Chapter 17
“Pep, I don’t want to go,” I repeat for the fifth time, raising my voice a bit so that the phone speaker catches my voice from the table. “I’m already spending New Year’s with you guys, and I’m literally looking at fifteen more boxes to unpack—I’ll just come by on Christmas morning.”
Who knew I owned so much crap? Packing it all up took an entire weekend, and actually moving it all was a process too. Since I wasn’t contractually bound to Tony’s complex—I was a manager, if nothing else—that aspect of moving out was easiest. Finding someone to take my room was pretty simple too, since college students move pretty frequently between terms.
Rita seemed a little suspicious at my departure, and didn’t quite look like she believed my excuse of it being 'time to find my own place.’ If she had even the slightest suspicion of how I was really feeling, then she’d have to have known that before jumping into bed with my ex. If that’s the case, then…. what a bitch. Of all the guys that were available to her, she couldn’t have found anyone else to drag home? Right across the hall from me?
Not that any of it matters now. I’ve certainly had the financial means to do this for a while—I guess I just needed the push. As for the rest of my roommates, my points about not being able to walk around naked in my own space seemed convincing enough—I added couch sex to the list, for good measure. But if Rita truly had the slightest suspicion about me, then I suspect that the rumor mill must’ve churned that out the minute I left… And I’m not sure which one of us it would’ve made look worse.
Still, this is a new beginning. A new beginning for a new year.
I’d even managed to stop by and get a small, fake little Christmas tree to make the place feel more like home. This year, I’d been planning on spending Christmas Eve with a fuzzy blanket, surrounded by boxes on the couch, my mom, and several cups of ramen mixed with sour cream (the looks I get when I buy the two items together is hilarious), and some movies. In the morning, we’d maybe head over to Pepper’s place to see everyone, though I hadn’t talked to her about bringing my mom yet.
Some people are close to their parents and relatives, but I’m not. I’ve long since outgrown the age of tolerating blood relationships that were toxic. I’d much rather opt for inviting my mom over to spend the holidays with me—alone, since my parents are going through a rough patch.
I’d only passingly mentioned the plan to Pepper, yet here my best friend was—still trying to convince me to attend a Christmas Eve company party.
“Come on,” she whined. “Why do you want to spend Christmas Eve alone? That’s just… sad.”
“I am a strong, independent woman who don’t need no heels and uncomfortable small talk. Plus, I won’t be alone. My mom’s coming to spend it with me.”
Pepper sighed. “Oh right, I forgot about that—hey 'Mr. Stark,’” she moved the phone away. “Guess who’s coming to town for Christmas?” There was a pause. “Sheila.” Another pause. “Yup, I’m trying to get them over—Cer, what about your dad?””
“He’s hanging back, they’ve been sort of…going through a rough patch, apparently.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that.”
I shrug. “Yeah, they’re not getting a divorce as far as I know, but… Not spending Christmas is pretty bad. I guess we’ll just wait and see.” Sadness pinched my chest. It wouldn’t surprise me if my parents divorced, considering how their marriage has been going the past few years, but it wouldn’t be pleasant to hear about it. “Either way, I haven’t even talked to her about what our actual plans are.”
There was silence over the phone for a moment. “Okay, look…. here’s the thing, if you leave me and Tony to go alone, they’ll spend the entire night hounding us. Literally. You guys are strangers, so if you’re there with us, they won’t talk shop.”
I pause in the middle of lifting up two paper-wrapped plates. “Are you seriously blackmailing me with your pain and suffering?”
“…Yes.”
I cringed. “If Loki’s there, it might not go well—you know how protective my mom is, and Christmas isn’t the time to be putting out fires.”
“I don’t really think it’d matter, it’s not like you two can’t be in the same room together. I know Thor’s coming, but I don’t think he is.”
“Oh,” I murmur, setting several more dishes down on the overflowing table. “Okay—just out of curiosity, is there a reason?”
Is he spending it elsewhere?
“Just doesn’t seem up for it, wants to stay home.”
“Hm, okay. Well, I guess—” my voice cuts off as I nearly drop the cast iron skillet. “I mean I guess, I’ll ask my mom if she’s feeling up to it.”
"Awesome, tell her there'll be cake.”
I smirk. "Yeah, that'll do the trick.”
"Yup," her voice lilts happily. "Say whatever you have to, just get her to come—it's gonna be a fun night."
***
“You think standing there will change anything? I’m not going,” Loki insisted—again—while Thor remained rooted by the door.
