Hey!
So, this one is a bit... different. You'll see.
I've put a lot (like A LOT) of effort into this chapter--possibly more than in any other--so I'd really appreciate your opinions here. Seriously. I have drafts for this from 2019 (for future readers, it's 2022 now that I write this). By the way, it's going to have three parts. Just so you know.
Useful information for the chapter: Eira is a female name originating from the Norse goddess of healing Eir. Eira is also a female name in Wales, also meaning "snow" in the Welsh language.
Trigger warnings: severe mental illness, self-harming, suicide attempt, various references to alcoholism, violence and abuse. Also, talking about death quite a lot.
Also, I don't care if you liked or disliked the Loki series, but if you think it made him "too sensitive," then you ain't ready for this one. (P.S. Please don't start a quarrel about the series in my comments section. Please. Thanks in advance.)
I hope you like it. ♥
Published on March 2022
...
Present day
Loki had woken up some minutes ago, yet he kept his eyes closed. The sky was still dark. The thoughts were still in his mind; the feelings were still in his heart. Sorrow. Bitterness. Despair.
Nightmares again...
Wait. That was a cry, wasn't it? She was awake. He had to bed her down. His little daughter. Just stand up. Easy to say. He tried to lift his torso upright. He didn't make it. It's okay. One more time.
No, it wasn't okay. Never had been. And now everything was aggravating since Y/N left. Why did she have to go? They loved each other. She didn't want to go--as though she knew, somehow. But life takes from everyone. It takes more than it gives.
It had been one month since Y/N went away. A long, tormenting month.
Another cry snapped him back to reality. Right. You have to do this. For your little girl. He forced himself to stand. At last, he did it. He walked out of the room, taking hold of the furniture and the wall to prevent himself from collapsing. He was tired. So tired and done.
He reached his daughter's cradle. Looking at her, a small smile broke out on his lips. She was so small--just three months old. And so lovely.
"Shh... Come on, I'm here now... Shh..." He took the baby in his embrace and began singing the lullaby Y/N used to sing. I miss you. He couldn't believe he'd never see her again.
Loki stopped singing when his little girl had fallen asleep. He smiled and kissed the top of her head. My only reason to carry on. He put her back to her cradle and then he went back to his bed, lay down and tried to sleep. Alas, sleep wouldn't come, and then suddenly it was morning, and he had to live one more day. For your daughter.
He had a shower to kind of put himself together and fed his little girl, and then, he just stood there, holding her in his arms. She began laughing. Loki smiled softly as he caressed her hands. My precious girl.
The noise of a key turning in the lock sounded. Loki swivelled his head and then walked out of the kitchen, still holding his child in his embrace. He arrived at the entryway the moment that Thor closed the door behind him. Right. You've given him keys. It's so stupid of you to worry. Or to hope...
"Good morning," he said calmly, forcing a smile.
"Hey. I brought you the groceries," said Thor, showing him the shopping bag he was holding.
"You know you don't have to do this."
"I want to do it, brother; I've explained that again. You're going through a hard period of your life and-"
"... and you just want to help. I know, and I am grateful." Indeed, he really was grateful. No matter what he said, he needed Thor's help. If Thor didn't go to the supermarket to bring basic stuff, Loki doubted he'd do it himself.
The God of Thunder approached him, looking at the baby in Loki's arms. "Well, how is my little niece doing?" he asked joyfully.
"She's fine; I just fed her," replied Loki, and the corner of his lips curved up slightly. "Will you stay?"
"No, I'd love to, but I have to go to the compound; the Avengers need me."
"Yeah, right. I'm sorry, I forgot." Say it. "Speaking of the Avengers... There's something I need to tell you." When Thor said nothing, he continued. "I don't think I can join the team again."
"Why not?" asked Thor, vividly surprised.
Loki took a deep breath. "It's a dangerous job, Thor, and now that Y/N is gone, I'm all my daughter has left. Imagine that something happens to me; she'll be on her own. I can't do that to her."
Thor's expression was pensive. He knit his eyebrows and then, a few seconds later, he said, "You're right, brother. I hadn't thought of that before, but it makes much sense."
"Well, I guess I have to find a job then," Loki concluded.
"You don't--I can help you-"
"No. I should not burden you more than I already do. I'm an adult--I can do this. Maybe not for a few months till she gets a little older, but then I can make it." Can you?
"Okay then, if you say so." Thor looked down at the child. "Have you found a name for her?"
"I've thought of something, but I'm not entirely sure."
Thor glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. "I have to go. Have a good day," he said and turned around.
I doubt it. "You too," Loki greeted him back as the older Odinson opened the door and stepped out. He looked down at his daughter, and a small smile peaked on his lips. "Eira," he whispered, and it sounded even more perfect as he looked at the little girl's smiling face. Only you can heal my heart.
×××
Flashback
They were happy together. Why did Y/N have to go? Damn S.H.I.E.L.D. and their bloody 'secret undercover mission.' There were hundreds, thousands of agents in S.H.I.E.L.D., why did they choose her? She had born a child, and they hadn't even extended her maternity leave--not even after they were informed that she had been experiencing postpartum fatigue--and then they sent her away because the agent who was to be sent on the mission was injured on another one and had been in a coma. But Y/N had a family--a husband and a child. Director Fury, no matter how much both Loki and Y/N begged him, didn't change his mind. As though he wanted them to suffer... Don't be paranoid, Loki thought to himself. But he couldn't help but think that Fury hated them--hated him.
"How long will all this take? When will she come back?" Loki asked him.
The God of Mischief was practically struggling not to start shaking, and if it weren't for the sedative he took before going to Fury's office, he would fail miserably.
"However long it takes," Fury replied, his voice being disturbingly emotionless.
"What the hell does this mean?"
"It means that it's an uncertain mission, and everything depends on the happenings that will follow her arrival at her destination."
"We've got a child, Fury. You cannot just put her in danger and leave me clueless. And, anyway, there are thousands of agents in S.H.I.E.L.D. Why Y/N?"
"I have explained this to you; she is the only one who has the required skills. You know she was our second choice, but Lavender Epstein, who was to be sent to the mission, is hospitalised. There's nothing I can do."
"There must be someone!"
"There isn't."
Loki remembered how low his heart had sunk that day. He had promised to himself that he wouldn't plead, wouldn't make himself look weak and vulnerable, but there was nothing else he could do.
"Fury," he whispered, "please, don't do this to us... to me. Y/N is not strong enough yet--she had a hard labour, you know that. You know I am a living mess--what if something happens to her? I cannot raise such a young child alone."
"You don't know that," Fury responded emotionlessly. "We cannot change anything. Your wife will be sent to the mission. I am sorry that there's such an enormous risk for her and you, but I cannot do otherwise."
Loki said nothing. He glared at Fury for a couple of seconds, and then he stood up and got out of the room, his stomach turning to knots.
The following day, Y/N left.
"Take care, okay?" he said in a low voice as he was standing opposite to her, holding their child in his hands as the car that would take her to the airport waited a couple of meters away.
"I will," Y/N replied, smiling dimly. "I'll be back before you even realise I left." She noticed his gloomy expression. "Hey, what's wrong?"
Loki let out a sigh and glanced at his child before looking into Y/N's eyes. "I have a terrible feeling about this."
"Don't worry; I'm gonna be just fine."
"Our daughter needs you. What if you get hurt?"
"Then she'll still have you."
She leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss. Loki kissed her back, and a few seconds later, their lips parted.
"Miss Y/L, we must go," the driver said.
Y/N looked at Loki apologetically and mouthed a silent 'I love you' before entering the car, which drove away shortly afterwards. And then, a few days later, a gloomy night, he received the call...
"Hello?" he asked, picking up the phone as he put his sleeping daughter into her cradle.
"Mr Odinson, you have to come to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters now. It's about your wife," director Fury's voice responded to him.
