Two Halves

Thor really hates press conferences. Like really really. They’re never just about skating or how he feels about how an event went. There’s always someone asking questions he doesn’t want to answer. And as he sits there with Rue, the two of them making their first appearance together as a pair, he spots the ever invasive Maria Hill. She’s a reporter—working under an even more unforgiving editor—and a permanent thorn in Thor’s side. At least TMZ isn’t here, he thinks.

He barely listens to the question he and Rue are asked, but he knows she’s responding. Under the table, she reaches to pinch his hand to get his attention. She’s been doing her best to avoid his space as of late, he wonders if she knows that he’s noticed. She never quite knows what do with her hands, where he is concerned. They fall into silence, and she takes to studying him. There are things that she wants to ask, but doesn’t. They work together. This is a career move.

“Uhrm,” She continues on. She’s been responding in Asgardian first, and translating for the non-Asgardians or those who don’t speak any mutually-intelligible language. (There’s a translator on hand, but both Thor and Rue speak English. His partner also speaks Finnish, and a little bit of Italian. Of course he discovered this… today. Maybe five minutes ago.) “It was an opportunity that presented itself—we represent the same gym, and that’s really all it took for me to hear that there was a spot for me to fill as his partner. And I’m honored to work with him, and now my new coach Heimdall Petersen. There’s no other story to be uncovered.”

Thor leans forward, looking from Rue to the reporter when Rue is done translating. “I’m very grateful to have found someone with her work ethic and her determination. We’ve put in a lot of hours leading up to this…debut. And I’m looking forward to this season.”

A sea of reporters all begin raising their hands and the proctor points to another woman. Internally Thor is grateful. She introduces herself and shoots right into the question.

“Do you feel you stack up well against teams who have been skating together for years—for instance…the twins who won today?” Wanda and Pietro Maximoff have been skating together since before they were even walking properly—like every other event they’ve participated in, today was a showcase of the artistry and skill they possess as a pairing. They’re wonderful dancers with a innovative skills that speak to their dedication to putting their best foot forward. They’re a media favorite. Wanda is coy and Pietro is as well spoken as he is charming.

“Both of us have been doing this for over 20 years,” Thor replies, brows pinched. “We haven’t been skating together for that long but we bring experience and our respective skills to our partnership. We’re only going to get better from here and I think we did pretty damn good today.”

“There’s a certain consistency that can't be taught,” Rue adds, “You either have it or you don’t. And I think out of all the practices we’ve had—there were only a few of our run throughs that didn’t look close, if not just as good as we did today. There are a lot of things we can perfect between the two of us but that will happen in time as we continue to find out more about each other. We’ve been together for a month, and I feel good about it. That’s half the battle.”

There are a few more questions, some of them more superficial than others and Thor feels like he’s drowning in this conference. Rue reaches for his hand, pulling it into her lap upon realization of just how uncomfortable he is. She’d always considered him to be dazzling in the spotlight, but she supposes a lot has happened that could have changed that outlook. Thor isn’t floundering per say—and he’s quite charming when he’s comfortable—but out of everyone in his talented family, he seems to be the least inclined to shine even when out of his element. He feels less alone in his own thoughts, under the scrutinizing lights pointed at them. The anxiety is rolling off of him in waves and he knows it.

Rue laughs at a question about her triple axel, if they’ll be the first couple to land them side by side. She looks at Thor and shrugs, smirking. “If he can land it.”

There’s a comfortable laugh that follows the joke. Thor snorts, shoving her shoulder while giving her an eye roll. As the laughter fades, Maria finally gets a chance ask her question, introducing herself calmly but with a sense of superiority.

“Hi Thor, how’re ya?” She stares at him with her writing pad and pen clasped in her hands. Her credentials are on display, hanging from a lanyard around the outside of her turtleneck sweater.

“Fine, thanks,” Thor sighs heavily, not even attempting to hide it.

“There was talks of maybe skating out of New York.” Laura begins unscrupulously, brows drawn in as she looks up from her writing pad, hoping to catch him off guard with information she knew that was hard to come by. “Are you enjoying the time you’ve had back here in your home country?”

“I’m always going to be an Asgard-based skater,” Thor replies evenly. “Whatever conversations had about skating under another flag, were not long-standing.” He had thought about staying there, but it wouldn’t have felt right, the last few times he’d flirted with the idea of repping anywhere but Asgard he just felt wrong about it. And even with his aching family ties, Asgard is still home. “But to answer your first question, I’m enjoying it well enough.” Maria smirks at his biting tone, enjoying it. She knows she gets underneath Thor’s skin—one of few people who don’t even attempt to lay themselves at the athlete’s feet.

