Chapter Twelve
A Change in the Wind
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Sif leaned against the wall just beyond the door to the dungeons, waiting for Thor.
Things had been noticeably cooler between them since she'd commandeered Loki's drawings. She wanted to make amends…but she wasn’t certain how, or why Thor was so angry in the first place. Loki had been upset, yes, but he'd done no harm during his tantrum. No healers had been called for him, so he hadn’t hurt himself. She'd been keeping her ear to the ground to make certain of that. And obviously his rapport with Thor hadn’t been damaged, or why did the crown prince continue his daily visits?
Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun approached her, sweaty from the practice field, their clothes caked with dust and perspiration. They'd gone out a little after breakfast to spar. Sif had been out there since dawn, sweating out her doubts while thinking hard about Thor…and Loki.
She didn't know how she felt about Loki. Part of her hated him—he'd hurt Frigga, who'd been like a mother to her ever since she'd declared her intention to become a warrior, and he'd hurt Thor. That, more than anything else, made the Asgardian woman want to haul the fostered prince out onto the practice field and beat him until he begged for mercy. And part of her wanted to simply hit him, just slap him across the face as she'd done once before, because how could he do this to any of them? They'd been friends. They'd loved each other—Thor, Loki, Sif, and the Three—and he'd betrayed them all. Lied to them. Tried to kill them. How could he have even thought it, much less done it? Why had he done it?
Sif slid her fingertips along her palm, over the new blister at the base of her thumb. She didn't normally get blisters anymore, her hands were so callused, but she'd worked longer and harder that morning than she had in a great while, and it had taken its toll. Her arms and shoulders ached. Her legs felt a bit weak, too. Taking a drink from her waterskin, she sighed and nodded to the lads.
"Waiting for Thor?" Fandral asked, smiling. He was like a beam of sunlight, Fandral. Rakish good looks, dapper clothes, suave demeanor. No wonder the women all loved him. After Thor, he was the one the women of the court sought out most.
"He is with Loki," Volstagg said. Sif knew it wasn’t a question, but she nodded. "What do they talk about in there, do you think?"
Shrugging made her shoulders twinge just a bit. She really had overdone it, she realized. "No doubt whatever lies Loki has concocted to explain why he took the…" She trailed off. She'd been about to say "took the throne," but remembered at the last moment that Thor had said the queen had made Loki king-regent during the crown prince's exile. "Why he did all that he did," she finished lamely.
"I heard you purloined a trio of sketches done by our former friend some weeks ago," Fandral said, losing his smile. Sif's dark eyes flew to Fandral's grass-green gaze, then she nodded. "Well? What were they of? I heard Loki kicked up a dreadful fuss about it."
"They were all of a woman," Sif replied. "The rumors of that were true. But who she might be, even Thor doesn't know."
"I have heard the guards speak of this woman," Hogun broke in. The others stared at him. Glancing around first to make sure no one was listening, he leaned in closer and said, "She is Midgardian. Her name, they say, is Althea."
Volstagg raised his eyebrows. "A fair name for a mortal. Who is she? Loki's woman?"
Sif scoffed. "If she is," the warrior maiden replied, "she's obviously blind, to find him pleasing. Surely even a Midgardian could do better than that sword-slim, whey-faced sorcerer." Swallowing back her annoyance—those were nearly the same words many men had flung at her, for her pale skin and lean body, but they were of greater shame when spoken of about a man, and many had said such about Loki in the past when he was out of earshot—Sif added, "Besides, everyone knows Loki is ärgr."
Fandral nudged her sharply with his elbow. "You know better than that, Sif. The only people who say such things are those who wish to slander him. He has enough marks against him without any of us needing to make up lies. He's bedded enough women in his time, you know it isn't true. Besides, this mortal may not be so foolish as you think. Perhaps she succumbed to Loki's silver tongue."
Sif raised an eyebrow. She tried to drown out Thor's voice in her head, telling her that someone Loki held dear had been killed. "The silver tongue that turned to lead? One wonders. But how do you know this, Hogun?"
"She is what Thor goes to Loki to speak of every day. Loki speaks of how he met and wooed her, or so the guards say."