He crossed his arms and smirked. “Then I shall stay here with you. Right here. Right in this doorway.”
Loki huffed, rising from his bed and striding across the room. “Then I shall spend my holiday making yours miserable,” he plopped onto his desk chair. “I don’t understand why you won’t go without me.”
“Christmas is a time to be with family,” Thor grinned knowingly. “You know Lady Cerys has agreed to come.”
An old threat. One that barely fazed Loki as he rolled his eyes, and turned toward the screen. “I’m well aware. All the more reason for me to stay.”
As if Thor could use that to goad him into coming—Cerys had made herself quite clear. Their relations had stagnated to a frustrating degree, and she all but avoided him openly. The message was loud and clear.
“She’ll be bringing her mother,” Thor added. Loki paused, and then resumed his browsing. “Thought that might peak your curiosity.”
“Why on Earth would it do that?”
“Brother,” Thor crooned knowingly. “If there’s anything I’ve learned about the female species, it’s that if their mothers hate you, you’ve no chance at ever pleasing them again…do you want Cerys’ mother to be unimpressed?”
That was close to the line. Thor had been flirting with the edge for the entire conversation, barely treading into territory he had no business being in. After all, Loki had begun to feel his overstay in the States, and would have to decide sooner or later whether he should leave. Cerys’ continued frustration at his indiscretion with that woman—whom he had not kept in contact with—and her insistence at ‘protecting’ the incomparable dullard of a man she’d left certainly leaned on the decision.
Regardless of how her cheeks tinged each time he walked into the room.
His tone was idle as he continued on. “Cerys’ mother is the furthest thing from my mind. I’m not going.”
“Mhm,” Thor mused as he turned cross-armed toward the door. “We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”
***
Why did he succumb to the temptation? To the curiosity? There was absolutely no point whatsoever to his being here.
Sure, the venue was tolerable. Pleasant, even. Though it was a rather casual celebration for such a formal holiday—there were no exquisite gowns or elegant jewelry pieces. Everyone dressed comfortably. All were still presentable in their more-or-less festive apparel, but they were in the middle of the spectrum. There hadn’t been any snowfall yet either, and the crowd dressed accordingly. It was due to start next month, but there was no knowing whether Loki would be around to see it.
Half the party had been held outside—namely for those who preferred a cloudy night on the golf course, to the staggering warmth of the club. A bit more iciness would’ve been perfect for a frost giant, but the night was surprisingly pleasant.
…Pleasant for the party-goers, anyway.
Loki was consequentially stuck with the inane jabber of small crowds bunching up together, engaging in warm conversation around him.
His own group had joined him outside, at the bottommost level of the downward slope. He’d hoped the courtyard situated at the very bottom would be more isolated, but the elegant outdoor furniture and fire pits were apparently too grand to resist. A number of tables were also laden with food and drink in various other areas, and all the fine walkways, railings, and pathways were adorned with holiday decorations.
Loki leaned back against his chair and stared out into the looming darkness—gentle rolling hills ensconced by the blackness of the night, figures of trees barely stretching up into the stars. All the while, his immediate surroundings were brightly lit, and festive music played loudly enough from one of the courtyards nearer to the doors.
He knew it was only a matter of time before his peace was disturbed—luckily, he’d managed to finish several large glasses of wine before the arrival of Cerys and her mother.
And when she did, Loki felt her before he saw her. That continuous hum of magic that now ensconced her constantly. With a gentle sip of his wine, Loki’s eyes slid from the woods, toward the staircases that wound down the hill. There he saw her, walking arm-in-arm with a woman who bore a striking resemblance.
He took them both in momentarily, and looked away in a blink. Cerys looked so much like her mother—like a younger version, and much more beautiful in her fitted red dress, whose hem flowed above her knees with the gentlest movement. Granted, the coat that hung loosely around her backside did nothing to complement it.
Her mother—Sheila, as he’d her called—seemed on the younger side, but the shared style and color of hair was telling—the apple did not fall far from the tree. Cerys blinked surprisedly when he looked back and met her eyes, but it faded rather quickly—clearly, she was just as accustomed as he was.
“Hey guys,” she grinned as she approached the group.
“Sheila!” Pepper stood and snaked her arms around the woman beside her. “Merry Christmas—it’s so nice of you to come and join us!”
“Oh sweetheart, it’s so good to see you again!” Sheila swayed with Pepper in a tight hug for a brief moment before pulling away. “Merry Christmas to you too!”