She smiles at Rue easily before continuing casually. “The fans do seem to be very receptive. Asgard’s prodigal son returned from the western world,” Maria clears her throat as she pretends to think of the next question. “But I guess I want an answer for some of your more unbecoming decisions… we know your father played a big part in getting Valhalla SC opened and running decades ago—and I’m sorry for your loss—but would you say he’d be particularly proud of the way you’ve acted as of late?”

Thor feels the very second his heart falls out of his chest. The room is dead silent. For her part, Rue stares blankly as if trying to put the moment together in her head, as if this couldn’t be happening. She’s never had a problem with Maria, but in that case, she wants to throw the mic at the woman.

Inflammatory questions are the worst to field after a long day, when you just want to go home and go to bed. The press always want a sound bite or a tagline they can use. Thor exhales the breath he’s taken in to keep himself from losing it. His jaw twitches in anger as he swallows. She wants to step in but can’t find her voice, she does her best to glare.

She sees it happen before she can grasp for his hand again, in slow motion, camera flashes and the proctor’s voice sounds as if it’s underwater—Thor’s chair goes flying out behind him—and time is moments from stopping all together. The legs screech on the stage before it goes tumbling. And she turns to watch as Thor storms out among the murmuring.

Maria calls after him, with follow up questions, “Do you think about what he’d say to you being all over the tabloids? Subsequently, getting yourself banned from singles competition?”

There’s muffled yelling, someone telling someone else to fuck off. Rue can only sit there, eyes wide as attention turns to her now. She turns back to the press, those who are varying degrees of taken aback and shocked. She narrows her eyes, sight honing in on Maria.

She’s not going to do this, not with someone who looks so amused with themself. Damn Thor for playing right into it. But she can’t judge, she’d have lost it had it been directed at her. Angered for her partner, she clenches her jaw and begins to count back from ten. She must look insane, just sitting there.

When she’s calm enough, she gathers their belongings—his phone, and her personal water thermos—free hand taking the mic, she uses the time to address the journalist, “congratulations, you’ve shown an incredible lack of tact.”

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“That went well,” Loki comments, leaning on the van door. They’re all set to head back to Nastrond. But he was sent him out to make sure Thor hasn’t punched a hole in one of the windows.

He’s always a little amused by the fact that he’s the one they send to corale his brother. The mischievous of the two brothers, he’s actually quite good at it—finding the right words.

When they were children; he’d been the one running around unbridled, tormenting people with practical jokes and just being a general pain in the ass. But of course, he’d taken to skating before Thor had.

He is the younger brother, he just seems to have found himself first.

(Then of course, Thor took skating too, getting the attention they’d always competed for. Just as they’ve grown older, Loki has accepted it… almost. He gets a kick out of being the one to clean up the messes—being needed this way—while also knowing just how to shake things up to amuse himself.)

Thor rolls his eyes, sitting on the wheel stop in the empty space over. He brings his knees up, elbows supported as he presses his fingers to his puffy eyes. He’s spent an embarrassing amount of time sitting out here, bleary eyed and emotional.

Their dead dad is a horrible talking point in any other situation except here—where he’s expected to be able to maneuver through uncomfortable talking points—and he’s reacted as expected. Lashing out in anger has become his schtick lately. Maria knew it, and now the video headline will accompany a scathing article about his inability to be a professional.

“I should have been prepared for that,” Thor finally says. More than he is angry at anyone else, he’s furious at himself for being such a screw up. He exhales, watching the hot air float through the chilly atmosphere. “I knew,” he adds, and Loki stands there and lets him berate himself.

Thor is hardheaded, and debate does little to change his mind when it comes to his own inner workings. It’s best to just let him get his self-pitying out of the way. He always was such a martyr, Loki thinks, plopping down on the curb between the lot spaces.

“You know what I’m going to say,” Loki sighs, folding his hands in his lap. “We should be able to talk about Father.” He knows from the look on his big brother’s face, it was the unwanted comment, harpooned by the tension that seems to have enveloped them. “You’re angry…but you also never tried to fix it.”

Thor rolls his eyes, “You were never the one expected to be perfect, Loki.”

“No, he just ignored me…” Loki says, sighing heavily. He just wanted to be loved by their father, told that coming in second to Thor was just as good as beating everyone else. He just wanted Odin to love him enough to get better. That never happened, but it’s because he stopped treating himself as the problem in their relationship. They were all more than enough. For a long time, he would have killed to be the focus of their Father’s drive. A part of him had hated Thor because of it.