She frowned. "Why would Thor even care about such a thing?" And still in her head, refusing to be silenced, was Thor's voice. Someone Loki held dear…
"I have heard," Sif knew Hogun emphasized the word to ensure his friends knew he had no solid information, "that she is dead. Her and a child, a mortal girl named Sophie, and that Loki blames Thor for their deaths. So far, Loki has not explained why."
"It has been over four months since this all started," Sif protested. "Why is he dragging this out?"
A child? Thor had said nothing of a child. Whose child? Surely not Loki's by this woman?
Hogun hesitated, which made the others pay stricter attention. The grim warrior rarely spoke, but when he did it was normally with swiftness and surety. For him to hesitate now meant that what he was about to say was important—extremely important—and that it needed to be said carefully.
"The guards say they also discuss Loki's treachery here in Asgard. They say that Loki and Thor have struck a bargain to help Loki obtain vengeance against Thanos for the deaths of this woman and the child. And they say…that Loki claims we betrayed him."
Volstagg scoffed. Fandral simply stared at Hogun incredulously for a moment before growling, "The little cretin. How dare he slander us like that? We were his friends for centuries before he stabbed us all in the back! Is Thor listening to this rubbish? Tell me he knows Loki's lies for what they are! We would never betray our comrades!"
But for some reason Sif suddenly recalled the day she'd slapped Loki. It had been at least two-hundred years ago, and he'd found her weeping in the stables. Thor had said something to hurt her feelings, she remembered. He'd only been repeating gossip he'd heard, laughing about it as if it were some big joke…but she hadn't thought it was a funny. Not a bit funny…
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"They say no man would have you but Loki," Thor said, chuckling as he polished his sword. "You're both of you so fey. Neither of you knowing your place, they say. Since you'd make no man a good wife, you'd be perfect for him, because you'd make a good husband, being a warrior and all. And Loki would make you a good wife, Sif. We'd be brothers." And Thor laughed, as if it were a hilarious joke.
Sif shoved her spear into its brackets on the salle wall and strode out without a word, leaving Thor laughing. What did he know about it? What did he know about all the lads over the centuries that Sif had tried to preen for, tried to court or be courted by, only to be turned away because they didn't want a whey-faced manling on their arm or warming their beds?
The tears burned when they fell down her cheeks, burned as she thought of Thor—the one person she'd been sure would never say such things about her—laughing. Laughing at her.
Loki found her in the stables, feeding her mare an apple while she hid her face in the silky mane and wept. He had the temerity to ask her what was wrong. As if he didn't know. It was one thing to be mocked for her own sake. She would be a warrior one day. But to be ridiculed for that and because Loki had this daft dream of being a sorcerer? Men were not sorcerers. It wasn't normal to have the gift for seiðr that Loki did. Men didn't have such talents.
Real men, anyway. Wasn't that what that little "joke" had been about? The one Thor thought was so blasted funny.
When he laid his hand on her shoulder, the hurt and rage and dashed hope surged up inside her and she flung his hand away. When he tried to speak, she struck him as hard as she could across the face. How dare he touch her? People would see, didn't he realize that? They would see and they would talk and everyone would mock her even more. And still he reached out to her.
So she cut him with words. She, Lady Sif, was a warrior maiden, more of a man than the effeminate Prince Loki could ever hope to be. She might have been unnatural, might have been fighting her wyrd to try and become a warrior, but at least she wasn’t a woman in a man's skin. At least she wasn't a coward, fighting with a woman's weapons. At least she wasn’t ärgr.
Loki looked at her for one long moment, surprise mingling with something else on his pale face—his face, marred by the crimson handprint she'd left on his cheek. Then he bowed to her. His green eyes, swirling with shadows, gleamed. Was he secretly laughing at her for her childish tantrum? He bowed, then walked away without a word.
He still spoke courteously when they met after that. He always took her part when others in the salle laughed at and mocked her for her prowess with weapons. But there was something different about him, and Sif wondered if she would ever understand what had changed.
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"Nicholas Fury?" Thor echoed, staring at his brother. "What has he to do with this?"
Loki sighed. "So many questions. You fool, Odinson. What did you think you were dealing with? A man like Fury…he's as much a monster as I am, yet you are blind to his cruelty. It is the same manipulation and power-hungry malice that is in Odin. I heard him, Thor. I heard Fury ask you to torture me. Your own brother. A prisoner, helpless. Did such viciousness not give your precious honor even a twinge?"
