Chapter 6
Three nights later, and Loki still hadn’t been able to get any sleep. Tonight’s . . . episode proved to be particularly frustrating.
His body shook all over, trembling as if all of the planet had been frozen over. But that couldn’t be; even in the middle of the night, he could almost see the waves of heat running along the city horizon. Another overwhelming wave of fear washed over him, sending chills down his spine. Fear of nothing and everything all at once.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he longed for someone to stop and see his struggles, to hold him in their arms and calm him, but what were the chances of that? At this hour of the night, no one would wake up even if he tried to ask for help.
Not that he would ask for help. The thought of it filled him with an overwhelming, uncomfortable sense of fury, and shame.
Out of all of the things that had happened to him, this stopped him dead in his tracks and rendered him helpless?
He hated that he couldn’t trust anyone. Hated that he couldn’t tell anyone what he had to suffer through night after night. Hated that he was so completely and utterly alone. Hated that no one would care, even though he knew they shouldn’t.
And so, he endured the storms in silence, never really sure if he was treading water or sinking farther from the surface.
Often he couldn’t tell the difference between the darkness of his room or of his dreamless sleep, the lines always blurred in the morning. Had he actually gotten sleep, or was he just staring at the bedroom wall long enough for him to zone out?
With a frustrated huff, he threw the sheets off his bed and stumbled to the kitchen. It’s not like he was going to be able to sleep anyway.
Water. Water makes everything better, does it not?
He took a few gulps and sat at the counter. Another wave of terror crashed over him.
It does not.
He stifled a shocked gasp, and tried in vain to pull himself together.
He stood and left the kitchen, dragging himself back to his bedroom, where he slumped into his bed.
The shivering of his body had calmed since he left the bed, but as soon as the realization of it occurred to him, it came back with a vengeance.
Briefly, he wondered if he was having a seizure, but that would be far too easy to treat. This was an illness of the mind. His mind. It was out of control.
Out of control. Norns, he hated it. When had he ever been in control, though?
Norns.
He wanted to tear his brain from his head, and his heart from his chest, if only to silence them for a few precious moments.
He closed his eyes and drew in shuddering breath after shuddering breath.
Slowly the panic receded, and his body went slack, exhaustion finally overtaking him.
Each night it was something different. His chest hurt, his head ached, his heart pounded. Each night, he was startled with some new and unfamiliar pain, brought on by his paranoia. Even if sometimes he had been blessed with a phantom pain he had experienced before, it always seemed to come back three times worse.
At least, that’s what his brain seemed to think.
One particularly difficult night, he ended up on the floor of his bedroom, the back of his head against the side of his bed, crying.
Had he been in Asgard, Frigga could have helped him. Perhaps Thor, too, would show compassion. This was Midgard, however; neither could help him now, even if they wanted to.
He stumbled to his feet, his balance unsteady at best, and started to pace the length of the tower.
One, two. One, two. One, two.
He counted each footfall, trying to take his mind off of the need to sleep. He hummed quietly, despair crowding out any kind of rational thought.
He’d tried to research it. How to calm anxiety and ease insomnia. He’d sought after every piece of Midgardian advice he could find on the device Stark had given him. He spelled a lavender plant into his room, he’d sprayed his pillow with sleep mist, he’d even tried meditation.
None worked.
One, two. One, two. One, two.
Counting. A new method. Rhythm. Apparently, rhythm was used to calm midgardian babies to sleep. Theories stated it could help adults, too. Something about patterns, he didn’t know exactly the reason why. The tapping of hands, the rocking of a cradle, the sound of rain, that sort of thing.
So he counted his steps. Paced, like some deranged zoo animal, around the tower.
One, two. One, two. One, two.
It was on the third lap around the kitchen that someone nearly caught him mumbling the steps.
“What are you doing?”
He flinched, every muscle tense and already in a defensive position.
In front of him, Steve was sitting at the kitchen counter, cake crumbs littering his face. There was a concerned look in his eyes, but he quickly composed himself with a curious smile and a sip of milk.
“Did you come out here for cake, too?” The question seemed genuine, but as skilled as Loki was at reading people, he knew Steve was trying to get him to open up.
Trying to find a weakness.
Loki shook his head, drawing in a deep breath and hiding his panic with a convincing yawn. Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, he strode to the fridge and poured himself a glass of milk.
Steve hummed, poking his cake with a fork absently, “Tony told me you’ve been out here almost every night lately. We were wondering if you were having difficulties getting to sleep.”
They noticed.
“Of course not,” Loki scoffed, leaning back against the sink, sliding a mask of indifference onto his face, “I am merely used to a nocturnal lifestyle.”
“Really?” Steve raised an eyebrow, “I haven’t seen you napping around during the day.”
“I should hope not. I sleep in my own room, Captain.”
Steve didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press further.
“You know, when I came out of the ice, I had a lot of trouble adjusting,” Steve began.
Loki rolled his eyes as he drank the last of his milk.
Here we go again.
“I couldn’t sleep for weeks,” Steve explained, “I was afraid that I would wake up in another era. I knew it didn’t make any sense logically speaking, but that didn’t make the fear any less real.”
Loki listened intently, head tilted curiously.
“It wasn’t until Bruce helped me that I was able to get a good night’s sleep,” Steve shrugged, glancing at the kitchen clock, “Clearly, I still have trouble sometimes, but it’s much better now.”
He sighed, shaking his head, “I thought it would be embarrassing to ask for help. Turns out, I didn’t need to.”
He looked up, his steel blue eyes the most serious he’d ever seen them.
“You don’t, either.”
Inwardly, Loki panicked. However, he was determined to remain as calm as possible. He set his empty glass on the counter, pressed his hands on the cold countertop, and leaned forward, glaring at the Captain, “What are you meaning to imply, Captain?”
Steve shrugged, standing up to place his dirty plate in the sink. Loki’s eyes followed him as he rounded the counter, filled with suspicion.
“Just wanna help, Loki. If you can’t get any sleep, you can always come find me. Or Bruce. Or anyone, really.”
“I don’t need your help,” Loki growled through gritted teeth.
Steve hummed, clearly not convinced. “Well, if you ever do, come find me. You don’t even have to ask. Just say . . . Pink.”
Loki narrowed his eyes at the Captain, “Pink.”
“It’s easier to say,” Steve explained, “Trust me, it’s a lot better than trying to explain the whole situation. I still don’t like saying ‘anxiety’ or ‘panic attack.’”
By the way he spoke those words so hesitantly, Loki didn’t have to look to see the truth in them.
“That won’t be necessary,” Loki said, waving a dismissive hand, “but, thank you for your concern.”
Steve gave a quick nod and left the kitchen, presumably to go back to bed.
Loki sighed to the empty kitchen and sat at the counter, his head in his hands.