GOLDEN WALLS AND BLUE SHEETS
OLIVIA WAKES IN AN UNFAMILIAR BED. It’s really soft, though; the second softest thing she’s ever laid on. The first, if she’s only counting real beds.
She sits up, examining the blue sheets and golden walls. It’s Asgard, for sure. Nobody else is that rich. But wasn’t she just sleeping under a bench?
Suddenly realizing that her stomach doesn’t hurt, she pulls up her shirt. Her bandages are gone and so is her wound, not even leaving behind a scar.
“Where did that come from?” Loki’s voice inquires softly, from across the room. She looks up at him as he steps out of an adjoined bathroom to sit on the edge of the bed. It would be a little strange if it weren’t for the ridiculous largeness of said bed.
“What?” she prompts, looking back down at her exposed stomach. She realizes he must mean the scar on the other side. “Oh. That.” She takes a moment to gather her thoughts, and Loki waits patiently for her to continue.
She sighs, and then pouts a little.
“This would be so much easier in our dreamspace,” she complains. He chuckles, leaning over to tap the side of her head.
The world seems to flip, and suddenly she’s on the couch of the dreamspace. She blinks twice, bewildered.
“How did you do that?” she wonders. He raises his eyebrows at her from his spot on the other end of the couch, amused.
“I put you to sleep,” he replies, as though it should be obvious. She makes a little ‘oh’ noise; it is actually kind of obvious.
“Well, come on,” she encourages him, standing up and walking over to her door. “Let’s go.”
He follows her through the door, into the memory of a hospital room. It’s freezing, sterile, and smells a little bit like disinfectant— just like most hospitals.
“I had been in a tricky spot,” she explains, gesturing to the younger version of herself on the hospital bed. “I was sent to take out a mole, but he was expecting it. I walked straight into an ambush.” He walks over to her bedside gingerly, a grimace on his face.
The younger Olivia looks incredibly worse for wear; a broken arm, her stomach wrapped in gauze and still bleeding, a nasty purple bruise above her right eye, and an ugly slash on the back of her left calf.
“The stomach one was because I got shot,” she admits. “I had to tell the hospital I got mugged.” He watches the younger Olivia stare at the room’s TV blankly. “My mom’s phone was dead, so they tried calling Bruce. Then she tried calling Bruce. A lot. No matter how many voicemails we left, he never called back. Never picked up.”
She sounds a little bitter about it still, and Loki can’t help but hate Bruce Banner with his entire body.
“Hey, I got three months off for it, though,” she informs him with a shrug. “Time off was kind of scarce back then, so honestly, I was a little glad.”
“You don’t look glad,” he states flatly, unamused. She chuckles a little, sighing.
“I was,” she assures him. “After I got out of the hospital.” He glowers a little at her injured past self. “You wanna wake back up now?”
He lingers for a half-second longer, and then turns, putting his hand on the side of her head.
The world flips, and she’s back in the bed, flopped backwards against the pillows. She pushes herself to sit up, and Loki moves around the bed to come closer.
Almost instinctively, Olivia pulls her knees in to make room for Loki to sit where her feet were. He leans over, hovering in front of her for a second.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” she inquires, raising her eyebrows at him. He rolls his eyes, standing.
“I am going to get you some breakfast,” he decides, thoroughly done with her shit for the morning. “Will you survive until I get back?”
“I’ll manage,” she agrees. She winks at him with a cheeky grin. “Somehow.”
***
“So,” Olivia blinks, “let me get this straight. You put your father under a spell and took his place, and everyone thinks you’re dead?” He nods from his place sitting on the end of her bed, watching her carefully.
She thinks about it for a second, putting it together in her head.
“Where’d you put him?” she wonders. He leans his back against one of the bedposts, shifting his legs.
“Someplace safe,” he replies. “I’m going to leave him on Midgard; I was hoping you would know a place.” She sighs, considering it.
“Uh, he probably wouldn’t stick out in a retirement home. Should still keep him nearby where I can keep an eye on things, though,” she reasons. After a moment of thought, she shrugs. “When I get back, I’ll look at reviews for some retirement homes in NYC and get back to you.”
He accepts that, though he sighs with a measure of disappointment.
“The healers said you should be fine, but they asked that you spend the rest of the day in bed anyway,” he explains. “As a precaution.” His lips quirk up into an amused smile. “Do try not to go stir-crazy.”
“I’ll do my best, but only if you play cards with me,” she challenges, sticking her hand out in offer of a handshake. He glances between her hand and her face warily, but reaches out to take it.
Instead of shaking her hand as expected, he pulls her forward, towards him. A mischievous smirk forms on his face.
“Are you certain there’s nothing else you’d rather do?” he challenges, quirking his brows up at her. She grins, leaning towards him a little, but puts her finger between their mouths before he can even try to kiss her.
“I’m certain,” she whispers, laughing at the comedic blank look on his face. It drops into slight disappointment as she leans back into her previous sitting position.
“Fine,” he sighs, “but we’re playing with Asgardian cards; your card games make no sense.” She groans, pouting.
“Fiiiine,” she relents, earning a smug smile from her soulmate. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
His smirk only grows.