Chapter 12
No longer suppressed, Loki's magic surged back through him. There was a loud tumultuous rushing in his ears, like he was plunging through water, then the darkness was replaced by thousands of tiny flickers of brilliant iridescent light. As he was catapulted back into the land of the living, a final, incredibly intense, burst of energy jolted his heart back into life, his body jerking forward by the power, arms splaying wide. He heard a cry, though it was not his own, and his eyes snapped open, instantly alert and primed for action.
He grinned excitedly down at his outstretched hands, no longer feeling any pain or weakness. In fact, he felt completely energised, rejuvenated!. Contorting his fingers experimentally, he was elated to feel his magic again, to feel it sparking through his veins, engulfing his entire being.
It felt so damn good!
But then he remembered Frigga and his jubilation plummeted like a stone.
His mother was still dead, and it would still be a long time before he would see her again.
His shoulders heaved.
Mother.
How he would miss her.
But he was grateful, so very grateful, for their second chance. To have been in her arms one final time. To have felt her warmth. Her love. To know that she...forgave him.
He took a deep breath.
Forgiving himself would take longer. If at all. And he suspected the latter, doubting he would ever stop regretting his destructive actions. He had been responsible and nothing could change that.
I will be watching.
His eyes flicked up to the ceiling and he managed a ghost of a smile, wondering if she was watching him now. It wouldn't be the same...but it would be something. He would try not to disappoint her.
As he composed himself, focussing back upon his restored magic and moreover, his return to Midgard, he suddenly remembered something else.
He had heard a cry.
And it had been neither himself or his mother.
When he swept his gaze across the room he saw her – the mortal – lying upon the floor, blood trickling from a cut to her lip, her eyes fluttering as she tried to gather her senses.
His instinctive reaction was oooops but only because he could plainly see that she was not dead, just a little dazed. But his initial blasé was swiftly followed by a stab of shame and goaded further by his guilt, he scrambled nimbly from the bed and hurried across to her side. He realised he must have lashed out and struck her when his magic returned, though he was curious to know why had she been so close.
As he squatted down he couldn't help but notice that her face was damp, her eyes a little red and puffy.
It took him aback.
Had she been crying?
Crying...for him?
He instantly dismissed the crazy notion. Why would she do that, he berated himself. It was absurd.
Except...he remembered the compassion he had seen in her eyes, her admission that she hadn't liked seeing him in pain, the fact that she had cared enough to want to clean the blood from his face...
When she finally focused upon him, her initial flare of panic was quickly replaced by shock.
"...You're alive?"
Loki blinked. Was that relief he could detect in her tone?
"Evidently," he smirked, though beneath his trademark grin he was trying to process the fact that she seemed...glad that he had returned.
Glad? He could make no sense of it. It was too baffling to comprehend. Especially after the way he had treated her. She had been frightened of him. Surely she would have preferred him dead?
And yet, her bewildering behaviour continued to stir him as much as it confused him.
She grimaced, reaching up to her lip, tentatively examining the wound. When she withdrew her fingers she stared down at the blood in alarm.
He had the decency to look – and almost feel - remorseful. "I apologise. It was not my intention to hurt you. My magic returned with more..." his lips twitched again. "...Gusto than I was expecting."
The wariness returned to her eyes, her initial relief fading. "Your magic is back?"
Despite her concern, which he accepted was understandable given the circumstances, he felt jubilant by his resurrection and couldn't hide it. "It is indeed," he declared charismatically. "Shall we give it its first test?"
He reached out for her face but frowned when she immediately flinched back.
"I am not going to harm you," he insisted, and though his voice was gentle there was an undercurrent of impatience.
He reached forward again, his own fingers hovering over her mouth now. He rarely healed other people, he had only studied the healing arts for himself because it was useful in battle, but he felt he owed her this.
Her eyes widened in amazement as the wound gradually disappeared beneath an aura of green incandescent light. Though she couldn't see it, he knew she could feel it.
When he drew away again, her hand quickly returned to her lip.
"It's gone," she gasped as she lightly patted the area.
He watched, almost mesmerised, as she cautiously flexed her mouth, the tip of her tongue darting out to further examine the area but so fleetingly he doubted she was even aware of it.
"It was the least I could do."
"You...you can heal people?" The awe flooding her face filled Loki with a gratification that he had not felt in a long time. His magic had always been ridiculed, disrespected, reduced to mere tricks...except on those rare occasions it was needed, and then it was deemed acceptable.
"Only minor inflictions," he hastily pointed out. "The power is mainly reserved for my own needs."
"Only? It's amazing." She smiled, still seeming rather overwhelmed. "Thank you."
A smile tugged at his own lips. Not a smirk, or a grin, but what would have been a genuine smile if he hadn't forced it back down, along with a sudden desire to dazzle her further.