"What's going on? Has anything happened to Y/N?" Loki asked, and worry emerged from the depths of his heart.
"You need to come here. We cannot discuss the matter on the phone, it's a non-secure line."
"Look, I have a daughter to take care of. I cannot just leave her on her own and-"
"Bring her with you. Agent Hill will take care of her."
Loki let out a sigh; even though he didn't want to be far from his daughter for long, he needed to get the new information about Y/N as soon as possible. "All right, I'm on my way, sir."
The drive to the agency was one of the most stressful of his whole life. "It's about your wife," Fury had said, and this made Loki feel terrified. Please, just be all right, Y/N. Just be all right. I don't want to lose you--not you too. The suffocating feeling of agony remained as he walked into the headquarters, holding his daughter close into his embrace, and met agent Hill, who had been waiting for him. He passed Eira into her hands carefully and gave the little child a light kiss on the forehead before rushing into the elevator.
Loki realised that, now that he was not using his hands to either drive or hold his child, they were shaking. He gripped them into one another to make his tremble stop, his eyes wandering around as he stepped out of the elevator and towards Fury's office. He didn't knock--which was quite unlike him, for he had learnt that, on a planet where he unwillingly provoked the incredulity and fear of others, the least he could do to improve his position was to have good manners.
Nick Fury had been pacing the floor, and he turned around when the door opened. He stood still as Loki walked in, noticing that, even though the former Prince's movements were calm and reserved, his eyes were filled with worry.
"What's going on?" Loki asked, his hand still holding the doorknob.
"You might want to sit down," Fury suggested as he walked to his office and sat in his chair.
Loki looked at him, his eyes darkening as his mind screamed 'not a good sign' again and again, and finally took a seat opposite to the director.
"What's going on?" he repeated then, this time with a demanding voice that indicated he would allow no further procrastination.
"Agent Y/N was to meet us in one of our establishments," Fury began saying. "The building caught fire, and when the firefighters put out the fire, they found the burnt-out body of a woman. The DNA was destroyed by the fire, and her teeth had been removed, but body proportions match. Y/N had broken her left arm on a previous mission; the left arm of the body we found had a healed fractured bone. I'm sorry."
Loki had frozen. His eyes opened wide and his lips twitched painfully--his characteristics had altered with shock, which gave its place to pain, and then to anger. His glare locked on Fury, and he was shaking as tears began forming in his eyes.
"I told you," he hissed, his voice cracking with both hurt and rage. "I told you not to send her there. We have a child, Fury. I begged you; I knew it was dangerous--I told you NOT to DO this to us. But YOU didn't LISTEN. You SENT her to her DEATH! You ruined our FUCKING FAMILY!"
His whole body was trembling, and his eyes had filled with tears. The pain he felt was indescribable--it was maddening him, tearing his heart apart as though it was a piece of paper; crushing it to millions of pieces as though it was made of glass.
Nick Fury said nothing; he knew better than talking back to a person who had just got the news of a loved one's loss, especially when he was aware of their fragile mental health condition and their instability. Loki stood up and got out of the office, slamming the door. He strode along the hallway, walking in between agents and other S.H.I.E.L.D. employees.
He made it to the floor's balcony. His hands gripped the railing so tightly as he looked down. A fall from here could end it all. The pain. The desperation. The grief. He closed his eyes as he let out a sob.
"Oh goodness," he whispered as he opened his eyes and snapped his head back.
The sense of how high he was was sickening him. Do it. Just do it. What are you waiting for?
Then Eira's cry rang into his ears, making him freeze for a moment as he stared forward before realising it was just in his head. He couldn't leave her behind, could he?
"Our daughter needs you. What if you get hurt?"
"Then she'll still have you."
He remained standing there, sobbing his heart out until Maria Hill came to find him. She said she was sorry for his loss. Not as much as I am. She asked if there was any way she could help. Just promise me you'll find a home for my daughter and push me off the edge. He said out loud none of his thoughts. He just shook his head and followed Maria to the room Eira was being kept.
Seeing his small girl sleeping alleviated his pain a bit. He sighed as he dropped himself into the chair next to her and held her little hand.
"What are you going to do?" Maria asked, keeping her voice low in order to not wake up the sleeping child.
"I don't know."
×××
Present day
Loki meant what he said--he did not want to rely on others. He had to find a job, something to fit his personality, not just being a server or a store assistant. He wanted a position that would provide him with the ability to help people. His past actions had resulted in so many deaths, and he just needed to pay for those lives by saving others for the rest of his days. Being an Avenger offered him this ability, but not anymore.
The medical training he had received in Asgard offered him the ability to apply for positions in the EMS and, after an effort of about five months, he was hired as an ambulance driver by a hospital in Manhattan. When he was told he got the job, he simply couldn't believe in his ears; at last, he had a permanent position that offered him enough money to support both himself and his little girl.
Of course, working as an ambulance driver was not always easy. His shift was 8 hours long, and it was not a job for everyone; it could be quite stressful, but Loki loved it because of the alleviation that saving people offered to his heartache.
~-~-~
On Eira's first birthday, Loki had a revelation: Y/N never learnt their daughter's name; she wasn't there when Loki chose it for her. How could he have not realised this sooner? He used to mock Thor for being slow, but in those last few months, he had started to think that maybe he was the slow one.
Whatever the case, that fact seemed to bother him a lot, making him feel the need to tell her, somehow. So here he was, having finished work and having taken a detour on his way home to go to the graveyard...
He hadn't visited the grave since the funeral. Maybe it sounded bad, but the reason behind this was that, in his mind, if he didn't see the grave, maybe all this wasn't real, and they were both going to be okay. But everyone said he had to come to terms with reality, and the realisation she didn't know their daughter's name up to the day she died was one more reason he had to overcome his fears.
He approached the grave with slow, heavy steps, his heart beating painfully against his ribcage. As he read the name on the tombstone, he suddenly felt the need to sit down because his legs couldn't carry him anymore. He squatted onto the ground, his fingers touching the grass as his shoulders dropped. She couldn't listen to him--he knew it--but it was as if she could, and the tightness in Loki's chest was becoming more and more intense. What was he supposed to say?
"Hey," he finally murmured, his voice sounding hoarse, and only then did he realise tears had already started to well up in his eyes. "I'd ask how are you, but you're dead, so..." His voice faded. He hadn't used the word 'dead' in months, as if he was scared of it. A painful, bitter laugh escaped his lips--an unconscious effort to handle and hide his pain from who knows whom (probably from himself). Then he sighed. "I named our daughter Eira. It means 'snow' in... I think it's Welsh--I'm not sure... And it's also how acquaintances used to call a friend of my mother, Eir of Vanaheim, who was the goddess of healing... It was a perfect choice, you know. If there's one thing Eira--our daughter--can help me with is to make my heart heal faster. So... she's a little goddess of healing too." He smiled so sweetly, yet so faintly, at the thought of his little girl. Then the smile faded. He hadn't come to Y/N's grave for so long; she deserved an apology and an explanation. "I'm sorry I haven't visited you all this time. I just... couldn't come to terms with your-... with you not being here anymore." His voice was breaking. "I still haven't, to be honest, but... I thought that maybe coming would help. I don't know if it does." He bowed his head and took a shaky breath as more and more tears kept running down his cheeks. "People tell me to leave the past behind, but... you tend to forget what you leave behind, and I don't want to forget you..." His voice was now breaking with every syllable, filled with raw pain. "I don't want to forget you. I love you so much, and... You saved my life back when we met. I was a mess before you, and I'm a mess without you." He took one more shaky breath. "You also gave me the most beautiful and priceless thing I have; our daughter Eira. So... I don't want to leave you behind; I don't want to forget you. They told me to try to go to therapy--I'll do that. I found a therapist, and I... I have programmed a session with her tomorrow--or was it in two days? I have to check my notes. Anyway, yeah. I'll see how it goes." He sighed again, then sniffed and rubbed his nose. "Yeah... I need to go now. I love you so much... Have I told you this enough times?" He paused as though he expected a response, but obviously, there was none. "I feel like I haven't, but I think that even if I used to tell you every minute, I'd still feel it wasn't enough now." He supported himself in his hands to stand up, but his arms felt weak--and he realised he didn't want to leave her. A sob escaped from his lips. "You left so soon..." he cried silently. "I always knew you'd probably die before me, but not so soon... I wasn't ready to lose you. I wasn't ready..." He let out another sob, and his breath came out shaky as he tried to hold his tears back. He lifted his head, and his look darted at his surroundings before he looked back at the tombstone. "Anyway, I..." he mumbled, his voice sounding raspy, "I really have to go now. Eira is waiting for me at home." He finally managed to stand up. "Goodbye, for now..." He whispered. "I'll come back, I promise."