Loki brushed the edge of the glass against his lower lip, narrowing his eyes as he watched their interactions. Thor was already on his feet, and introductions were abuzz as he, Stark, and a few of their professional acquaintances stood to introduce themselves.
Loki glanced back and forth about the scene, as one of Stark’s working partners—Joseph—stood to shake Cerys’ hand. “Well, hello,” he said, leering openly at her chest. “What was your name, again?”
Even Sheila raised a brow at the blatant display as she looked over her shoulder at them.
“Cerys,” she answered, and the subtle grimace in her expression roused a grin. It faded quickly the instant she turned her attention to Loki. “And this,” she looked back at her mother before gesturing in his direction. “Is Loki!”
His grin tightened into a handsome smile as he stood, setting down the glass and straightening to his full length. Cerys looked away, but her mother followed his movements carefully—particularly as he strode around the glass-encased fire pits, and held out a hand.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” he said smoothly, noting the same speck of dark green in Sheila’s narrowed eyes that Cerys had. “The two of you look so much alike.”
Loki’s grin faltered at the glimmer of movement in Sheila’s features—the tight grin that she offered in return. “Well it’s very nice to meet you too,” she answered. A bit more tautly than he’d.
His eyes jumped to Cerys in that moment—looking the slightest bit amused, with the tiny grin that ghosted her colored lips. There was clearly some sort of tacit exchange at play, and Loki’s smile all but faded as he pulled back. He sank reproachfully as he stepped back toward his seat—pointedly ignoring the patronizing look on his brother’s face as he sat down.
Thor—in all his endless eloquence—leaned over slightly in his seat, while Cerys and pulled a large chair over to her mother. “Told you,” he muttered under his breath.
“Shut up,” Loki hissed quietly, prompting a chuckle from his brother.
“Here, mom,” Cerys said. “Take this chair.”
“Oh perfect,” she pulled it closer and plopped down. With a heavy sigh, she laid a hand on her daughter’s arm and smiled toward Pepper and Stark. “So this place looks amazing—I didn’t know we had such beautiful scenery out here!”
“Yeah it’s gorgeous,” Pepper answered. “And they decorated the club so well. Did you guys find it okay? I know it’s a little bit out of the way…”
“Oh, we only got a little bit lost,” Sheila waved her hand. “But it’s alright, it was worth it.”
Cerys blinked at her, suppressing a chuckle. “Yeah, the free food kept us going.”
“Speaking of,” Stark leaned forward, gesturing to a couple of filled champagne glasses sitting along the marble edges of the fire pits. He reached for one himself, replacing the empty one in his hand. “Ladies?”
“That, too!” Sheila reached out and took two among them, and Cerys’ grin faltered slightly as she held one out to her. “Here you go, darling.”
She eyed it nervously before taking it, and sipped a tiny bit before hiding a painful grimace. The conversation went on around them, but Loki watched as she set it down on the small, glass table beside her.
He wasn’t the only one to have noticed—Sheila leaned toward her daughter a bit. “Are you alright?” she murmured quietly.
Cerys shook her head, “Yeah, sorry—I’m fine.”
Loki narrowed his eyes. She wasn’t fine—he could smell the bit of blood from where he sat. The bright color she’d worn hid the hints of crimson on her lip, but it was definitely there. Evidently, even the champagne was a bit too far from water for her to drink.
He continued nursing his wine glass for the better part of an hour, while every now and again, when it was safe, Loki glanced in her direction—tuning out the surrounding company. Only once did she snap her eyes up to his, and he held them until she looked away first, with the subtlest twinge of red betraying her firm expression.
She’d certainly gotten better at wearing a mask. Perhaps she’d learned from him. One of the many ways she’d grown over the years—aside from the obvious maturation of her appearance. Cerys was still young, of course, but even she was not immune to age as the years went by. Under the right circumstances, even the youngest of them could occasionally don a new stress line somewhere on their faces.
Though try as he might, Loki couldn’t find the ones he’d previously seen. Even the smallest imperfections seemed to diminish. Simply gone, leaving Cerys looking rather… radiant.
Perhaps the serum was to blame for that.
A hint of movement caught his attention from the side, and he looked over in time to see Cerys’ mother avert her suspicious gaze.
By the way she blinked heavily and swayed a bit, her inebriation was clear—and she was impressively quick, considering that. Sheila may have looked away, but Loki kept his expression taut and icy as he studied her for a moment. When he was satisfied that she wouldn’t look again, he turned his attention back to his wine glass—staring into the fire, instead. Pondering on…
“I think it’s a karaoke machine?” Pepper’s mumble suddenly cut through his concentration, and he looked over. He knew what that word meant—Cerys had mentioned it back in time. “Yeah, that’s it…”
He looked back up in their direction, and a look of panic struck Cerys’ expression as her eyes widened.
