So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name along with a place to post suggestions.

Don't forget to check out the Photobucket album listed on my profile page too.

DAY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012

1827 HOURS

SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER

LOCATION UNKNOWN

NORA

I've been making a point of paying attention to his expressions so I don't miss anything, and because of that I didn't miss the hardness overtaking his expression, even if it didn't exactly change it. It happened when I reached for the apple, which was strange because I thought that was okay for me to do. Was I wrong, was it a test somehow? Did I fail?

"L-Loki…?" The timidness in my voice seems to catch his attention again, and with a bit of surprise. Apparently he hadn't even realized he was doing it, and after the moment of realization passes over his hard expression melts into one of apologetic regret.

"I am sorry, it is not you that upsets me so." He offers, before his eyes drift back to my wrist. "Merely the existence of that scar."

Oh. At the mention of it my eyes go there too. I know exactly what scar he is talking about and can understand why it might bother him. I've had people comment on it before, usually in pity. I even agree that in terms of scars, the size of it makes it look like it came from a painful wound.

It might have been too, except I was never aware of its creation. It was already a scar when I woke up. It's only ever been that to me; a discoloration on my skin and the mild awareness that it wasn't always there. It was as inconsequential to me is a freckle.

"How did you come by it if I may ask?" The quickness that my eyes fly back to his prompt another question from him. "Are you even aware?"

"Yes." I answer back, then mentally cringe at the tone it's spoken in. Its just, I couldn't help the moment of offense when he implied I might not know something about my own body! Its a silly reaction though because we've already established that there is a lot that I don't 'know'.

"T-They.." I pause and make myself take a steadying breath, trying to overcome the nervous stutter that invaded that word. I'm done with those, no more. "They said it was from a burn."

I can tell by the turn of his brow that he knows as well as I do that my scar there does not look like a burn scar, and in that he is right, but there's more details he doesn't have that they gave me. "There was debris, from the explosion. A piece of hot metal landed there. They had to cover it with a skin graft."

"And what part of that knowledge is yours?" The offense is stronger this time, and I can't smoother it from my expression. So instead I bite my cheek and turn my face away before I say something stupid.

Its not a luxury he gives me this time, a chance to rein myself in, instead he pursues me with more words. "I am not trying to be cruel..." Liar. "My dear, I am trying to find you."

"But I'm right here!" I chuckle weakly, losing my wall of strength for a second and almost caving back into that tempting desire to cry again. Why do I want to cry so much around him? Why does everything around him always feel so heavy? "This is me..." I plead that point again, pressing my palms to my chest almost in emphasis to that point. "This is what I am, all I am Loki, right here."

"I assure you child, this..." he motions lightly at my body. "...is not all that you are."

The frustration peaks once again at those words, and to avoid my also rising desire to say or do something stupid, I instead bury my face in my hands, letting my fingers drag their way through my hair.

I said I would give him a chance to prove me wrong, to convince me that what he believes is right, and I do intend to let him try.

Except I know he's wrong, it will never work, so I still feel the need to argue it back! I'm human, I'm Nora, I'm just what I am, memory to prove it or not.

...Prove it... He is so convinced of himself, that what he believes is true so he must have some proof, right?

"What's your proof?" The question makes his eyebrows rise, as well as expand the stretch of his smile in amusement, but I ignore my uncertainty and ask it again. "You do have proof? Right?"

The silence stretches on, filled only by me at first in the sharp edge of each breath I take and the sound of me worrying my own lip. I can actually hear that in my head it's so quiet.

Then he chuckles and I don't know if I could have made it any worse. "You are challenging me now?"

Afraid is the understatement of the century! "What?! No, n-no..." My mind immediately replaying what happened before when I didn't do exactly what he wanted, and it's why when I see his height rise out of that chair on the other side of the desk I try to do the same.

Try being the major word in the effort. I managed to get out of the chair, but only only by a couple inches. In my panicked haste I sort of forgot I was in a dress and stepped on the bottom of it, creating an unexpected tension in the material that dropped me back down into the seat with a bit of a yelp!

The sound less from the falling of my body, and more the instinctive approach of his to catch me.

He doesn't catch my fall though, thank God. Seeing my fear spike again he stops himself mid action, but it doesn't stop his momentum completely. His emotions seem to continue to surging forward. I can tell from the tight imitation of a smile and the way his knuckles crack as they form a fist.

"You have no idea how you test me now do you Arnora?" He says it whether calmly, yet laced with so much angry passion it almost seems to be a solid substance in those words, and makes me want to test just how firm the material of this chair back really is!

The calmness leaves him completely now. "I cannot even touch you! They have denied me that much! I should..." But then it comes back as his eyes look at mine again. Its replaced by gentleness, and heartbreak.

"No." He says, shifting but resisting the urge to let himself move so much as a step closer to me. "No Kjære. Do not lose your courage, do not let me drive it from you. I love your bravery so much more than your fear. It is beautiful to me. Please keep it."

WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012

1833 HOURS

SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER

LOCATION UNKNOWN

LOKI

Her response is so endearing. She feigns a somewhat convincing smile and tells me she'll try but it is the words that follow them that truly catch my attention. She added a title of respect to that sentence, she said 'My Lord'.

I have not heard those words leave her lips in over six hundred years and I did not realize I could miss a set of syllables so much. It is what makes the next ones I hear after a knock so annoying. "Sairrr,we got a problem."

"It can wait." Is my almost angry reply to that accented fool how dared to interrupt us at this momentous breakthrough. I temper my intensity back down as my ears hear her breath hitch at the sound. Perhaps the soldiers irritating timing is not as poor a thing as I think it is. As much as I dislike the idea, perhaps my absence might do her some good.

The next sentence I hear turns that despicable possibility into more of a certainty. "Sairrr, it's abit th' Lady." Apparently I have things I need to deal with after all.

However before that, I do owe the lady for her request that I provide proof, and would hate to become remiss in my duties as her host.

Ignoring the fading of that hopeful expression that flickers in her eyes I pretend to myself that I do not see it. Instead I offer her an apologetic smile and a bit of a bow. "My apologies, but it seems I need to excuse myself for a while, May we resume this conversation when I return?"

Her response is a quick, almost too enthusiastically delivered nod and smile.

She is not very good at deception, my beautiful one, she has been too long without practice. But the effort she makes is still so endearing to me.

Also endearing, in that it validates my gambit as the way her eyes widen in shock a half a second before the sight is cut off by the clicking of the door latch behind me. A reaction inspired by a simple sentence.

"Fear not Arnora, for I too 'will never relent' in the pursuit of what matters to me."

NOTES TO THE READERS:

While I am sure all, or at least almost all of you have read an Asgardian fanfiction at this point that had the word 'Kjære' in it somewhere, in case you haven't, this is what it means. Kjære = Beloved in Old Norse.

Also, I don't think I need to bother with Duncans accent translations this chapter is they are pretty simple to figure out, if anyone has any trouble with them though let me know and i will be sure to change that and include them in the chapter.