Instead, he offered her his hand, his assistance, to rise.
After a brief hesitation her hand slipped into his and Loki suspected that healing her had set her further at ease. Made him seem less of a threat. But as he pulled her to her feet she let out a gasp.
"There are other injuries?"
He hoped there was nothing more serious. His healing powers were limited when it came to other people.
She shook her head as she limped across to the bed. "I just think I'm going to have a few bruises in the morning."
"I can heal bruising easily enough."
"It doesn't matter."
But she looked delicate as she sat down, and though she tried to hide it, he noticed her grimace again.
"Are you quite sure?" he persisted, remembering his own recent pain.
"I'll survive." She forced another smile. "But thanks for the offer."
He regarded her interrogatively, eyes narrowing. "May I ask why you were you so close?"
"What?"
"You must have been very close for me to hit you with such force."
When he noticed her flush a little his curiosity was roused.
"CPR."
His frown deepened. Midgardian terminology had changed drastically over the last few centuries. It was frustrating. "C...P...R? What is that?"
"...mouth to mouth," she tried again.
The smirk was back, and he cocked his head, expression positively devilish. "Mouth...to mouth? You were trying to...kiss me?"
"No, of course not!" she flustered. "It's something we do here on Earth. To try to save someone's life. You breathe into their mouth. Try to give them air. To make their heart start again. I don't know the specifics, just that it can sometimes work."
His smile wavered and he experienced a strange burning at the back of his throat. "You tried to save my life?"
"Well, I would have tried if you hadn't have come back yourself...and whacked me." But the amusement in her eyes quickly turned to puzzlement. "You seem...surprised."
"I..." he swallowed down the fire, unable to summon any words as he stared back at her in stunned silence.
She had mourned him and tried to save his life?
"Why?" he demanded hoarsely.
"Why?" Now she looked at him as if he were stupid. "Why do you think? Because I didn't want you to be dead."
He joined her on the edge of the bed, sitting close but not too close, and feeling more than a little dazed as he stared down at his hands restlessly.
They were silent for several long moments.
He cleared his throat self-consciously. "I...thank you."
"Well, technically I didn't do anything..."
"I thank you for the...sentiment." It was that word again. That word he loathed. That filled him with frustration and anger...
But now?
The silence returned and Loki dragged a hand through his dank hair, mind racing for something, anything, to say. The Silvertongue was never lost for words yet this mortal was continually rendering him speechless. It was disconcerting.
And then there was a loud rumble. The mortal's stomach. Ironically, he was glad for it.
He glanced at her, noticing that she had coloured again. Darker. He was beginning to find it rather endearing.
"You are hungry?" he asked, amused.
"A bit," she admitted sheepishly. "I missed lunch. But it can wait."
"It appears that your stomach thinks otherwise."
She shrugged dispassionately. "It's waited before."
He could well believe it. He still thought she looked far too undernourished and decided it might be in her best interests to eat a meal. Or ten.
He pondered. If he had to do some...good...on Midgard, maybe helping to restore the mortal back to the vivacious woman in the photographs would be something worthy of merit. It would hardly be a hardship, he decided, as he discreetly admired that cascade of fascinating hair in his peripheral vision. Besides, he could hardly do anything too conspicuous to redeem himself. He was a fugitive, after all. And did not want SHIELD to catch wind that he had returned.
Or Odin.
He feared his suppressed magic might have failed to screen him from Heimdall just before, and during, his time with his mother in the strange white realm. When he assumed he had briefly died. Though his screens were fully restored now he would have to be vigilant for any sudden changes in the weather, any lightning strikes or crashes of thunder. The fact that he had his magic back was reassuring. He would do everything in his power to avoid being taken back to Asgard. Back to that cell.
When the mortal's stomach rumbled again he bit back a chuckle, thankful for the distraction.
Though he didn't need to eat quite as often as mortals, he could not deny that returning from the dead had suddenly given him an appetite.
"I could certainly do with some sustenance. The past few hours have left me rather...fatigued." The last part was a lie, he had never felt more alive, but he hoped it might persuade her.
She peered at him diffidently. "You want me to make you something to eat?"
He flashed her an encouraging smile, almost wishing his own stomach would rumble in support. "If you wouldn't mind."
She stood up, looking a little perplexed, as if that was the very last thing she would have expected him to ask. "Sure. Ok..."
He glanced up at her. "You wish me to follow?"
"Well, it would be best eaten at the kitchen table," she agreed with a nod and faint hint of sarcasm that he found amusing.
He sprung from the bed, lithe as a cat, making her jump a little.
Sweeping out his arm, he gestured theatrically. "Then please, lead the way."
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