He left the graveyard the same way he came--with a heart full of love and pain. The first thing he heard when he arrived home--before he could even ring the bell--was the loud yell of the nanny he had hired to take care of Eira when he was at work.
"Eira, get down now! If your father sees you-" When Loki rang the bell, the nanny broke off abruptly. "Stay put, young lady!"
He heard steps, and then the door opened. "I heard you shout; what did Eira do?" he asked, and a small smile broke out on his face as he thought of how much of a mischievous scamp his daughter was sometimes.
"Thank goodness you came! She tries to climb onto the piano! I got her down several times, but she is so stubborn...!"
"Don't stress it, Libena," Loki said as he walked in and shut the door. "No one in this house plays the piano, anyway."
His heart swelled hurtfully at the thought that the piano was there because Y/N used to play, but he didn't let it make his pain show. He smiled when he heard Eira's voice cutting through the air, followed by small feet crawling across the floor quickly. She came at him full force and crashed into his legs. She wrapped her arms around his knees, almost making Loki lose his balance. Loki let out a tiny laugh.
"Daddy!" she said, her childish voice offering some alleviation to his broken heart.
Loki bent down to her level and reached out his arms to pick her up.
"Now, how's my naughty little demonic snowflake doing?" he joked, cradling Eira in his embrace. The child laughed as Loki turned his face towards Libena. "Apart from the piano incident, did she behave?" he asked.
"Yes, she was a proper lady until she decided she is a monkey and the piano is a banana tree," the nanny responded. "I have cooked stew, by the way."
"Oh, thank you," Loki said. "Tomorrow's your payment day, right? Because I didn't go to the bank today, and I don't have the money in my hands."
"Tomorrow it is, yes."
"Okay. Don't let me detain you, Libena. You can go now. Have a nice evening."
"You too."
The nanny walked past Loki, opened the door, and exited the house. As soon as he was alone with his daughter, the God of Mischief let out a sigh. Still holding her in his arms, he walked to the living room where the piano was. He stared at the instrument for a few seconds and then made his way to the bench.
"Now, what excites you so much about the piano?" he asked Eira as he sat down and placed her on his lap. The little girl tapped a key with her finger and laughed when it produced a high-pitch sound. Then her finger tapped one of the heavy keys, and she giggled again. "Oh, so you like the sound?" Loki asked with a smile. Then he looked at the instrument again and let out a sigh.
His fingers floated above the keyboard. He didn't play the piano, and he could certainly not synchronise his hands, but he knew which key was which note and could produce a simple melody with one hand. His right hand finally made contact, and he tapped a few keys, playing the oversimplified melody of a song he knew too well. Then he stopped, and when he played again, the sound of the piano was followed by his low melodic whisper.
My love, my dear,
I'll never let you go.
My love, my dear,
I need your love.
My love, my dear,
Even if I'm far away,
My heart will be right here
With you, with you,
Always with you.
He stopped playing again and stared at the piano with a hollow look in his eyes. It was the song Y/N had composed, and they had written the lyrics together. He remembered when she had told him: "I composed a little something for us. It's nothing great, but-"
"I'm sure it's beautiful," he had cut her off as he sat beside her on the bench and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Come on, I wanna hear it."
She had smiled sweetly. "Okay then." And then she had played the song, and Loki's heart had filled with even more love and pride for his wife.
"I love it," he had said when she finished as he leaned and planted a kiss on her neck.
"I mean, it's not Mozart-"
"Yes, it's not. It's you, and I love it even more because of this."
She had laughed. "I'm glad you like it."
"You think we could write some lyrics?" he'd asked.
"Sure."
Then they had kissed, and Loki's hand had shot out to touch her three-month-pregnant belly...
"Daddy?" Eira's voice snapped him back to the present reality.
He shook his head and moved his hands away from the piano. He blinked, defying the tears that brewed and boiled in his eyes. "Come on, snowflake," he said, lifting her as he stood up and walked away from the piano.
~-~-~
Loki's first therapy session was... interesting. The therapist's name was Meredith Lennon and apparently, she was, according to the reviews on the internet, one of the best in her field. He was five minutes late, and she thankfully didn't seem to bother.
"Doctor Lennon-" he started when he finally sat down at the chair opposite to her desk, but she cut him off.
"Just call me Meredith."
"So what, we're friends now?"
"If that makes you feel more comfortable."
Loki raised his eyebrows. "It doesn't."
They proceeded to have a serious conversation. Meredith asked him some questions he expected a therapist to ask... and also some questions he expected no one to ever ask him. The discussion was long, and he did find himself on the verge of tears a considerable number of times.
"You must try to move on--do you realise this?" Meredith said at some point.
"Yes, I know. That's what I'm doing--that's why I'm here."
"No. No, you're not trying. You are scared to move on. You think that if you stop feeling pain and get on with your life, it will be like you forget Y/N. You think that, by moving on, you're gonna betray her."
A bitter laugh that almost sounded like a scoff escaped Loki's lips. "That doesn't make sense."
"Oh, I agree. But it's how you think."
Loki rolled his eyes. "This is absurd."
"It is."
He shook his head, and after a moment, he stood up from his seat. "I'm losing my time here," he growled, heading to the door.
"Time you'd alternatively spend on doing what exactly?" Meredith asked the moment Loki touched the door handle. He turned rigid. "Crying for your dead wife? Drinking?"
Loki tightened his fists, and the next second a telekinetic wave pushed the vase off the therapist's desk, causing it to fall into the floor and shatter into small, sharp pieces. He closed his eyes and leaned against the door, letting out a sigh as he hung his head low. He felt weak--so weak that his legs began shaking.
"Could you name the five stages of grief?" Meredith asked, shooting only a single glance at the broken vase.
Loki slowly opened his eyes. "Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance," he muttered then, not daring to look at the woman.
"Which one are you experiencing now?"
The God of Mischief stared forwards blankly, and his hands started trembling. And then, with a voice that was breaking at every syllable, he said, "All of them." Tears began forming into his eyes--tears that he knew it was useless to try to stop or hide.
"Okay, explain that to me."
Loki released a heavy breath as he returned to his seat and almost collapsed into it. "Sounds dumb, doesn't it?" he said then. "Saying that I'm experiencing both denial and acceptance. But, somehow, it happens. Like, my mind knows Y/N is gone, but my heart can't take it."
"Loki, I understand that all this is painful for you. Loss is always painful, and obviously, one could never stop loving and missing whom one lost. What I see here, though, is an unhealthy emotional dependence on someone. A partner must be a luxury, not a necessity. If you are so needy of your significant other, there is something wrong. It's not romantic to need someone this much--it's problematic."
Loki stood up again, and this time he started pacing the floor. "Of course," he said, tears still streaming down his cheeks. "Everything about me is problematic anyway--why wouldn't that be?"
"What I see now is someone who is so insecure about himself that he desperately needs someone to tell him he's wrong," Meredith said.
"Maybe that's how it is--I don't know anymore."