How could Loki ask these things, Thor wondered, in a voice as dead and hollow as a ghost? But all the crown prince said was, "Brother, I would not have tortured you, no matter how Fury demanded it. I would not have allowed them to do it, either. Surely you know that."
"That isn't the point," the green-eyed prince replied wearily. "The point is, he asked it of you. The point is, Althea was wrong about him. She was wrong about her professor. She was wrong about Coulson. She was wrong about so much. Her faith in these men…she died believing that they, and I, would find a way to save her and Sophie." Loki's hand curled into a fist. "I want Fury dead for betraying her."
"Is that why you killed Coulson?" Thor asked. "Because he betrayed Thea? Because he left her and Sophie at the mercy of the Chitauri?"
Another heavy sigh from his foster brother. "You're still not listening. I stabbed Coulson because it was necessary. Why do you never listen?" Before Thor could reply, Loki added, "You asked me once if Thea listened. She did. She knew me, somehow. Even before she walked my memories, absorbed my past…even before that, she knew me, and she listened. Why does no one else listen?"
"I am listening, Loki. I give you my word."
His brother shook his head. "You're trying; I must give you that. But you still don't hear. Listen, Thor. Listen carefully. I did what I could to make it right, but my loyalty belonged to Thea…to Sophie. I had to protect her. Protect them both. I did what was necessary to keep them safe."
"But it didn't work," Thor said. He tried to inject sympathy into his voice, because he truly was sorry. Loki had tried, but for all his cunning, all his clever plans, all his determination…Thea and Sophie had both been killed.
Loki shuddered. "No. No, it didn't work. From the very beginning, I should have known, because even from the first, I couldn't protect Thea from the Chitauri. When they took her from me the first time, I…there was nothing I could do but stand by helplessly and pray they brought her back to me alive. I could only listen to her screams and try to think of some way to help her."
Icy horror slid through Thor's guts like poison as he realized what his brother was telling him. "They tortured her." Loki looked away, shaking hard. A cold hand squeezed the crown prince's heart. "You could hear them torturing her?"
Pale lips pressed hard together until they were nearly white. Loki's hand convulsed into a white-knuckled fist so tight it shook. "Yes," he whispered. "In the moment when I first felt closest to her, when she showed me that though I was a monster from the ice and the dark, she wouldn't turn away from me…then they came and took her away for the first time…"
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Thea raised her hands and touched her fingertips to Loki's sweating temples. She closed her eyes. Heat spilled down his backbone from the nape of his neck. Warmth emanated from the touches on either side of his skull, spilling through his brain. Thea's brows slowly drew together. She frowned. Some of the color drained from her face. Her breath stuttered to a halt. The heat along Loki's spine intensified.
Then Thea was pulling back, breath coming in shallow gasps, hands shaking. Something cold coiled in Loki's belly like the world-serpent. She was so pale now. What was she thinking?
Wide blue eyes met his probing gaze. Her lips parted. Loki held his breath.
"Holy mother of macaroni and cheese, you're over a thousand years old," she cried. Loki blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. He had no idea what to say to that. It had been the last thing he'd expected. She shoved her hands through her hair and stared off into the distance. "Oh my gosh, you're old and you're hot! Am I a Lolita? My mother will kill me, that book's disgusting."
"A what?"
"Huh?" Thea's gaze snapped back to his face. She blinked and seemed to focus. "Right. Sorry. Never mind." She shoved a hand through her hair. Loki was almost stunned to see it wasn't shaking at all. He felt it should have been; after all, he was shaking.
Thea looked at him then, and he saw it. Not revulsion or pity or horror, as he'd expected. There was only sympathy. More than that, understanding. How? How could it be there? But it was there. He saw it in her eyes. It was as inescapable as his father's disapproval or the darkness waiting beyond the edges of this newest illusion. She understood…somehow.
"Loki," she whispered.
He tensed. What would she say? 'I understand. It's all right.' He despised the very idea of such things. He could see that the Midgardian understood, she'd read his memories like a book, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear her say—
"I'm your friend."
