Chapter 28
When Loki woke up some time later, the sun had set, and he was back in his own bed.
Beside his bed, Thor sat slumped in his swivel chair.
As Loki blinked blearily at him, Thor glanced at him and brightened.
“Loki! Thank the Norns you’re alright!”
“Steve?” Loki’s voice felt like gravel in his throat.
“He is recovering well now,” Thor reported brightly, “Thanks to you.”
Loki sat up as his phone chimed. Bucky had been texting him.
A wave of guilt washed over him as he quickly sent a text to assure him that he would be okay.
What if Steve had died last night? What if they both had? Where would Bucky be?
He didn’t want his fears to keep them apart any longer if he didn’t have to.
Loki sent a text to Bucky the next morning, after he had recovered enough to leave the tower without the team’s complaints.
“I’m coming over.”
Bucky didn’t ask any questions, just answered with a thumbs-up emoji.
Despite his gloomy mood, Loki rolled his eyes. That man would be the death of him.
As soon as Bucky opened the door, Loki rushed into his arms.
“Hey, what’s up?” Bucky asked, automatically wrapping his arms around him gently. The metal hand felt cold on the skin of his neck, but it grounded him.
“Your memories,” Loki spoke bluntly, and Bucky tensed against him, “I can give them back. I could’ve a long time ago. I’m sorry, I—I should’ve—”
He broke from the hug to glance nervously at Bucky, but he didn’t seem angry.
In fact, he looked . . . worried?
“A-are you sure?” Bucky asked, eyes wide with shock.
Loki nodded, already taking the mind stone from its place in his pocket dimension.
Bucky sat down on the couch, staring off in the distance as Loki explained everything about the minestone.
Loki sat next to him, and took his hand, but Bucky snatched it away. A flash of hurt rushed through him as he realized Bucky didn’t trust him.
He understood completely, but that didn’t make it feel any better.
“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled, “I guess I’d rather just—I don’t like people messing with my head, even if it’s this. Even if it’s you,” he shifted his gaze to the floor, “I’m sorry, I’ll do it. I just—Give me a second.”
Loki nodded, and waited patiently for Bucky to place his hand back in Loki’s.
Loki hesitated for a moment, until Bucky squeezed his hand, giving him a smile, as if he was suddenly the one that needed reassuring. He used the stone to untangle the lost memories, careful not to touch anything else.
Bucky gasped as he replaced the last one, a soft noise that barely left his lips.
“Ok,” Loki said as he finished, “Do you want to . . . ?“
Who was he kidding?
“Do you want me to tell Steve?”
“What?” Bucky snapped his head up to gaze at Loki, “I . . . I don’t know. He probably doesn’t want to know.”
He glanced at his metal arm meaningfully.
“I want to see him again,” Bucky admitted, “I really do, but . . . Loki, I’ve done things even he wouldn’t forgive me for.”
Loki seriously doubted that, and he said as much, but Bucky insisted that he didn’t have to tell him yet.
If he told Steve . . .
He didn’t have to; Bucky just told him he didn’t have to.
But he should.
Late November saw New York City’s first snow day.
Loki had been sitting in the living room reading a book by the windowed wall.
“Almost time to break out the ugly sweaters, huh?” Stark joked, sipping his coffee as he stared out the window.
“Way ahead of you, Tony,” Natasha smirked, gesturing to her sweater, which was indeed very ugly. Decorated in flashing red and green lights and made with wool, it looked extremely warm and itchy.
Tony squinted at her for a moment, and gasped, “Is that my sweater? How did you even find that? It’s like, a decade old!”
Natasha laughed, “I’ll never tell.”
Loki laughed nervously.
Seriously, it scared him how easily Natasha could find things she shouldn’t be able to find.
So. Winter seemed to be on its way, Loki mused.
His hand drifted unconsciously to his stomach.
After the whole life-force thing had gone down with Steve, and Loki had woken up in his bed, he’d thought for sure it must have died, but . . . it didn’t.
In fact, in the weeks after the incident, it had only grown faster.
These past couple of days, he had started to feel it.
It actually moved a lot.
He was just lucky it hadn’t decided to be much of a kicker.
How much time did he have left?
He guessed it couldn’t be longer than 3 or 4 months, but who knew?
As Loki watched the first flakes of snow fall, he thought about his time in Sakarr. Time worked differently there; how would that affect things?
A wave of nausea overwhelmed him, and he wasn’t sure if it was just his anxiety or the thing, but he made for his bedroom, anyway.
Of course, that was the moment Steve decided to wake up, meeting him on the way to the kitchen from his room. He stopped in the hallway, the concerned mother look dominating his features yet again.
“Are you doing alright?”
“Fine,” he answered, though really he felt like throwing up.
“Are you sure?” Steve asked, “You look sick. Are you getting a stomach bug?”
No use in pretending everything’s normal, but maybe he could twist this to his advantage.
“I don’t know, maybe,” Loki relented, “But don’t worry. Jotuns are essentially the same as humans. They’ll get sick for a while, then get over it on their own.”
“Do you even know what you’re sick with?”
Loki shrugged. It didn’t matter what kind of sick he was to Steve, as long as it bought him some time and provided a sensible excuse.
“You’re not getting a Chitaurian virus too, are you?” Steve asked.
“It’s not that bad,” Loki assured him.
“ . . . Alright,” Steve said, clearly not believing him, but apparently letting him go.
Until Steve caught him later that night making cookies in the kitchen, just before midnight.
He had a craving, okay?
Anyway, he offered one to Steve, but he gave him a look. You know, the look. The concerned mother look he gave after missions when someone came home hurt. Emotionally.
“What?”
“What’s going on with you?”
“Making cookies,” Loki gestured with the offered cookie, chocolate-chip, again, which Steve took tentatively.
“ . . . Are you sure you’re okay?” He said, slowly taking a bite.
“If I wasn’t, would I be making cookies?”
“Mm,” Steve hummed, “Probably not, I guess.”
“Then don’t worry.”
Loki telling him not to worry kept Steve from worrying for about, zero seconds.
He didn’t seem to want help, though, so Steve left him alone. He sincerely hoped he was just being paranoid.
Over the next few days, Loki didn’t get better and didn’t seem any more open to talk about it. It was so strange. One moment, Loki would be completely okay, and the next, he’d be rushing for the nearest restroom or retreating to his bedroom for hours on end.
Steve got out the StarkPad Tony had given him.
He paused to think for a minute, before typing something into the Google bar.
It led him down a rabbit hole, with dozens of different diseases, disorders, and cancers, and by the end of it, he just wanted to give up.
“What are you doing?” Natasha’s voice came from behind him.
“I’m worried about Loki.”
“When aren’t you worried about Loki?”
“I’m serious, Nat.”
“Alright, Rogers,” Natasha sat down on the couch next to Steve, “What’s up?”
“I think Loki’s sick.”
“Yeah,” Natasha answered, “I’ve noticed.”
“Aren’t you worried?” Steve asked, incredulous, “I’ve looked up the symptoms on Google—“
“Hold on,” Natasha stopped him, “We need to establish something real quick. Google should never be trusted to diagnose anything. It’s unreliable. You can’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”
“But—“
“And isn’t Loki, like, a Jotun?”
“I know, but the Internet doesn’t have anything on Jotuns. Loki said that he would essentially be the same as a human.”
“And you believed that?”
“Now that I say it out loud . . .”
“You’re so gullible,” Natasha sighed dramatically, “I’ll talk to him.”