"We need to work on your self-perception."
"I suppose so."
Meredith stood up. "But not today. It's been a long day, and I think I tortured you long enough."
Loki let out a small laugh through his tears as he wiped them away. "I agree," he said then. "I'm sorry for the vase."
"Oh, I didn't like it, anyway. I only kept it because it was a gift."
After he left Meredith's office, and for hours and hours later, Loki couldn't get her words out of his head. "You are scared to move on." "An unhealthy emotional dependence on someone." It sounded sick. But his love for Y/N wasn't sick, was it? He loved her so much... and love is never wrong, right? It's the obsession that comes with it, not your love itself. But was it an obsession?
"You think I'm obsessed?" he asked Thor the following evening when the latter came to visit him.
"What do you mean?" his brother wondered, furrowing his eyebrows as he took a sip from the glass of water Loki had offered him earlier.
"Doctor Lennon said I have an unhealthy emotional dependence on Y/N. She said it's because of my lack of self-assurance."
He started picking at his wedding ring--which he still wore. Thor remained silent for a few seconds, trying to find the right words.
"I couldn't know that," he finally said.
"But you could assume from what you see."
"I see you are in constant pain."
"But it hasn't even been a year since she-"
"I know," Thor cut him off. "And I get the fact that you hurt. But, brother, you barely function. Your eyes are red from crying almost every time I see you, you've lost weight, you obviously sleep poorly, you don't take care of yourself anymore... Maybe if you just tried to have a relationship, you could find the strength to move on-"
"I'm grieving!" Loki snapped with a loud voice, something he immediately regretted because Eira was sleeping in the next room. "It hasn't even been a year..." he whispered then, lowering his head.
Tears welled up again. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but the pain made him weak. Before he could even try to hold himself down, he was crying, his shoulders shaking with every sob as he brought his hands in front of his face.
After a couple of moments of hesitation, Thor dragged his chair next to Loki's and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "Brother... It's all right; it's all right..."
"No, it's not all right. It's not... I can't do this anymore..." Loki said through his tears, and he almost couldn't recognise his voice.
It took a lot of patience and time for Thor to finally calm him down--always did. When he left and Loki went to bed, though, sleep wouldn't come--it never came easily. Thoughts kept tormenting him, and even when he managed to drift off, nightmares haunted him.
~-~-~
Time passed, and it now had been two years since Y/N left and never came back, yet Loki's pain didn't seem to lessen, even though he could put on a mask of happiness in front of other people so that he didn't seem as lost as he truly was. In general, work was going fine, and even though his co-workers could see he was quite gloomy, they couldn't see through his mask.
Then one of his co-workers left the job, and another one took his place.
"Hello, I'm Marcella Eckhart, the new paramedic."
Loki was quite startled when the cheerful dark-skinned woman sat beside him and introduced herself. He needed a couple of seconds to notice her reached-out hand. He smiled dimly, clasped it in his and gave a brief, firm, up-and-down shake, looking into her auburn eyes.
"Loki Odins-"
"The Avenger?" she asked in awe before he could even say his full name.
He resisted the urge to say he expected her to call him a war criminal instead. "Former Avenger, yes. I left due to personal issues."
"Oh, I see," she said as she let go of his hand. Her look dropped on his wedding ring. "I see you're married. Any kids?"
Loki's heart swelled painfully, yet he didn't let the pain show. "Yes, a daughter. She turned two years old last month."
"Lucky you," Marcella said, propping her chin in her palm. "I always wanted kids, but I'm infertile, and adoption is a costly and time-consuming procedure."
"Sorry to hear that."
"Nah, it's okay. Who knows, maybe one day I'll have the chance to adopt. Or maybe I'd just happen to get married to a widower with children or something like that. Or maybe I'll change my mind; not every woman needs to be a mommy, after all."
~-~-~
The only people who didn't seem to get fooled by Loki's mask of happiness were Meredith and Thor.
"Do you realise your mental condition has an impact on your daughter?" the therapist asked him during a session, and Loki didn't seem to have a response. "All this negativity that emanates from you is affecting her. Maybe it would be better for her if she stayed with a relative for some time since the first years of a person's life are incredibly crucial."
Loki looked at her, and his underlip twitched with sudden pain. "But I... She's everything to me..."
"You love her, I know. But that's why you have to think of her future."
Those words kept torturing him days after the session, so at some point, he had to talk to his brother about it.
"Meredith Lennon says it might be better if Eira stays with someone else for a while," he said to his brother when Thor came after having received Loki's call. "She says that the negativity that emanates from me is affecting her. And she's right. If Eira stays with me while I'm in this state, she'll end up being a sad kid, a sad teenager and, consequently, a sad person."
Thor shook his head. "And what are you going to do?"
"I don't know..." Loki mumbled, his back leaning against the counter as he looked away. "She's the only thing that keeps me going, but... It's gonna be for the best, right?" Thor said nothing. "You think you could take care of her for some time?" he asked then hesitantly, being aware that Thor already had a son, Chris, to take care of.
"I guess, yeah. I have to discuss it with Jane, but I don't think she'll disagree."
Loki smiled wanly. "Thank you. You outdo yourself for me."
"It's no bother, really. Little Chris will be glad to spend more time with his cousin, after all."
"I can ask for Libena to come and help Jane with the kids. It's the least I can do."
"It would be extremely helpful, not gonna lie."
So Eira went to live in Thor's house. And Loki was all alone--which was terrifying. His house felt so unwelcoming--it didn't feel like home anymore. He started working overtime purely because he didn't want to be by himself at his house. His nights were sleepless, endless. The house already felt somewhat empty without Y/N, and without Eira, it felt even emptier. He was used to opening the door and having her rushing into his arms, but now the only thing that rushed to his heart when he got into the house was loneliness. Endless, insufferable loneliness.
In the following months, he only got worse. He lost more weight and looked even more tired and despondent. He used to be able to hide his emotional condition from his co-workers, but after Eira was taken away from him, he deteriorated, and he was just too exhausted to try to seem okay.
"Hey, are you all right?"
Loki was in the men's toilets, so he didn't quite expect to hear a female voice. He snapped his head sideways, his hands still holding onto the sink's concrete, and his eyes met Marcella's.
"You've been crying," he heard Marcella say. "Another panic attack?"
"What are you doing here?"
"What's going on? The others worry about you. I do too."
"My life is my business and mine alone, Marcella. I have the right to want to keep my problems to myself," he said tiredly, letting go of the sink.
Marcella's look locked on his hand. "Where's your wedding ring?" she asked. "Is this why you're like this? Your wedding is falling apart?"
"No."
"Then what the hell is it?"
"My wife died two years ago," he said with an unnaturally calm voice. "My therapist thought it was high time for me to stop wearing the wedding ring because I need to move on. But, to answer your question, my daughter was taken away from me because I'm too much of a mess to be a good father, and now I can see the only reason I still hold on only once a week. Is this response enough?"
Without waiting for her to say anything, the God of Mischief walked past Marcella before she could respond, pushing her with his shoulder. He went back to the crew room, ignoring the glances of his co-workers, and sank into a chair with his elbows pressed against his knees and his hands holding his forehead. A few silent, lonely seconds passed, and then he sensed the presence of someone approaching and sitting beside him.
"I'm sorry," he heard Marcella say.
He let his hands drop. "It's okay. It's been a long time since then anyway--I am the one who should be sorry for not being able to move on and transmitting my misery to others."
"Don't say that. You're going through something I can guess is mental illness; you can't blame yourself for that. It's like blaming yourself for having cancer."
He looked away as the fingers of his one hand reached for his wedding ring, only for him to be reminded that it wasn't there. The smallest and faintest smile formed on his lips.
"No one has ever told me that," he said then. "Thank you."
"I'm just saying the truth, really," Marcella responded. "And, by the way, since you feel so lonely, maybe you could use a friend."
