Double Trouble (A Loki /Tom Hiddleston Fanfic)

Guilty

Carrie crumpled to the floor, her head swimming, her stomach churning and her heart - well God alone knew how that was still in one piece. She looked at the floor and traced the black mark left by the Bifrost with her finger.  Oddly for someone normally so house proud, she didn't actually care the floor was ruined.  All she cared was that her relationship with Tom was just as destroyed. Oh dear Lord she thought, this was a complete disaster. Covering her hands with her face she sobbed, great big gut wrenching sobs. The kind that make you want to curl up in a ball and scream. So that's what she did. It was as she sat, hunched up, arms around her knees and head buried in her arms that Loki came in.

She looked up at him and knew the truth of the matter instantly.  She had kissed him because she thought it was Loki.  Not Tom, Loki.  She could lie to herself as much as she wanted, but that was the baseline.  She wanted Loki.  So very much.  Even now, as she sat on the floor amidst the ruins of her relationship with Tom, she wanted him. And she felt one overwhelming thing.  Guilt.  It tasted of bitter regret.  Now as she looked up at the man - the god - who had unwittingly caused all of this, her instant reaction was to run. 

She couldn't begin to explain what had just happened and what she was feeling. He would never understand, he would never feel for her what she felt for him and that made it so much worse.  Extending a hand in defence she pushed past him and bolted upstairs, slamming the door behind her. She leant against it and slid to the floor, hands covering her face, muffling her sobs only a little.

You love  Loki. You love Tom. You love Loki. You love Tom. The mantra went round and round in her head like some sort of sick jingle. She could deny neither. But what could she do?  Her first instinct was to hide. To break contact with Loki AND Tom. One through self preservation the other guilt. That would accomplish nothing she realised. She needed to get Tom back on an even keel and refusing to work with Loki wouldn't help that one iota. But she knew the more time she spent with him, the heavier she would fall. There was just something about him. An unspoken bond, like her soul belonged to him. If only he felt the same way, they could at least share the angst, the sorrow, the eternal sorrow.

She heard a creak on the stairs. Her head jerked up, every nerve jangling.  She knew all his powers and they could all be used to find out what was going on.  Was he outside? Was he reading her thoughts again?  No, he'd  promised never to do so outside an interview and despite everything she trusted him. In all truth, none of this was his fault. Other than he existed.

Guilt overwhelmed her again. She had to make things right with Tom, but how? She couldn't just up and go to Asgard. The only real alternative was to distance herself from Loki as much as possible . She would do the bare minimum to keep the charade going. Keep him informed and on message. But nothing - absolutely nothing - else. No socialising, nothing. She would live in this room if she had to. Thank God they had two rooms.

Her feelings weren't going to go away any time soon, she knew that but they could be managed. Just. She owed him everything and nothing. It was as much his fault as hers she reasoned. Poor Tom. She only prayed he took her "I love you" at face value. If he didn't, if he realised the truth of her apparent rejection..... she started to cry again. In one reckless, self indulgent moment she had lost the man she planned to marry.  

Loki sat at the bottom of the stairs waiting. And waiting. Almost 2 hours later he heard her door open and the creak of the stair above him. Looking up, he jumped up as she descended, puffy eyed and pale.

"Are you ok? What happened - was it - Tom?" he asked gently, trying not to make it sound like an inquisition.

She couldn't bring herself to make make eye contact, she knew she would crumble.  She walked straight past and into the kitchen to do what every self respecting British person does in a crisis - make some tea. Standing at the sink, she held the kettle under the tap in a death grip  as she looked out the window into the garden. She heard him come into the kitchen and stiffened, bracing herself.  Please don't let him touch me she prayed, knowing she would fall into his arms seeking the comfort she desperately craved.