Infatuated with a God

Chapter One-Hundred and Twenty-Nine

Loki

The darkness of the library brought no relief to my growing headache and none of the surrounding books comforted me. As a young boy growing up in Asgard I often found libraries an escape. Learning and knowledge being one of the rare things I excelled at, I let shelves of books become a safe haven for me. In recent months that had shifted. The comfort I sought no longer could be provided by paper bound in leather, instead I found myself seeking soft hair in a mixture of light brunette and blonde strands, of golden eyes and soft silky skin. But I couldn't. If I reached out for her now, that person isn't who I would see. It had been tainted by new memories. Of black and blue skin and broken bones. Just how close had she come to dying? It was simple enough to find out, a press of a finger to her forehead and I could locate a recent memory with relative ease, and I'd come to be able to navigate her memories well. I knew whatever I found there wouldn't help me, only provide pain. I didn't want to see how quickly she abandoned her own safety after giving me her word she wouldn't. I couldn't bear to witness her fight with Barnes, or how quickly her training fell apart when facing someone she viewed as a friend. I needed to believe her training was worth enough to keep her safe. I needed to believe that she was hesitant in her betrayal. Knowing very little could provide comfort for me here, I pulled a book out of the subdimension, hoping she wasn't keeping close enough watch of it to miss it. I noticed she'd stored it in here after I kept taking it. It was ridiculous really, how I smiled slightly into the dark room over the sight of a book.

Throughout my life I'd never let books worsen in condition, obsessed with an ideal orderly space around me, especially in my own library. When Kaya had first offered me a handful of books to keep me occupied in my cell I'd hated their condition. But now, as I let my thumb trace over the leather that slightly frayed away from the board, and as my fingers touched the creases in the leather on the spine, I saw it in a whole new light. This book documents her life. Of countless times of rereading to keep her mind occupied in her cell. Of the only salvageable thing she owned during her time at Hydra. All of the other books she bought or was given during her time in the tower or at the compound. This was the one thing she had that was hers. And she let me borrow it so willingly, so trustingly, when she had no right to view me in either light. Had you asked her she would have insisted she didn't. But knowing now just the weight this one book held to her, it was impossible to see it through any other lens. Greedily, I held on to it. Wishing to keep that token near me as long as I could. There was something off with it though. The cover protruded out further than it ever had done before, as if a page had been marked not with a bookmark but a thick piece of paper kept in the middle. I wondered if that's what caused such significant creasing, but when I opened the book I was quickly proved wrong. It wasn't just paper that fell out but photos.

Photography wasn't so much a thing on Asgard. We kept to paintings and memories. And whilst I'd seen photos on various technologies throughout Midgard, I was yet to see something physical. A perfect moment in time captured through camera. Honestly, it really was something to marvel at. I hadn't realised she kept these at all, yet alone here. One by one I studied them. Many of them had been ones taken in D.C., ones that had once completely frustrated her. Some of me as I helped her out of the car when we first arrived at the hotel, one capturing her blush as I whispered into her ear. My favourite of the first few, and my favourite overall, is how beautifully she smiled up at me when she realised I was attempting to distract her from the so-called journalists around us. The next few were captured stills from the video recorded of the hospital. Leaked images of how I had used her seiðr to help heal the children. Of the two of us having dinner. More of our arrival to the charity ball. Each one a perfect capture of a moment in time. Sure I could access my memories, project them around, but to have this almost passive reminder, it was beautiful. Then the final ones were of the party. Of us walking in together, dancing together, of that brief moment in time where we almost kissed. Carefully, I placed all of the photos to one side and studied the folded piece of paper that had been with them. My name was scrawled on the top in her handwriting.