Loki's smile got just a bit wider, and he was about to respond when another co-worker came to inform them they had another emergency. When he heard about the situation of the place they were going, though, he felt his blood freeze. A house on fire. Suppressing another panic attack and trying to stop the flashbacks of Y/N's carbonised body, he got in the ambulance and quickly drove away.
He managed to remain somewhat calm while they were at the scene and when they drove back to the hospital. All the others were rushing around, carrying the patients and, well, doing their job, but for Loki, time seemed to have stopped. He realised as he sat behind the large vehicle's wheel that he couldn't keep it together anymore. And this time, he had no strength to suppress the panic attack that hit him hard.
"Loki-... Oh my goodness, are you okay?" he heard Marcella's voice, and the next moment she was sitting beside him in the ambulance's passenger seat. She seemed to hesitate for a second, but then she took his hand in hers and leaned a bit closer. "Hey, shh... I'm here now, okay? Just tell me what's wrong. Don't keep it inside."
Loki ran his hand through his hair as he pushed his head back against the headrest. "She died on a fire," he said then with a shaky voice. "An arson. Her body was carbonised. She was so unrecognisable, so... so destroyed that they couldn't even tell for sure whether she was burnt alive or she was already dead when the fire was set." He let go of Marcella's hand and took hold of the steering wheel. "The love of my life was turned to ashes, and I never learnt by whom or why."
Marcella reached out her hand again, but this time to cup his cheek. Surprise was clear on his characteristics as his eyes met hers. "You don't have to go through all this pain alone, Loki," she said.
And then she leaned across the space between them and crushed their lips into a kiss. Loki froze. He wanted to push her back. He wanted to ask her, "What the hell are you doing?" Yet he was paralysed; and when she pulled away, no voice seemed to come out of his lips. He was only sitting there, shaking. And then he did the last thing he would do if he could think straight: he pulled her into a hug and shed tears on her shoulder. She was right; he just felt so alone...
~-~-~
Loki didn't know why he agreed to this. He knew that when Marcella kissed him, she did so partly because she wanted to comfort him and partly because she misunderstood his intentions. He should have told her that very moment that, to him, she would always be a dear friend--nothing less, nothing more. But he didn't. "Maybe if you just tried to have a relationship, you could find the strength to move on." So maybe that was what he was trying to do, and probably that was his mind-set when she asked him whether he'd like her to come over for the night, and he accepted. Or maybe he just didn't want to be alone.
Whatever the case, Loki knew this kiss meant something to Marcella, and he hoped he could make it mean something to himself as well. When she came, they lay on the sofa (Marcella snuggled into his embrace, and he let her because this was what he was supposed to do, right?) and watched a rom-com. And when it finished, Marcella practically dragged him to the bedroom.
Now lying into the bed, looking into those eyes that were so different from Y/N's, Loki felt he had to make a move too--couldn't just be apathetic and let Marcella try on her own. He leaned over and kissed her softly, his mind screaming apologies to his long-gone wife. He felt Marcella's hand running down his side and then reaching for the zipper of his pants. He gripped her wrist before she could do anything.
"Marcella," he said in a low voice, his face so close to her that the tips of their noses touched. "I'm tired."
He loosened his grip on her wrist, allowing her to free her hand. She cupped his cheek and smiled.
"It's okay. I'm sorry. Goodnight," she said, and her arms wrapped around him in a protective embrace, which wasn't Y/N's embrace, but at least reminded Loki that he was not alone.
In contrast to Marcella, who quickly fell into a peaceful slumber in his arms, he couldn't sleep, no matter how much he tried. The thought of Y/N just couldn't leave his head.
After some more minutes of lying awake, he carefully got out of Marcella's hug and got off the bed. He went to the living room, approached the fireplace, and stared at the framed pictures that were decorated on the mantle. His hand shot out to pick the one of his marriage with Y/N. His fingers ran down the glass at the spot where her arm was pictured as if he was trying to caress her skin.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Everyone just keeps telling me I should move on, and maybe that's the way..." His eyes were already tearing up. "This doesn't make my love for you any less real or powerful, okay?" His voice was breaking now. "I wanted you to know that. I'm just trying to get better for our little girl's sake. I'll never stop loving you. I could never. And I'll never stop missing you."
He was crying as he brought the frame close to his chest and held it tight as if he was trying to give himself the impression he was hugging her. Then he looked at the face in the image one more time before he placed it back on the mantle, wiped his tears away, and returned to his chamber.
~-~-~
The next few days, Loki was hesitant about proceeding further with Marcella. Every kiss they shared, every touch of her fingertips on his body, filled him with immense guilt. I'm sorry, Y/N, he kept thinking, again and again. I'm sorry for doing this. I need to get better, to move on. They tell me this is the way. I can't have our girl back if I don't get better. It was my last promise to you--that I'd take care of her if anything happened to you.
It was very late, or maybe the right way to put it was 'very early'. Whatever the case, it didn't change the fact that Loki couldn't sleep again. His arms were loosely wrapped around Marcella's naked body, and his chin rested on top of her head as she slept peacefully. However, he couldn't get rid of the sense of guilt that had taken over him; it was the first time he had had a sexual encounter with Marcella, but instead of the bliss and pleasure he was supposed to feel about it, Loki only felt like he had betrayed Y/N.
He attempted to sleep--he really did. He strived to think about other things, yet his mind went back to Y/N. Cheater, he thought to himself. You are a cheater, an infidel husband and a terrible person. He closed his eyes; the thoughts making his heart ache as his mind answered back to its own allegations. She's dead. Gone. It's not cheating--it's moving on. But no argument, no thought, could ease his pain. He closed his eyes as his lips quivered, and his hold around Marcella's waist became tighter.
He had tried so hard to not break down and cry, but he couldn't do it anymore. It started with a small, almost inaudible sob and a single tear rolling down his cheek, but he couldn't stop it once it began, and it only got louder and more apparent.
All his efforts at suppressing his sobs and making his shoulders stop shaking were unsuccessful. He felt Marcella's body shifting, and then he felt her hand on his cheek.
"Loki?" she whispered, her voice being half-sleepy and half-nervous. "Oh, goodness, darling, what's going on?" Loki didn't answer; he only pressed his face against the pillow, trying to drown his sobs. "Hey, shh... Come on; it's all right. It's all right. I'm here. Tell me what's wrong. Did you have a nightmare?"
Loki didn't dare to look up at her as tears kept streaming down his face, which had reddened from all the crying. "I need her back..." he lamented, the grief and guilt making him suffocate. He hated himself for saying this to Marcella, but he couldn't keep it inside anymore.
"She'll be back soon--you'll see!" Marcella hastened to say.
What was she even saying? Loki wasn't a child--she couldn't possibly be trying to fool him that way... He sniffled, trying to prevent his nose from running.
"No, she'll never be back... They took her away from me... But I need her--I can't live without her..." he cried, and shame took over him. Marcella didn't deserve this; she didn't deserve to be his human antidepressant.
"Loki, you'll soon get better, and you'll be able to take care of Eira again..."
Loki's heart lost a beat. She thought he was talking about his daughter... The loss this realisation brought him made him slowly stop sobbing. His eyes turned towards Marcella without actually looking at her.
"I can't get better," he whispered.
"Of course you can-"
"You can't fix a broken heart, just like you can't fix broken glass." His voice was coarse from all the crying, yet its tone was hollow, the kind of hollow that showed he had given up on himself.
"No," Marcella said with determination as she embraced him tight. "The heart is much stronger than glass. Your heart is much stronger."
He didn't speak--he only held onto her as if his life depended on it. And now that he had voiced his emotions, even though Marcella didn't understand whom they were about and the pain remained the same, his heart felt, indeed, stronger. Then and only then did he finally manage to drift off with tears still staining his face.
~-~-~
When Loki told Meredith he was in a new relationship, she seemed satisfied; when he told Thor, his brother seemed ecstatic.
