Another quickie little chapter because I'm busy with other things. Hope you enjoy though. Reviews always appreciated. :)

Chapter 7

Loki mentally cringed. Had he really said that to the mortal. How pathetic.

And yet...

He grimaced again. He could not deny that the pain was becoming excruciating now. That his heart was racing more wildly than he had ever known, his whole body was on fire, and there was a pressure inside his head that felt as if it were being crushed between invisible hands.

He had been deluding himself, he accepted wretchedly (though he had to applaud the irony - the liar lying to himself!) He must, indeed, be dying. How could he not with such maladies? Death was closing in fast.

He didn't feel afraid of death itself, only an overwhelming sense of disappointment. That the incantation had not worked. That he would never be king. That he had lived thousands of years only for it to end...like this?

But he also felt...dare he admit it...alone? For the first time in his long life. And that was why he had called after the mortal. Though he regretted it immediately. He might be weak of body but he still possessed his faculties!

She gaped at him, obviously taken aback by his words, but the compassion flooding her eyes left him equally dumbstruck, and battling conflicting feelings of his own. She still cared? Even after his treatment of her? He was both moved and repelled by the thought. He did not want her pity.

But neither did he want her to leave.

She remained silent as she slowly returned to his side and stared down at him hesitantly. "Are you sure?"

"Sit!" he hissed, making her flinch, and she quickly sat down upon the edge of the bed beside him.

He took a long breath, an apology lodging stubbornly in his throat. When she started to speak he promptly swallowed it down, telling himself that he owed her nothing.

"I'm surprised that you would want the company of a mere mortal."

"That makes two of us..."

Despite her frustration, she regarded him sadly. "If you really are dying isn't it time to make your peace with the world?"

"Was your mind at peace when you swept a blade across your wrist?"

He watched with satisfaction as she quickly turned away, though his triumph felt hollow and was sullied by a slither of guilt.

When she finally glanced back at him her eyes were hard as stone. "You can hide behind words all you like, but looking at you is like looking into a mirror."

He blinked at her, caught off guard, unable to summon a response. For a brief moment the pain ravaging his body was dulled by another, by an ache, a twisting, deep inside. He heard his mother's voice. The last words she had ever said to him.

Always so perceptive about everyone except yourself.

"So, the Midgardian is a philosopher," he mocked softly, struggling to keep his voice steady.

"Hardly."

"No? With so many books in her possession?"

"You've got a problem with books?" His words had touched a nerve, but her passion secretly pleased him.

"On the contrary."

When her eyes softened slightly he felt compelled to indulge her. It could be an apology of sorts. And in truth, he was becoming too exhausted now for shenanigans. There was also a little voice at the back of his mind, telling him that she didn't deserve his censure. That she was trying to be kind to him, if he would only let her. But rage and hate had run through his veins for so long it was a challenge now to keep them reigned.

"I have seen libraries that would make your head spin. Libraries of such magnitude that you would believe yourself dreaming. Libraries that..."

Loki gasped when a more intense pain surged through him, his head snapping back in agony, contorting, the tendons of his neck becoming pronounced like roots of a tree. Lights exploded behind his eyes, and fire flared in his gut. He genuinely expected death at that moment, bracing himself for it, as facets of his life flashed before him. He saw Thor, Frigga, even Odin, and he was filled with regret until anger at their betrayals quickly intervened.

But he did not die and the pain swiftly returned to the just-bearable. As his head slumped back into the pillow he saw that the woman was watching him desperately. "Are you sure I can't call for an ambulance? You might be wrong. There could be something our doctors can do."

He closed his eyes, ignoring her. Even if they could, which he highly doubted, the events of New York would have them calling for Shield the moment they saw him. And shape shifting into another guise could no longer be relied upon now that his magic had almost dwindled to nothing. Even his own self-healing abilities, had he still been able to conjure them, would have been far too limited for the severity of the incantations afflictions.

When the pain made him gasp again, the woman shocked him by reaching for his hand. He shocked himself by responding, clutching at her, relishing the contact.

His eyes tightened as he was besieged by more conflicting emotions. Her skin was so soft and warm. Her hand so small, her fingers so slender. He could even feel the subtle thudding of her pulse, racing almost as fast as his own.

"I'll stay with you," she whispered. "If that's what you want."

Loki's brow twitched restlessly. Oh, what did it matter? She was nothing. She held no significance. What harm was there in spending his final moments in the company of a young attractive woman, even if she was mortal.

"...Thank you..." he murmured, and this time it felt almost heartfelt.

A strange silence stretched between them. It was neither strained nor comfortable, but it wasn't unpleasant. He was extremely conscious of the heat radiating between their clasped fingers. So much heat from such a small hand, he thought idly. It had been so long since he had experienced such comfort from a woman (his mother aside), given so freely...so willingly.

When she replied, rather daringly: "now that wasn't so difficult, was it?" he didn't have to open his eyes to know that a small smile was tugging at one corner of her mouth, and before he could stop it a smile shivered across his own lips. "I suppose not..."