His mind blanked. His breathing stuttered. Somehow he managed to whisper, "What?"
She leaned toward him, peering into his face. This wasn't the cheerful, childish Thea he was used to. This woman was so very different from the girl who made him laugh. She whispered earnestly, "I'm your friend. Why do you look so nervous? Do you think this will make me stop being your friend? That I'll stop liking you? Because I won't."
"You can't simply say that after I've shown you—"
"I know what you were you trying to do," she said softly, tapping her temple with one finger. "I saw it. You just did it wrong. Really wrong," she added, looking a bit disconcerted. "But you meant well. Good intentions and all that stuff. And you regret it; that's the thing. I felt that, too."
Loki surged to his feet. He couldn't listen to this. He couldn't hear her say this. She couldn't be telling him the truth. Why wasn’t she horrified? Why didn't she call him a monster? Why wasn't she shying away from him for being a Frost Giant? She'd seen what the Frost Giants were like in his memories, when he'd shown her how he'd brought them through the Bifröst. They were hideous beasts, she knew that.
He had to get away from her. He had to be alone, had to think, away from this woman who made no sense at all, who should have shunned him for what he'd done, what he was—
His boots had just touched the grass when she caught his hand. He froze, unable to take another step. Her grip was like iron shackles, impossibly heavy, rooting him to the ground. Her fingers felt so small and fragile wrapped around his hand; gossamer chains.
"Loki, don't go." The request was like a knife in his belly. Quiet, timid, Thea added, "Please."
Somehow he managed to draw enough breath to speak. "Why would you want me near you after all you've seen?"
"Why do you want me to go away?" She asked. "Are you mad at me?"
That was the last thing he'd expected her to ask. He turned back to her to see her eyes were wet, though no tears fell. Her lip trembled until bit down on it to keep it still. The expression of hurt on her face reminded him too much of the look on Thor's face when Loki had hit him with the haft of Gungnir in the Gatehouse.
"Why would you think me angry with you?"
She dropped her gaze to her white tennis shoes, scuffed green and brown with grass stains and dirt. "For looking at your memories, I guess. Or for saying the wrong thing after. I'm kind of a big-mouth, I'm sure you've noticed, and maybe I offended you."
He shook his head. "No, you did not. I…it isn't that. Thea, you must understand. My own family doesn't understand…does not accept or have faith in…they don't…Thea, I'm the monster parents tell their children about at night. The enemy of the Asgardians. Shunned, despised, the Frost Giants are barbarians, demons of the ice. They slaughter indiscriminately, they butcher innocent women and children, they—"
"You don't do that," she said, murdering his explanation before he had a chance to spit all the words like poison. "You're not like that. And you're a Frost Giant. I didn't read all your memories, but I did read the ones you showed me, what you did with King Laufey and your brother. You're not a monster. You were just…desperate. People I care about have done desperate stuff before."
"Such as attempt to kill an entire race?" Loki demanded.
His mouth fell open when she said, "Yes, actually." He stared at her, stunned. She folded her arms across her chest. "The last person to have illusionary powers similar to mine, he and his father tried to wipe out every mutant in the world. A bunch of my teachers stopped him, obviously, but the other thing they had to do was stop one of their own. My former teacher, Mr. Lenscher, hates regular people. He's afraid of them, and he hates what they've done to us mutants, so he tried to reverse what that other guy was doing, and kill all the normal people.
"This guy, Mr. Lenscher…him and the professor are both like my dad, basically. Okay? I love them. They helped raise me and my brothers and sisters, gave my family a safe place to live, taught me how to be strong; to be proud of who I am and what I can do. And he tried to kill billions of people because he wanted to protect our kind. So yeah, people I love have done desperate, crazy stuff before. I don't approve, obviously, but I still love them. Deal with it."
Helpless, Loki shook his head again. "Thea, you can't possibly accept—"
"Um, excuse me, I do what I want," she replied, shoving her hands into her pockets and rocking back on her heels. "You're not the boss of me, hot stuff. So you're stuck with me. At least you feel bad about what you did. Mr. Lenscher totally doesn't. So like I said, deal with it."
He stared at her. "What?"
"You heard me, Green Eyes. You're stuck with me. We're friends. That doesn't mean you're allowed to go kicking kittens or anything—not that you would—but I'm not ditching you because you panicked and did something…ill-advised."