"Eira should meet her!" he had said as he sat at Loki's table, holding a mug of coffee in his hand.
Loki had furrowed his eyebrows. "What? No, I don't think that would be a good idea. Not yet."
"Of course it's a good idea! This woman could become her stepmother."
"Her-...? Do you listen to what you're saying? I've been with Marcella for scarcely a month."
"Yes, but, who knows, maybe you-"
"It's too soon to speculate and to proceed to something as vital as introducing her to my daughter."
"You could tell her she's a friend," Thor suggested.
Loki shook his head. "I... I don't know. I'll see."
A few days later, he and Marcella were driving to Thor's house to have a prearranged meeting with him, his family and--of course--Eira. Loki was nervous about the whole situation. This was a bad idea. Was his daughter ready to see him with someone who was not her mother? You agreed to introduce her as a friend. Just see how they get along without letting her know it is significant.
"Loki, are you okay?" Marcella asked as Loki was looking for parking in the area near his brother's house.
"Yes, I'm fine --just nervous. You are going to meet my daughter, after all."
"Relax; everything is going to be okay," she comforted him as he finally found an empty spot for his car and drove towards it.
"I hope so," he said as he parked and pulled the handbrake. "I'm just freaking out at the thought she might not like you."
Marcella took hold of his hand, which was still on the handbrake. "Everything will be okay, I promise." She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss that he didn't return--mostly because he was thinking of Y/N again, but also because of his distress. "Come on."
They got out of the car and headed to the house. On their way there, Marcella took hold of his hand; he didn't squeeze it back, once again thinking of Y/N. You're not only trying to use Marcella as a replacement in your heart, you're also trying to use her as a mother replacement for Eira.
"Darling, you're sweating. Are you sure you're all right?" Marcella asked as Loki rang the bell. "If you're not feeling well, we could postpone the meeting."
"No, no, I'm fine," he hastened to say, but his voice sounded even more distressed, and his eyes seemed darker.
Jane, who opened the door, was the first one in the house to meet Marcella. They shared a brief embrace, and then she greeted Loki as they walked in. Thor came second. He welcomed them and shook Marcella's hand before leading them to the living room and then heading to the children's room to call Eira and Chris.
Chris was the first of the kids to come. He rushed to embrace his uncle and then shyly greeted Marcella, who smiled at him sweetly and playfully complimented his good manners, calling him a gentleman and making him blush so much that Loki borderline wondered whether his cheeks would take their normal colour ever again.
"Where's Eira?" he asked, looking at his brother as he took a seat on the couch.
"She's inside, drawing. She's been at it since I told her you're coming with a company." He turned his face towards Marcella. "I think she's preparing you a present."
The woman laughed softly, and everyone seemed blissful except for Loki. Then he heard his daughter's steps, and even though his panic rose, his eagerness to see her was stronger. A wide smile broke out on his lips when Eira got into the room, holding a piece of paper. When she saw Marcella, she smiled shyly as she approached her.
"Hello, Miss Eckhart," she said, and then she reached out her hand, offering the woman her drawing. "I made this for you."
"Just call me Marcella, sweetie." She looked at the drawing. "Oh, this is amazing! Loki, I think you have an artist in the family."
Loki laughed as he picked his daughter up and placed her on his lap. They all sat together and talked, Loki holding Eira until she decided she wanted to play with Chris, so she got off her father's lap. Later, they all sat around the table to have dinner, the television playing in the background on low volume as Thor and Jane served the meal.
"This is an Asgardian recipe that Thor showed me," Jane said as she placed a plate in front of Loki. "He says I got it right, but he might just be a nice husband, so, Loki, I'd like to hear your opinion."
Loki smiled and waited for everyone to sit down before tasting the food. "Oh goodness, this is delicious," he said. "Almost feels like I'm back at our homeland again."
They continued to talk while eating until, at some point, the funky advertisements stopped playing on the television, and a breaking news report took their place. Everyone's attention--and especially the adults'--was drawn to it; Jane turned up the volume.
It was about a fire in California that threatened to burn inhabited locations. Loki froze the moment he saw the footage of the burning tracts of land, and all the colours drained from his face. Fire. His stomach turned to knots, and he swallowed hard, feeling cold and sick.
"Loki?" he heard a voice, yet it sounded distant--he couldn't even distinguish who had spoken.
His lips parted in an attempt to respond, but no sound came out of his mouth. His expanded eyes didn't leave the television screen until Thor stood up and turned it off.
"Loki, are you all right?" he asked then.
No matter how hard he tried, Loki couldn't reply. His chin quivered, and he realised he was having a panic attack when he felt his pulse rocket into the stratosphere. Still being in a fuss, he stood up and rushed to the bathroom.
When he shut the door, he dragged himself across the room, and his weakened knees collapsed as he vomited into the toilet, emptying his stomach. His eyes teared up, and his nose was burning.
After a few seconds, Loki finally finished, not because he felt any better, but because there was nothing left to throw up. He sat down on the floor and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He coughed, the psychosomatic reaction making him feel even sicker, yet none of it was physical. A few seconds later, he stood up, flushed the toilet and supported himself on the concrete around the sink.
He gazed at his reflection in the mirror; his face, which looked somewhat happy after a long time just a few minutes ago, now seemed despondent and worn-out. He was just a shadow, the pieces of who he used to be. He washed his hands and then splashed some water on his face.
When he got out of the bathroom, Marcella was standing in front of the door as if she was about to knock. "Hey, how are you feeling?" she asked.
Loki averted his gaze. "I want to go home..." he mumbled. Marcella put a hand on his upper arm as they started walking towards the kitchen slowly. "I'm sorry for ruining your evening."
"It's okay, Loki. Don't blame yourself for your trauma," she comforted him.
When they entered the kitchen, a concerned Eira bolted from her seat and rushed at him, wrapping her arms around his long legs.
"Daddy, are you okay?" she asked.
Loki's lips formed a sad smile as he bent over and picked her up. "I'm fine, snowflake, just a bit sensitive," he answered, his voice cracking. Eira's little arms looped around his neck, and he closed his eyes as he tried to hold back new tears. "I-I think it's time for me to go now," he said then, planting a kiss on his daughter's cheek before he placed her back on the floor.
"Are you sure?" his brother asked with concern.
"Yeah. Some sleep will help me out," Loki replied. "Thank you for the food--it was lovely. And I'm sorry I ruined the evening."
"It's all right; go get some rest," Jane said and smiled sympathetically.
Loki sat on his heels so that Eira's face was slightly above his own. "I love you, snowflake," he murmured and kissed his daughter on the forehead before bidding goodbye to the others and leaving, Marcella's fingers entwined with his own.
Since the God of Mischief was too worn-out, Marcella was the one who drove them back at his house. He got in, and he was about to bid her goodbye, but she stepped in and closed the door.
"Will you stay?" he asked.
"Of course. I'm not leaving you alone after what happened."
Loki smiled wanly, yet it was fake, and it didn't reach his sad eyes. "Thanks. I appreciate that."
They got to bed and, even though Marcella slept in under ten minutes, Loki struggled again. Of course he would struggle with sleep because sleep requires peace, and he was anything but peaceful for years. He looked at Marcella, who was lying asleep in his embrace. The fact that he constantly thought of Y/N, yet he always held Marcella when they slept together, seemed ironic to him... But it was all because Loki felt so lonely, and he just tried to make it all hurt less.
He kissed her shoulder softly, and Marcella hummed in her sleep. She didn't deserve all this; she was kind-hearted and affectionate, yet Loki couldn't bring himself to feel any romantic emotions for her. He cared for her; he wanted her to be all right--to be safe and happy--but... not like this. And, even though asking "why?" when it comes to love is pointless, if there was one reason Loki couldn't love Marcella romantically, it was that she was not Y/N.
