He flipped through it, smiling at her fanciful illustrations of bilgesnipe and of Dark Elves, and finally finding her illustration of him in his Jotunn form.
She had gotten every ridge right, every swirl that covered his forehead. He had originally asked her to draw him as a frost giant in hopes that it would trigger her memory, but it had not.
At least she remembered subconsciously.
Flipping to the next page, he saw a multitude of words swirling around the page.
Lucas, stars, hospital, piano, Asgard, Thor, amnesia, shot, bullet, flying, fighting, magic, and rooftop were among them. And Loki. His name was repeated over and over again, in large letters and small, crammed in wherever there was room.
He ran his slender fingers over the words, feeling the force with which they were written.
Hearing the padding of feet on the stairs, he dropped the sketchbook, cast a quick invisibility spell and slunk into a dark corner, just for good measure.
Alana flicked on the light and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. She looked haggard and wan, and had dark circles under her eyes. When she opened those grey orbs that he had dreamed for so long about, he saw that they lacked their usual gleam and were rimmed with red, like she had been crying.
He wanted to rush to her and hold her in his arms, to tell her that he was here, that everything would be alright, that he loved her and that he was so, so sorry.
He wanted to stroke her hair and rock her while she cried and to never let her go.
Most of all, he wanted her to remember.
But he could only watch while she stood silently, broken and forsaken.
Alana wanted it to be over.
She couldn't take the constant flashbacks, the memory of things that had slipped away. She couldn't take the pain that emerged in her heart when she thought of Loki, as much as she wanted to forget him.
She had no friends, or if she did, she couldn't remember who they were.
She had no job, no purpose in life.
Above all, she was tired.
So tired.
But she wasn't tired enough not to feel Loki's necklace burning ice cold when she walked downstairs.
Her hand brushed the handle of the drawer where she kept her gun.
"I know you're here," she finally said, voice trembling.
There was a pause, and then he emerged from the shadows.
A/N: Yes, another cliffhanger. I'm mean. Sorry.
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