Seeing the look on her face, he narrowed his eyes. "You were going to say 'stupid.'"
She smiled. "Maybe. It was a bit stupid, you gotta admit." Her smile slipped. "But you were trying to protect your family, your friends. Like I said, I was half-raised by Professor Xavier and a bunch of teachers who've killed people before. My history teacher electrocuted a guy. On purpose. People kill. I know that. Sometimes they kill and regret later. You regret. So…" She shrugged. "What do you think? That I'm going to just cut you off?"
"My family has."
"How do you know? You pop out of our little box and pay them a visit recently?" She reached out and took his hand; the gentle touch took the sting from the words. "If I haven't, they haven't. Well, one hopes, anyway. If they did, they suck like a vacuum cleaner and you should forget them. You have me now." She beamed at him. "I'm like a fungus—I grow on you."
Somehow, with her smile and her calm acceptance and her determination, she dredged up a chuckle from him. He shook his head, fighting bafflement and hope and the dregs of frustration and dread. "You're absolutely mad."
"You've never read Alice in Wonderland, so you don't realize that all the best people are. Don't worry, you'll be mad one day, too. Just stick with me long enough and everything will work out. We'll be nuts together." She bounced on her heels a little, looking unsure. "So…this feels like a hugging moment. Or is that my madness talking?"
Loki stared at her for a long moment, then—hesitantly and a bit self-consciously, unused to such an action—opened his arms to her. She made a small squeaking sound, somewhat like "oooh!" and rushed into his arms. Her slender arms came around him and she laid her head against his chest. Her hands curled around his ribs, warm through his shirt. After another long moment, Loki curved his own arms about Thea's slender body. His hands settled at her hip and shoulder. To his surprise, she closed her eyes and relaxed completely, making a small sound of contentment.
She smelled of flowers, he realized. The fragrance clung to her hair, which cascaded over his hands like a curtain of silken threads. And she was warm against him. It had been a long time since he'd had another's body against his. She was soft, pliant. When was the last time he'd held someone? A woman?
He'd held his mother for the briefest moments after killing Laufey…before Thor had arrived and his mother had rushed to him instead, forgetting all Loki had done. And before that…he could not quite recall. A woman interested in a single night's coupling, no doubt. It was long enough ago, however, that Loki couldn't actually remember. And this was different somehow.
"I like hugging you," Thea murmured, voice half-muffled by his shirt. "You're warm." Her grip tightened fractionally. "If you want me to let go, just tell me and I will. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything. I just haven't hugged anyone in a couple weeks. That's a record for me. I'm a big hugger."
"I am not uncomfortable," he said softly. "You needn't let go." Her embrace was oddly comforting. In the circle of her arms, somehow he found the doubts he felt at her acceptance smoothing away. The hand he'd set on her shoulder drifted up to rest lightly against the silk of her hair.
"You sure?"
"Don't let go," he whispered. Somehow it seemed as if his next breath, the very beat of his heart, hinged on whether Thea kept her arms around him. It had been so long since someone had touched him without intending to hurt him. Loki laid his cheek against Thea's hair. She sighed; he felt it through his shirt, soft and warm against his skin. "Don't let go."
This touch…no pain with this touch. No pain. No misery. Only comfort. Warmth. Only good things here, no pain. No, he never wanted her to let go.
But suddenly Thea pulled away. He felt the absence of her like a fist in the belly. He stared down at her, unable to comprehend why she'd wrenched back from him. Why did she look frightened?
The light from the sun overhead flickered, dimmed. Loki frowned and stared up at the sky. Strange black lines were spreading across the wisps of cloud and the blueness above. The wind died abruptly, leaving everything oddly still. Loki looked back at Thea, who ran her fingers through her hair.
"Someone's coming," she whispered, eyes wide as she gazed up at him. "Loki, it's too soon. They shouldn't be coming now. They fed us a few hours ago."
Coming. The Chitauri were coming. There was only one reason they could be coming to his and Thea's cells off-schedule. The monsters wished to try forcing one of them to cooperate. So far the Chitauri had left Thea alone, and Loki wasn't due for a torture session for a few days yet…he thought. It was hard to track time in his cell. But they were coming now.