Then why don't you just end this relationship? The truth was that, even though he kept asking himself that question, again and again, Loki already knew the answer. I'm afraid of being alone. Suddenly, he felt terrible for being so fake with Marcella, and he unwrapped his arms from around her waist. He lay on his back for some minutes, trying to clear his mind, but to no avail. He got out of bed with a huff and then left the bedroom. His bare feet made an almost inaudible sound as they stepped along the cold floor and led him to the living room. He flicked the switch, and light immediately illuminated the entire room, but Loki only had eyes for one thing. He walked to the fireplace without thinking, as though his body was on autopilot, and took the framed image from the day of his wedding with Y/N from the mantle. He stared at it with a hollow expression on his face, and then his lips quivered as they parted.
"I'm so sorry," he finally said, his voice sounding hoarse. "I still love you so much... and I miss you. I miss seeing you, holding you; I miss the sound of your voice, your silly jokes and your laugh... Everything." He blinked away the tears and gave a sad smile. "Marcella is... I do care about her, but I don't--I can't--love her the way I love you. I'm sorry for doing this to her, to you, to myself... But I don't know what else to do. I just need all this pain to go away."
And then he cried. Holding onto the mantle with one hand for his knees had got too weak to support his weight all by themselves, and clutching the framed picture tightly against his chest with the other, he let out all the silent sobs he had been holding back and all the tears he hadn't allowed to roll down his cheeks. And when he had no more tears to shed, he shot a glance over his shoulder as though he felt embarrassed for his breakdown and wanted to make sure no one had seen him like this. He placed the image back onto the mantle and wiped away his tears, not taking his eyes off the spot where Y/N's face was pictured.
"Goodnight," he breathed and then returned to his bed with slow, shuffling steps.
~-~-~
The following day, Marcella was silent, both in the morning and at work. She didn't talk much to Loki, making him wonder whether there was something he had done to disappoint her. When his shift was over, he went home, and he was about to call her when he heard the doorbell ringing; it was her.
"We need to talk," she said as she walked in. She looked somewhat preoccupied and... angry...?
"Sure, but... What's going on?" Loki asked as he shut the door and looked at her.
Marcella took a deep breath as she stood before him with her hands in front of her abdomen. "I want to break up with you."
Loki remained completely motionless for a few seconds, with a blank expression on his face. Then he gulped and started picking at his hands.
"Any particular reason?" he asked then, and his voice sounded calm--too calm, emotionless.
Marcella shook her head. "Yeah. You got out of bed last night. I wasn't sleeping, but I suppose you believed I was. In the beginning, I thought you went to the toilet or to drink some water, but then I heard you talking, so I stood up and followed the sound, and you... You were talking to a picture, Loki. Apologising. Apologising to the picture of a dead person for being with me. Do you have any idea how it felt hearing that?"
"Marcella..."
"No, don't. I care about you, Loki, but I can't do this anymore. All this bitterness in your heart is sickening me. It makes everything just... just so sad. I tried to help you--I truly did, but you are so stuck in the past; just a sad guy who can't get over his wife's death. And I can't take it anymore."
Loki didn't respond. He shook his head and closed his eyes, wrapping his hands around himself as if he was cold. Then he turned his face towards her and looked into her eyes.
"Are you not gonna say anything? Won't you try to defend yourself?" Marcella asked.
"No," Loki replied, "because you're right. Being with me is unendurable. I'm a breathing mess, almost a living dead. You deserve better, for I am just a sad guy who can't get over his wife's death."
Marcella sighed. "Oh, goodness."
Loki took a few steps towards her and put a hand on her shoulder. When she looked up at him, her eyes revealed she was surprised he did that.
"I don't want you to think I don't care about you," he said. "I do. I really do. But what I did to you is awful; I should have told you I see you as a friend from the beginning. You deserve so much more than being my antidepressant."
Marcella shook her head. "It's okay," she said then.
Loki wanted to tell her it wasn't, but he didn't seem to find the strength to do so. Instead, he took a deep breath and then shot a glance away before looking back at her.
"I hope you follow your dreams, Marcella." He stuck out his hand. "Friends?" he asked, his lips forming a sad smile.
"Friends," she replied, taking his hand and shaking it, and then pulled him into an embrace. "We all make mistakes when we're in pain, and you're going through so much of it..."
"I'm sorry for everything," he whispered, his arms tightening around her as though his life depended on that hug.
"It's okay."
"It's not..."
"It is what it is."
When Loki pulled away from the embrace, his eyes were teary again. He brushed the tears away and let out a broken, painful chuckle. "Damn, I've been crying my eyes out these days," he rasped then.
Marcella glanced away and linked her fingers together. "I need to go now," she said then. "Will you be all right?"
"Sure, yeah, don't let me detain you any longer," Loki hastened to say.
The woman walked to the door. "Just in case you haven't figured it out already," she said as she opened it, "if you ever need anything, I'll be right here."
"Thank you," he responded.
When he remained alone, Loki put on some more comfortable clothes, went to the living room, dragged an armchair near the window and curled himself in it. He cried more as he stared outside, not because of the breakup itself, but for the fact that he was, once again, alone.
He had the urge to laugh when it started raining; such a cliché... Didn't the whole 'I-cry-and-the-sky-cries-with-me' thing only happen in stupid romance movies? Charlie Chaplin had once said, "I always like to walk in the rain so no one can see me crying." Which was, too, a cliché, but Loki didn't give a damn.
The rain had become heavier when he put on a coat over his casual clothes and went out for a stroll. Water poured down on him, soaking him to the bone, making his hair stick on his face, mingling with his salty tears. He walked for quite a long time without a destination, praying for the rain to wash away his misery. Such a cliché, he thought again--hiding his tears among raindrops.
At some point, he stopped walking and turned his face towards the dark sky. His eyelids shut slowly as the cold raindrops hit his face. For some moments, he lost the sense of where he was and just focused on the sound of the rain. But, soon enough, he came back to his senses and became aware of his running nose and his emotional and physical exhaustion and, with a long sigh, he spun himself around and headed back to his house.
~-~-~
The following morning found Loki burning with fever. Probably all that crying, combined with his walk in the rain last night, had weakened his immune system. He called in sick to work, and when he told Thor, his brother insisted on sending over a doctor to examine him.
"Thor, it's just a cold; I walked in the rain last night--I'll be fine," he had said, rolling his eyes at his brother's exaggerative attitude.
"I'm not listening to any of this--I'm sending over a doctor," Thor had responded, and Loki didn't argue, both because he knew there was no point in doing so and because his head hurt.
As expected, the doctor told him he had nothing to worry about, that he should drink lots of water and rest, and that the fever would probably subside by the end of the day. He also advised him against going to work the following day even if he was better to give himself time to rest up and regain his strength, which was anything but pleasing for Loki to hear because two days of being all alone in his house sounded terrifying.
He spent the entire day watching Netflix with an adequate supply of water and eating nothing but apples (because, for some reason, he had no appetite for anything else). In the evening, the fever started to recede, and when Thor came at around 8 p.m., his temperature was back to normal.
"You didn't need to come, you know," Loki said as he watched his brother cook dinner. "I'm better now--I can manage."
"Now, don't tell me you don't need the company."
Loki's response was a loud huff. "I broke up, by the way," he murmured then, running his hand down his face.
"What?" Thor asked in confusion. "Why? Was it related to your breakdown in my house two days ago?"
Loki sighed. "Not exactly." When his brother remained silent, he continued. "It's just... You know I haven't moved on, and Marcella couldn't take it anymore. And, you know what? I get it; I'm tired of myself as well--why wouldn't she?"
"Did you fight?"
"No, thankfully, it was amicable. She even told me she will be there if I ever need anything, so I guess it was an okay breakup."
"How are you holding up?" Thor asked with concern.
"I cried a lot yesterday, to be honest--I think I haven't cried this much since I got the news about Y/N."
