bladesofasgard | Misunderstandings

Sometimes, Sif really loved the fact that Heimdall was her brother, and that he indulged her enough to humor her in reporting when Loki returned to the palace. She’d been even more upset when she’d been released from the healing rooms to find him gone, worried when she’d had no word from him, no visits, nothing.

She’d wracked her brain, trying to think of a reason why he might be avoiding her now, but was hard pressed to come up with one beyond the troubling thought that maybe he’d tired of her. Maybe he did believe her too large a chink in his armor, too great a weakness. She didn’t want to dwell on that, had tried her best to keep from fretting on it, although as the days stretched out, it became harder.

So when word arrived from her brother that Loki was currently in the throne room with Thor, she held off joining them, heading instead to Loki’s private chambers to lie in wait for him. She sank down behind one of his worktables, making herself comfortable as she waited. And if one of his overly large tomes hid her mostly from view… well, that was his fault for having such large books in the way, wasn’t it?

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Loki didn't quite react to that little kiss, for a moment just staring into the distance as he thought.

It would be worse to try to send her away, he realized. She would realize then that something was wrong, and wouldn't rest until she'd figured out what. He couldn't afford that sort of interference, not from the one person he really had no good defenses against. Better to play along and just pretend that everything was normal and natural.

And so long as his plans weren't interfered with, the problem would be messily fixed in fairly short order, and then it would no longer matter. He would be a hero in his own right and a worthy son.

There was a slight hesitation and then he did as he was told, raising his arms so she could pull off his tunic. "Yes, sleep," he said after a moment. "I think I shall be quite dead to the world, so you probably do have nothing to fear."

Sif gave him an indulgent, puzzled smile, laughing softly as she tugged off his shirt. She rose, offering him a hand to help him up so he could shed his breeches as well. "I have nothing to fear anyway," she contradicted him, giving him an amused look as she laid his shirt aside.

"It's not as if I haven't felt the bite of your tongue before this," she pointed out, patient. "And no doubt will again, on many occasions, since I have the dubious talent of annoying you quite hastily at times."

Loki rose as well, though he didn't take her hand. There was a strange, creeping fear in the back of his head, as if she might notice something wrong if he touched her again, such as his hands having suddenly gone colder than normal.

Though he always had been one for cold hands and feet, hadn't he?

The thought drew a distracted laugh from him, something that had nothing to do with Sif's statement, though the timing seemed about right.

Loki scrubbed at his face with his hands, trying to draw his attention back to the conversation. He was normally a much better actor, but he was tired, and far too confused for the task to be easy. "And yet you keep coming back for more," he observed dryly. "You ought to know better by now."

"Well, no one was ever so foolish to accuse me of having too much sense," she quipped with a wry smile, not missing the fact that he'd not taken her hand. Was he still avoiding her or was she over-thinking things? It was hard for her to tell, but she did her best to put her own doubts aside, especially when he laughed. That, at least, sounded almost normal, if utterly weary.

Sif stepped close to him, siding fingers into the waist of his breeches and sliding them down with the familiar skill of having done this many times, if usually in different situations. "Here, darling, that's the last of it. Are you sure there's nothing else you want before slumber?" she asked him, searching his face to be sure as she set his clothing aside. Not even hesitating, she started stripping out of her own leggings to make herself more comfortable.

Loki shook his head. "I suppose not. I thought it obvious you had no sense, considering your desire to poke at things with sticks."

Habit took over when she removed his breeches; he reached out to slip one hand over her hair. It didn't feel any different if he considered things analytically. But should it? He only knew what he was now; there'd been no physical change. Would it feel the same if he were a normal man rather than some sort of beast? He could only guess.

Loki closed his eyes for a moment, hand falling back down to his side. "No, nothing else. Sleep is all I crave."

Though somehow he doubted sleep would bring any peace with it. Loki slipped under the blankets, rolling onto his side and curling up.

"And that negates my sense, does it?" Sif laughed in amusement as she stripped out of her leggings, then tugged her top off over her head, discarding her clothing with his before climbing into the bed with him. "If that is true, then Asgard is doomed."

She maneuvered to the far side before stretching out comfortably beside him before curling up tight against his back, one arm snaking about his waist. She'd missed this, missed him, and even though she could tell there was still something bothering him, she hoped it was nothing a little rest couldn't cure. Although she did hope Thor was going to be more sensible when it came to this war with Jotunheim.

...Asgard really might be doomed if she was counting on Thor to be the reasonable one of the two.

But Sif feared this had somehow become personal for Loki. His reactions troubled her, but she did her best to push that away for the moment as she snuggled up behind her lover, her face pressed between his shoulder blades as she inhaled his familiar scent, letting it relax her.

"Then you shall have sleep, love. Pleasant dreams," she murmured against his skin, pressing a light kiss to his back as her hand came to rest over his heart, reassuring herself with the sound of his pulse under her fingers.

"I am still a lone librarian in the kingdom of the meat heads," Loki said, laughing quietly.

In that, at least, he knew he would have been as much the alien if he'd been raised as jotun; they were as much obsessed with battle as the Aesir. Perhaps even more, considering he'd been left to die as a worthless weakling.

That grim thought killed what little amusement he'd found.

Loki closed his eyes tightly as Sif snuggled against him. Nothing was different about it, yet everything felt different.

Still, that didn't stop him from fumbling for her hand, holding it far more tightly than was ever his habit.

Soon, he told himself, it would be all right. He would have proven himself to everyone, shown he was just a worthy a Thor. Perhaps then, more than just Sif would see him for who he was.

Whoever that might be. Whatever that might be.

"Goodnight, dearest," he murmured.

And then, maybe... No, best not to think of that at all.

Misunderstandings

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