"How long?" Loki demanded, forcing himself into the role of soldier, of hardened warrior.
Thea ran shaking hands through her hair again. "Um…a minute, maybe." The dark lines thickened overhead before the inky blackness began spilling down the dome of the sky toward the horizon. Loki realized he couldn't smell the grass anymore, or feel the concrete beneath his boots. He couldn't feel the heat of the sun on his skin, either. Thea struggled for composure as she added, "I can hear them. Their footsteps, like when they bring us food. A minute, I think. They'll be here in a minute."
"Thea, listen to me." He gripped her narrow shoulders. The panic in her eyes sent anger surging through his belly; the Chitauri were interrupting their time, intruding on the haven of their little mirage. "Listen to me. If they take me, you must not try to stop them. You mustn't call out to me. Do you understand?"
Her eyes widened further. The color drained from her face. The blackness touched the horizon and began flowing inward toward them like living night. "If they…take you?" She grabbed the front of his shirt with trembling hands. "Where are they going to take you? You're coming back, aren't you? You're coming back, right? You're not going to leave me, are you? I mean, not forever, right?"
"I pray not, but that doesn't matter right now. You mustn't let them know that you know of me or they may try to separate us. Promise me this."
"But—"
"Promise me, Thea!" He demanded. She opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, the illusion shattered, plunging him into blackness. His hand flexed; it was empty. "Thea?"
There was a muffled sound that might've been a sob from the other side of the wall. "I'm here. Sorry. I couldn't hold the illusion. I'm freaking out too much. I'm sorry."
"It's all right," he said quickly. "Just…you must be prepared."
Loki quickly shut off his flashlight as the steps beyond the door drew nearer, shoving it and the stuffed tiger he now used as a pillow in the corner, back behind where the door would come to rest if it was opened. On the other side of the wall, he heard Thea shoving her packs against the lower part of the hole, blocking it from view.
He couldn't stop himself from imagining her, alone in the darkness, huddled with her knees drawn up to her chest. Part of her confidence in the situation, he knew, came from the fact that the Chitauri had established a basic routine since her arrival—the morning feeding, and many hours later, the night feeding. No other interaction at all. She'd been able to suppress her fear.
Not now. Not anymore. And perhaps that had been part of their purpose in establishing that routine to begin with. Why were the Chitauri coming? Loki tried to think. Because they'd heard all the racket Thea had made when she'd gone to work on the hole in the wall? Or something else? What did they want?
The footsteps echoed hollowly beyond the door as they passed his cell…and stopped in front of Thea's.
Icy pearls of sweat beaded along Loki's hairline, dripping down his temples and the bridge of his nose. No. No, no, they couldn't be stopping there. It was a mistake, it had to be. Not her. Not her, they couldn't want her, they couldn't…
"Loki," she breathed. "Loki."
Somehow he found the presence of mind to whisper, "Be strong, Thea. Be brave." What if they took her? What if they wanted her and took her away? He could not be alone again. He could not let them take her away. He could not let them hurt her. But what could he do to stop them? "Be strong."
As if from far away he heard her whisper, "Okay."
He heard the cell door open. His gaze zeroed in on the hole in the wall. Palms damp, he pressed his hands against the cold stone and tried to see into the other cell, lit dimly from the soft glow of the corridor.
Thea looked up from where she hunched in the corner, her gaze settling on the two Chitauri soldiers that came into her cell. Helpless rage exploded in Loki's chest when one of them reached down and grabbed her roughly by the arm, hauling her to her feet. His fingers dug into the cracks between the stones until blood beaded along his fingertips and spilled over his hands. His breath whistled between his teeth. The Chitauri yanked Thea out of the cell, slamming the door behind her.
Alone. Alone again in the blackness, the empty void. Fumbling for the flashlight, Loki clicked it on. Thea had said the battery—the tiny cylinder that powered the light—had been made by a man known as Stark, and that the battery would give up to a solid month of light because it was a "self-renewing energy source." The light helped push back the dark teeth gnawing at Loki's mind enough for him to think.
They'd taken her. They'd taken Thea. What would they do to her?