Thor pressed his lips together in response. After a few seconds of thinking of his next words, he said, "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"
Loki's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, I'll be just fine."
The truth was that, even though the sadness and pain Loki felt the previous night were still there, they were not so raw anymore. Now all that was left was empty unhappiness, one he couldn't lay a finger on, one he could do nothing to shove away--cry, scream, anything; it was just there, tearing him apart slowly. His gaze followed Thor's movements as the latter laid the table; his brother could bring him the best news, tell him the funniest story, show him the sweetest picture, and Loki was certain he wouldn't feel a thing.
As they ate, Thor tried multiple times to start a conversation, but seeing that his brother showed no interest in chit-chatting, he stopped. But obviously, one needs emotion to be interested in anything, and Loki's heart was hollow. Loki realised that even though he suffered on his own, now that he had company, he longed for some solitude. So stupid, wasn't it? Longing for something, and when you finally have it, not wanting it anymore, and then longing for it again when you lose it.
The only explanation of how he managed to drift off so quickly that night was his excessive tiredness. The fact that he fell asleep, however, did not mean that he was peaceful. Haunting images filled his dreams, making him wake up in fear and shock in the middle of the night, gasping for air as his torso bolted upright. Nightmares were not new to Loki, but this nightmare... This nightmare felt so different. He saw Y/N; she was in pain, suffering... Those men were around her, breaking her, making her suffer, making her beg them to kill her. And Loki tried to reach out to her, to help her, but then he realised he was not truly there; he was just an observer, his eyes seeing it all, his ears hearing everything, yet his voice was not heard, and his limbs couldn't move. He had awoken with a start, Y/N's scream echoing in his head. So real. It felt so real...
~-~-~
Loki was half-awake when his cell phone rang, startling the hell out of him, making him hit his head against the headboard as he bolted upright. "Oh, for heaven's sake," he growled as he rubbed the sore spot and took the phone from the nightstand. "Hey, brother."
"Good morning," his brother responded. "I just called to make sure you're all right."
"Yeah, I'm fine. Have you gone to the Compound?"
"Not yet, no. Did you just wake up? You sound sleepy."
"Yeah. Is Eira awake?" Loki asked.
"Yes, she's been awake for about an hour, actually."
"Can I speak to her for a minute?"
"Sure. Hang on."
Loki waited as he heard indistinctive voices through the phone, and some seconds later, a childish voice spoke to him. "Hi, daddy."
Loki's heart filled with a sense of warmth when he heard Eira talking. "Hello, snowflake. How are you doing?"
"I'm great! Chris and I are drawing."
Loki smiled softly. "Will you let me see the drawing when it's done?" he asked then.
"Sure," the girl replied. "Uncle Thor told me you're sick."
"Oh, yes, right," Loki said. "Don't worry about that, snowflake; I'm getting better."
"When will I come back home?" Eira asked, and the sadness in her voice was enough to crack Loki's heart right open. "I miss you, dad."
"Soon, Eira, soon..." he responded, his voice shaking with emotion. "I miss you too--so much--but we have to do this, okay? It's all for the best." He blinked to prevent the tears that had started forming in his eyes from rolling down his cheeks and took a deep breath. "All right, I shouldn't be wasting any more of your time. Go sit with Chris--he must be waiting for you."
"Okay. Bye, daddy."
"Bye, snowflake. I love you very much."
He hung up, and then he kicked the sheet away and got off the bed. If only he had his daughter there at least... He pushed the thoughts away as he prepared his morning coffee and then sat down at the table, staring at the wall blankly with the mug in his hand.
Sometimes when loneliness became too unbearable, Loki would put on music at full blast, the loud sound filling the emptiness of the house, making him forget--temporarily--that he was all by himself. He didn't have a strict taste in music. In fact, he listened to almost any music genre: from rock, indie pop and jazz to metal, country and classic; from Queen, Billie Eilish and Louis Armstrong to Iron Maiden, Hank Williams and Mozart.
That day was one of those times, so Loki found a nice playlist and put it on so loudly that it sounded clear everywhere in the house. He spent hours and hours sitting in random rooms, not doing anything in particular. Even though he was not sick now and he hadn't done any kind of physically or mentally exhausting task, he felt drained. So many songs played, yet only the saddest, most depressive lyrics seemed to stay in his mind.
He shut down the music when all that became too much, silence suddenly spreading in the house like smoke that was bound to suffocate him to death. What the heck was wrong with him again? Music was always one of the very few things that made him feel better, yet now it seemed to only make him feel worse. He stood right in front of Eira's bedroom, staring inside with his shoulder pressed against the doorframe. If only she were here--maybe all this would be easier. It's all for the best, he thought to himself, but it honestly didn't feel like it. How can taking a child from a father who loves and takes care of her be 'for the best'--especially when both of them miss each other?
He pushed himself off the doorframe and went to the bathroom. All this was unbearable--the emptiness. As he looked at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, he conjured a knife, and then his eyes turned to it and stared at the blade for a few seconds. He hadn't laid a blade on himself for centuries--had even managed to hold back the desire to hurt himself after Y/N's death... All for him to eventually give in.
He shakily rolled up his sleeve; no scars anymore--time had made him the favour to take them all away. Too sad he'd soon get a new one. His look was cold and hollow when he lifted the bladed weapon as if examining it--making sure it was sharp enough. He knew this was wrong, but honestly, he wanted to feel something apart from this numbness, this empty sorrow.
When the blade bit his skin open, he gritted his teeth but didn't take his blank stare off his bleeding arm. It hurt--and damn much so--but at least it was something. And it was something he had caused, a feeling he had control of--one that he had ownership of and hadn't been brought upon him by the cruelty of life. It wasn't coming from anyone but himself, and just for a moment, it felt good to have that little power.
Loki hissed when the pain intensified, causing him to place the dagger onto the edge of the sink before it could slip off his grip. He turned on the faucet and let the water wash over the fresh cut, watching it as it mingled with blood and turned red.
"Damn," he said under his breath, gritting his teeth so strongly that his jaws hurt, but obviously not more than his arm did. He felt ridiculous--minutes ago, he longed for this pain almost as dearly as he longed for his dead wife, but now he wished it all away. Not so in control of your feelings now, are you?
He grabbed a towel and pressed it against the cut to stop the bleeding. Damn, it hurt much more than he had expected. Letting out a shaky breath, he closed his eyes. All right, inhale, exhale--you've got this. He kept the towel on the spot until he was certain the haemorrhage had stopped and then carefully folded it and put it inside the laundry basket, doing his best to ignore the pain, hoping it would eventually disappear.
Loki was tired of this situation. He felt as if he had exhausted any emotional reserves he had trying to pursue all his options to end the suffering. Therapy didn't work; dating didn't work; nothing seemed to work out for him anymore. He had thought he had started moving on, but when he saw those images of fire in the news the other day at Thor's house, he realised he was still on zero. Still mourning and hurting as much as he did the day he learnt. Yes, the pain was the same--he knew because he remembered it all too clear; how he'd ran along the hallways like a madman, how he'd gripped the railing of the balcony and looked down, thinking of how easy it would be for him to fall and end everything that made him suffer.
His eyes darted to the bloody knife at the edge of the sink. Oh, how fragile life was... How easily it could be over... Then he looked over his shoulder at the bathtub. Like in movies... He could die there, sinking his body into warm water, staying warm till his last breath. And water would make it easier for Thor to clean up after he would be gone; he'd just pull the plug in the tub, and the water would flow down the drain and make any evidence of Loki's little crime disappear.
He stood there, staring, and then he took a deep breath and leaned over the tub, turning on the faucet. He put the plug in and waited as he gripped the handle of his dagger. I'm coming, Y/N.
...
So, this is part one. The others are coming soon.
If you liked it, vote and let me know in the comments.
Take care till the next time. ♥