Chapter 9
Loki watched the woman curiously as she cleaned his face, wondering what compelled her to want to do such a pointless thing. What did it matter if he was covered in blood? He was dying anyway.
They were so fallible, mortals. Far too sentimental for their own good. It was probably why Thor liked them so much. He could be just as maudlin, just as soft.
Her touch was soft. Gentle, though tentative, plainly on tenterhooks, face tense, jaw set tight and not simply in concentration. He could also detect a very subtle tremor to her movements.
"One must look presentable for one's death," he declared dryly, in an attempt to set her at ease. He didn't want her to fear him any longer. Not now. It was as pointless as her cleaning the blood from his face.
"Please don't say that," she admonished lightly, far too keyed up for his humour. "We don't know if you are going to die."
With nefarious timing, the pain chose that moment to peak again. Loki gritted his teeth and clenched his fists against the onslaught, while the woman froze in her cleaning, staring down at him in alarm.
"My body begs to differ," he panted as the pain eased again and his hands slowly uncurled. "Curs-ed incantation."
She resumed her cleaning. "Incantation? That's some sort of spell, isn't it?"
He frowned. "Spells are for children."
"I'm sorry. I thought...well...isn't it all just magic?"
He bit back a retort, deciding to forgive her ignorance. She knew nothing of his world, after all. Nothing about the many facets and intricacies of sorcery. And he could not deny that her meticulous attentions to his face were...almost pleasant. That, and the fact that she was leaning in closer and he could feel her warmth.
She smelled faintly of lilies.
"Your hair is quite unique," he found himself remarking, as his eyes traced the coil of one of the fiery red curls. "Like writhing flame."
She flushed almost instantly which amused him.
"And now your face is almost as red," he couldn't resist smirking.
She moved back, flustered. "Well, yours isn't any more." She held up the cloth, now stained a dark copper, before gesturing to the bedside table. "There are tissues there, if it starts bleeding again." She stood up. "I'll just put this in the laundry basket."
His brow furrowed consideringly as he watched her walk away. "April -"
It was the first time he had called her by name and she looked as stunned as he did.
"Yes?" she asked softly, and though she was trying to remain impassive he could see relief, even a hint of pleasure, in her eyes.
"I would like another glass of water...if you would be so kind."
She returned to his side and retrieved the empty glass.
He watched her as she headed back towards the door again, noticing that her step was a little lighter, the long tendrils of fire gently bouncing against her back. Calling her by her name had relaxed her a degree. It was a start.
But she hesitated half way across the room, peering down at his feet. "Would you like me to..."
He blinked. "You wish to clean my feet now?" he asked incredulously.
"You're bleeding onto my favourite quilt cover," she promptly countered, though he could see straight through the lie. "And not feet...foot. Only one seems to be bloody."
He grinned through his pain. "My apologies. We cannot allow that." He gestured down towards his legs. "By all means, clean away." He cocked an eyebrow. "Tell me, are all mortal women this solicitous? Or are you a healer?"
"A healer?" She gave him a blank look. "You mean...like a nurse?"
He nodded. "Of sorts."
She shook her head. "No. I just..." She faltered.
His head tilted interrogatively "Just?" he prompted.
She shrugged. "I don't like to see people...hurting."
"Even people like me?"
She looked a little worried at that. "What do you mean?"
He realised his mistake. Surprising as it was, he still didn't think she was aware of what happened in New York, at least, not in any comprehensive detail, given her location and recent state of mind, and certainly not enough to connect him to it in his present state. "Well, I have not exactly been the perfect house guest," he back tracked.
She still seemed a little unsettled but managed to conjure one of her small smiles. "People can lash out when they're in a lot of pain. One of our previous cats got hit by a neighbour's car once. When I tried to reach out to help her she cut me to ribbons."
He snorted but there was mischief in his eyes. "You are comparing me to a cat?"
"You know I'm not." She turned away again. "Anyway. I'll go get you that water."
When she had gone Loki stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling, both confounded and...unexpectedly stirred.
What a strange creature. Why would she want to clean his foot? Tend to him in such a way? She was still afraid of him, that much was plain to see despite her attempts to hide it.
Unless...this was some cunning endeavour to tame his mood.
If it was...well, he had to applaud her...for she was succeeding. He could not deny that her attentiveness was...comforting.
He sighed jadedly. It seemed that dying was turning him soft as well.
But those same words returned to his wearied mind. What did it matter?
What did it matter now?
April, he repeated to himself, somewhat languidly, as a new sensation began to creep into his limbs. A disconcerting numbness that was swiftly replacing the pain.
April. It was a pleasant sounding name, almost like a caress to the senses.
As the numbness intensified he knew the end was upon him. He almost wished for the pain to return. It was happening so suddenly.
And so...peacefully. No explosion of pain. No thrashing about or screaming. Just an overwhelming desire to sleep.
He wasn't expecting that.
It was rather ironic, given the mortal's words.
If you really are dying isn't it time to make your peace with the world?
But quite an anti-climax, he lamented. A poor exit for The God of Mischief. Chaos was his world, not peace.
His eyes fluttered as he tried desperately to keep them open. Something seemed to give inside his chest, like his heart had suddenly plummeted, though he knew there was nowhere for it to fall.
He remembered falling. Not so long ago. He remembered the look on Thor's face. His horror.
Down, down...forever it seemed.
Down to meet a new horror.
Was he still falling now, he wondered, becoming disorientated. Or just his heart?
He knew the darkness was coming.
He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.
April.
He wished he had the strength to call out to her, no longer disappointed that he was about to die, that he would never be king, that no one would mourn. Only that he wouldn't get to see that pretty attentive face one final time.
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