From too close by, he heard a shrill, panicked, pain-filled scream. His throat constricted. Thea. What were they doing? Bor's ghost, what were they doing to her? Another scream echoed from down the corridor.
Loki lunged for the door. His entire body shuddered at the merciless impact of flesh against metal. He had to get out, he had to get to her. He was alone in the shadows and she…she was alone, at the mercy of the Chitauri. Thea. Thea. He had to swallow back the howl of rage and fear that pulsed in his throat, the howl that tried to take the shape of her name as it attempted to escape his lips.
Gritting his teeth, Loki tried to think. He couldn't get out; he knew that. He'd only hurt himself trying. Already his still-mending ribs and arm throbbed from his collision with the door. His bad knee screamed in pain. He couldn't do that again. What to do?
Thea would need help when the Chitauri brought her back. She would need someone to tend her hurts…but he couldn't get to her. He was still too weak, too hurt to use his magic and change his size or shape in order to fit through the hole.
He'd have to make it bigger. And even then, he wouldn't be able to get through…but Thea might be able to crawl through, he thought, if she wasn't too badly hurt. She could slide through if he could make the hole big enough, and he could take care of her, help her in the aftermath of whatever horrors were making her scream like that.
Ignoring the pain in his broken arm, he thrust his good arm through the hole in the wall, groping for the thing Thea had shown him that she was using to pry off chunks of stone from the wall. His fingers found a long, flat piece of metal. Grasping it, he yanked it through the hole. Then he reached back through for the rock Thea had taken from the river near where she and her family had been camping. It was a large stone, bigger than Loki's fist.
When he'd asked why she'd taken it, Thea had said with a smile, "I know it's just a rock, but he looked like a Bob. Or a Wilson. I'm not sure which. And he looked lonely. So I took Bob Wilson and stuck him in my bag so my brothers and sisters and I could find him a rock-wife while we were hiking or whatever. Maybe some pebbly kids."
Now Loki took "Bob" in one hand and wedged the nail-file in a deep crack in the stones. Then he began hammering away, intent on doing whatever it took to widen out the hole. The exertion made him sweat, sent twinges of pain through his bad arm, but he licked the sweat from his upper lip and kept hammering. The banging helped mask the sound of Thea screaming in pain. Brave girl—not once did she scream his name, though she did scream for help.
A droplet of liquid spilled down his cheek when he heard her scream for her mother. He'd done that—at first. When the Chitauri had tortured his voice to nothing. Not anymore, though. He didn't scream for Frigga anymore. Loki wiped the droplet away. Sweat, he told himself. It was only sweat.
Thea's screams echoed down the hall for hours. Loki gritted his teeth and kept hammering, even when his arm begged for relief and his back ached from hunching over. He would stop when she came back. Only then. He would only stop then. Only when they stopped hurting her, when they brought her back to him at last.
They didn't stop until her voice was gone. By then, Loki had a good pile of rubble and a hole just big enough for her to squeeze through. The stone seemed oddly weak in places…but then, it probably was, what with all Thea had been doing to it.
The Chitauri didn't go into the cell this time; he'd known they wouldn't. Instead, they yanked open the door and threw Thea to the floor as if she were simply a sack of garbage. She hit with a sick thud and lay still, weeping softly. The door clanged shut behind the Chitauri as they walked away.
"Thea," Loki called, shining his light through the much-bigger hole. He could see her curled up on the ground, trembling with pain and sobs. "Thea…it's me. Thea, listen to me, you must come here. I can help you. I can tend your wounds. Come here."
After an excruciating eternity, Thea slowly pushed herself up on her elbows and began to drag herself toward the hole in the wall. Tears mixed with blood and dirt on her face, smearing it with grime and muck. Loki saw that half of her face was red with blood. When she made it to the wall, he reached through and took her trembling hand. She squeezed it hard.
"It will be a tight fit," the prince said softly to the weeping girl, "but you can make it. Come on. There, now. Easy." With careful and slow movements, he helped her wiggle through the hole in the wall. The edges of the hole made soft scraping sounds when they scratched against her skin. Thea caught her breath as she stopped, halfway through. Seeing how she shook, Loki dragged her the rest of the way in himself.