“Hey, let’s go up there?” her mother nudged, leaning in. She whispered something humorously as she patted her daughter on the shoulder, but Loki hadn’t tuned in to hear it.
The panic settled to a cringe as Cerys shook her head slightly, “No mom, that’s not a good idea…”
“Why not?” Sheila’s expression turned grave—in a motherly sort of way. Loki swallowed thickly—it was so similar to the way that Frigga’s cheeks sank when she was failing to persuade him of something.
“I dare you,” Pepper pointed to her friend, clearly inebriated herself. “Triple dog dare, girlfriend.”
Sheila grinned knowingly at the woman, and leaned over to kiss Cerys on the cheek—like a well-behaved child. “Your best friend triple dog dared you. It’s settled—come on!” she stood, weaving carefully between the furniture as she headed toward the edge of the courtyard.
Cerys, meanwhile, turned to her friend. “This is bad…”
The cheer melted from Pepper’s face as she regarded her. “What?”
“My mom’s tone deaf, Pep,” Cerys hissed.
Silence.
“…whut?” Stark leaned forward, laughing a bit. “How can your mom be tone deaf and then have you?”
“Cerys, come on!” Sheila beckoned to her from a bit away.
Cerys gave her a friendly nod before glaring back at him. “I get it from my dad—you’re coming with me.”
Loki snorted quietly as he watched her stand, grabbing Pepper by the wrist. Feeling infinitely satisfied with the amusing turn of events, he leaned back in his chair a bit.
Thor turned and looked over at him. “I bet you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Loki smirked, raising the glass to his lips.
Thor paused for a moment. “…I didn’t know she was tone deaf, did you?”
“I would never have guessed,” he shook his head, and then grinned wryly. “Else I would’ve been the one to mention it, of course.”
Thor rolled his eyes. “Sure you would,” he said, sipping from a bottle of beer.
“Jeez,” Stark mumbled down the line of chairs. “Well this’ll either be really good, or really bad.”
“I’ll wager it’ll be amusing,” Loki mused smoothly.
Thor shrugged. “Perhaps Cerys is just being overly critical.”
“Guess we’re about to find out…” said Stark.
Loki turned his attention to the middle set of courtyards, where Cerys and her mother stood—along with Pepper, and several other individuals. A group activity, it seemed. There wasn’t likely to be any chance of hearing them individually, though Cerys still looked singularly uncomfortable. Even when the group collectively began to hum one of the tunes, Cerys cringed a bit as she looked toward her mother—smiling at least, to keep the mood light.
He might’ve felt bad for her, standing up there in such a sorry state. It wasn’t until Pepper goaded her into it that she grinned, and parted her lips to sing. Loki tuned out the rest of the noises as he waited on her—it’d been so long since he’d heard her, after all. So long since he witnessed the joy and amusement that it brought her.
It wasn’t amusement that came with the first lyric. Not by the sudden, incoherent noise that suddenly poured from her throat.
The rest of the group paused, though the background music came on. A number of them looked confused, but so did Pepper and Sheila—for different reasons. Cerys herself stood dumbfounded, all the color draining from her face.
Silence settled into the area, as some of the surrounding groups paused to look back at her. Many with disapproving looks—as if Cerys was some drunkard without a scintilla of control over her voice. Without any care or considering for disturbing their evening.
Loki’s eyes widened as he leaned forward in his seat, watching as her cheeks turned pale. Even her mother—supposedly tone deaf—laid a hand on her shoulder concernedly. Even Sheila, in the brief moment that she had to hum, sounded better than the sound that escaped Cerys’ lips.
Slowly, she raised a hand to her throat and swallowed hard.
Loki rose from his seat slowly, watching her features sink with shock and disbelief.
“Um…” he heard her whisper, stepping away from the group in a daze. “I’ll be right back. Stay here, mom, both of you,” she looked toward Pepper one last time. “No more fires.”
The corner of her widened eyes glistened as she turned and raced up the stairs, despite her mother’s protests, and back to the clubhouse. Of course she couldn’t tell her what was happening—not without disclosing everything. And she was no state of mind of put the information together carefully.
Loki’s legs carried him after her, passing by Pepper and Sheila on his way up.