The moment she was inside, she curled herself around him, clutching the collar of his filthy shirt, and wept until he thought she might be sick with it. It seemed natural for her to cling to him. It seemed natural for him to hold her. Loki braced her as best he could with his good arm. She was surprisingly light. Frail. Her tears trailed hot and wet down his chest as she cried into his shirt. The shock of having someone in his cell, an actual physical person, left him half-reeling, but he had enough thought left to gently stroke Thea's hair and rock her a little with what meager strength remained to him.
"It's all right," he murmured. "It's all right. Shhh. It's all right. They're gone now." He knew they would be back, however, and so did she…but that wasn't important just then. What was important was calming her down enough to assess the damage. How badly had the Chitauri hurt her? "Shhh, Thea. You were very brave. So brave. You have the courage of a valkyrie."
Sniffling, at last she pulled her face out of his shirt and looked up at him. He could just make out her features in the dim light. Bruises covered her face, and blood still smeared some of her features. It seeped steadily from a cut over one eye. She took a shuddering breath.
"One question before I go back to crying my head off," she whispered, her voice a barely-there rasp in the dimness. "Well, two questions."
"All right," he said gently. "What are they?"
"First, have you ever had a pop-tart?"
He blinked and found a smile trembling on his mouth. "No."
"For the love of raspberry cheesecake, what am I going to do with you?" She shook her head, forcing a smile. "One of these days I'm going to go all mad-scientist on you and embalm you with chocolate sauce. Make you my personal Eclaire-en-stein, except cuter."
"I do not even know what that means," he confessed, feeling relief pressing down on him like the weight of a storm about to descend.
Her smile wobbled, but not as much as it had. Her face didn't seem as if it would crack in half. "It's like Frankenstein, except you come with rainbow sprinkles and a cherry on top. Which sounds kinda dirty, but it's not. Just…sticky. Probably. And you'll smell like a Boston cream pie and probably melt in the sun. And I get to wear a sexy, sexy lab-coat with M&Ms for buttons. Or maybe Skittles. I've always wanted a lab coat with Skittle buttons. Taste the rainbow and all that. I like rainbows. Jeez, I kind of feel a little drunk right now. Or maybe hung-over. I feel like the 'o god of hangovers,' that's how I feel. I won't throw up on you, though, I promise. That would totally put the kibosh on this lovely date we're having and we won't get to do the tango."
She was struggling to hold onto her cheer, her silliness. Why? Did she think she needed to be brave for him? She was braver than any warrior he'd known. Even as she trembled with the pain, she flashed him that bright smile. She seemed to draw strength from his nearness. The closer she pressed, the less she shivered.
"You're utterly mad," Loki whispered, stroking her hair. Why did he feel this ridiculous sense of pride that she wasn't broken by the Chitauri's tortures? He didn't know how long it would be before they did to her what they'd done to him, but even so, Thea remained unbroken. Brave girl. Such a brave girl. He was so very proud of her. "You know that, don't you? You're utterly, absolutely, wonderfully mad."
"Bonkers," she replied. "Off my rocker. Hungry. I've got a chocolate energy bar I've been saving, maybe I'll nibble on that when I stop feeling like I want to kill somebody. Unless you want it. But yeah, I'm feeling a bit crazy right now. Scared, pissed, in pain, kinda want to cry. Kind of want to kill some freaky aliens. Maybe I'd run them over with my motorcycle. Or an ice cream truck. Except vehicular homicide is probably morally wrong."
"Does it matter to you?" He asked, cradling her. To his complete astonishment, he found himself smiling a little. "That it would be considered morally wrong?"
"Not according to the voices in my head telling me to rob an ice cream truck," she mumbled. "Wait till these Chitauri guys get a load of me when I'm PMSing. They will run screaming for their mommies. They will cringe in fear while I run them over with an ice cream truck. I want ice cream," she added. "So bad. Like, seriously. I can almost taste the whipped cream and lime and…why are there lemon sprinkles in this fantasy?"
"When you're what?"
"PMSing," she replied, sliding one arm across his chest to hold tightly to him. "PMS, you know. Girl stuff. The whacked-out mood swings before your courses start. PMS—Prepare to Meet Satan. Erm…Satana. Whatever, everything hurts too much for me to be gender-specific. So I gotta ask…what's a valkyrie?"