“What’s going on?” Sheila turned to Pepper in a panic, while Pepper staggered to find the right words. “What’s wrong with her voice?”
He paid them no mind as he strode by smoothly, putting one foot after another as he followed after Cerys—despite the lack of comfort and overwhelming questions reeling through his mind.
Cerys disappeared into the house, but Loki followed the gentle hum of magic down one of the ornate halls, until he came upon her in one of the reading rooms—pacing back and forward in front of an empty fireplace. All the lamps were on, but they offered little light amidst the ceiling lights and snow-white walls—the overall brightness of the room hardly conducive to the storm within it.
Loki’s lips thinned as he stepped further into the room slowly, toward Cerys. He watched and listened as she muttered words of disbelief to herself—struggling to contain the glossy wetness that spread over her widened eyes.
She staggered to a stop when she saw him, and held a hand up protestingly. “I’m fine,” she choked out, and a loose tear fell down her cheek. “I’m f—” she breathed out in between shallow breaths, looking a bit dizzy. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he said, taking another step. He kept his voice steady, knowing that if she heard a hint of panic, she’d lose herself to it as well. “What’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” she growled as her eyes darted back and forth, while she resumed pacing. Anger slowly seeped into the panic, and she stopped beside the fireplace, gripping the mantle until her knuckles turned white. “This is…. I can’t…. it’s okay, I’m okay,” Loki took another step, but Cerys threw out a hand. “I said I’m fine, I’m handling it, I’m—I’m fine.”
When she turned and looked at him, her face was taut—a mask of ice and control—but tears were now streaming down left and right as she glared at him.
Loki tightened his hands into fists. He certainly wasn’t unfamiliar with this, that hardness in her face—he understood the strength it took to harness it, and Cerys hadn’t had any distance from the situation yet. It was happening right now, and it must’ve been taking everything to keep her composure.
“You can’t sing,” he murmured. “can you?”
Cerys’ shallow breaths slowed into heavier ones as she stared at him.
And Loki immediately regretted saying it out loud—hearing it from another person seemed to cleave whatever barriers she’d thrown up against it. How could it have taken this long to discover the change? Barely a month had gone by since the serum had been administered—had she really gone so long without indulging the one thing that she enjoyed most? Had all the troubles left her so void of the desire?
Cerys turned away, answering the question for him.
She didn’t look back as he inched toward her around the couch. Instead, she stared at one of the fixtures on the mantlepiece—eyes positively hardened on the little birdlike figurine. Cerys didn’t move, and barely breathed as he studied her from two feet away. She swallowed hard, while tears streamed down her cheeks—trembling with her strained control.
For the first time, Loki was at a loss for words. What could he possibly say to her? He knew not a thing about what was happening, nor did he have any solution to offer. Absolutely nothing. He felt useless.
Finally, he reached out, inching toward Cerys’ hand on the mantlepiece. She didn’t move—not when he gripped it tight and gently wrenched it off, and not when he stepped toward her again. Not even when he pulled her forward, and wrapped his arms over her shoulders tightly.
“It’s alright,” he murmured, feeling her control loosen as he melded against her. Her arms hung limply at her sides. “We’ll figure it out, it’ll be alright… Whatever we need to do, we’ll do it.”
Was there even anything that could be done? He didn’t know, and he couldn’t have guessed. She sniffled quietly after a moment, raising her hands slowly and laying them against his backside. It was barely an embrace—so he would double his strength, for both of them.
Loki tangled a hand into her hair, pulling her in more closely. Wetness touched his neck, and without thinking, he turned and kissed the side of her forehead. “We’ll find something,” he murmured against her hair, which smelt of green apple, and closed his eyes. “It’ll be alright….”
Everything around them was still for a time—the tinkling sounds of utensils and idle chatter finally broken by the subtle sound of footsteps. Loki opened his eyes slightly, turning his head toward the noise. Toward Pepper and Sheila, striding at an angle down the hallway where they could see him.
Sheila stopped abruptly, staring ahead into the room as she held an arm out—stopping Pepper in her tracks as well. The two of them stared for a moment, and Loki sifted his fingers possessively through her hair as he turned back, and kissed her a final time—anticipating them to enter the room.
She didn’t stop him, and she didn’t pull away—only calmed, just a bit, and the footsteps turned and walked back down the hallway. By the way her fingers twitched, Loki thought she might grip him tighter. But she didn’t, and that was fine. This wasn’t about him, anyway. He couldn’t imagine her devastation, or what else could possibly happen. What could possibly be worse than this?