Odin retired at the top of his career—blocked by a glass ceiling he could never break. He was one of the few athletes to compete in the Olympics. He didn’t win gold—he actually repeatedly placed fourth. He was good, unafraid of the ice. But that wasn’t enough. Asgard revered his attempts. He retired after his last Olympic performance and took to coaching, married, opened Valhalla SC and begrudgingly dedicated his life to guiding someone to the greatness he could never reach. It consumed him. And he’d failed in guiding many protégés, his best students were always his children. He pushed them every day, until the strain between the three of them was more than any of them could bare—more than Frigga could fix.

She tried to love him into understanding that he was doing damage to both of their sons. But by then, bitterness had shrouded every possible thought he had.

Odin used to pour bourbon in his coffee, started small of course, and then his problem progressed until it was mostly caffeine spiked bourbon. He died from his addiction, Frigga has said, mostly for her own benefit, to make it hurt less. But his god-complex—his alcoholism and the affinity for getting behind the wheel instead of asking someone to give him a ride that took him from them. Thor can’t forgive it, the idiocy of thinking himself so invincible. But it was so scary, because Thor can see himself there, being that dumb. Jaded and angry from the decline of his own career.

The timing had been terrible—or ironically sobering, depending on one’s perspective—in a time where he was being just as reckless. It terrified him.

Thor’s life pulled to a startling halt upon the realization that he was angry at a dead man. But he’d also been so angry, angry that Odin was so stupid to drink and drive, and it killed him. Sad that his father was never going to be a source of unyielding, unselfish love and support.

He hadn’t gone to the funeral, unable to face that they hadn’t been as close as they should have been. He’s angry that he’s never had a father, just always a coach asking more and more of him. And even when he was the best, Odin hadn’t been able to tell his son it was a job well done.

“You should go see him,” Loki finally attempts procurement, “Talk, cry, yell…” Thor scoffs. “You need to let some things go,” Loki says, “And isn’t your new thing about righting wrongs of the past?”

Sometimes it’s annoying how right the younger brother can be.

“Maybe,” Thor exhales, brushing a hand over his face. “How much damage did I do?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Loki shrugs.

“You should be a better liar…how much you do it,” Thor muses, smirking at his brother.

“Ouch…” He over-dramatizes a wince, smirking as he looks down into the neck of his coat.

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Rue elbows Thor while he stares out the back window of the van. He’s been quiet, and lost in his own thoughts. She expects that much, as he’s barely said a word since the conference. She’d hoped she could have found a way to speak to him properly after Loki came back to report that he was fine—but they were packing up to leave and it didn’t feel pressing while loading the van. But everyone is sleeping now, they’re kindof alone. 

She sticks his phone out in his direction. He hadn’t even noticed, and she just realized it was still in the pocket of her vest. 

“Oh,” he snorts, rolling his eyes at himself. “Thanks,” He takes the phone, clasping it in his hand as he’s given pause—he doesn’t want to read the texts or return them,  “I thought I lost it.”

She offers a smile instead of words. There’s a lot she can say, and she can tell he’s waiting for her to rip into him for making them look unprofessional but she would have reacted no better. Instead she pats his knee, lingering long enough for him to grip her hand and give it a squeeze. They exchange nods of reassurance—they’re fine. 

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes quietly, trying not to disturb those around them who are sleeping while they can. “Instead of talking about our showcase, they’ll be talking about how I stormed out—“

“You don’t have to apologize,” Rue stops him; her hand is still in his, sitting on his thigh casually. Casual touch between them is normal, even if she’s been avoiding it when she puts that to thought. He doesn’t mind it. “Death is heavy stuff. I don’t know that I would have reacted much better.” She knew his father, had seen the man sweeping through the halls before he all but disappeared. He was never terrible to her, but more than absent enough that she doesn’t know much about him personally. But she had surmised the strain he was causing on his family in the months before his death. Loki was withdrawn, and Frigga was stressed. All of their relationships are starkly different from the one between herself and her now departed mother. 

“I expected you to tell me off, honestly,” he says to her, making a face in anticipation of it, still.  “And I deserve it. I made today about myself, and I didn’t mean to, but I still did.” 

“I think we’ll recover,” She says, lightly. “Besides...that’s not what I’m here for—scolding you. We’re partners.” She shrugs, smiling at him. “You know, despite the conference, I think we had a good day. We looked strong—your mom says we look good together.”

Thor chuckles, feeling a weight lift at the change of subject. “She has to say that...this pairing is her brainchild.” He sparkles at the sight of her grin and the sound of her laugh. It feels good to not be drowning under the sadness of his father’s death. (He really should sort that out, but right now, he doesn’t want to face it. And he’s glad not to, at the moment.) “We were good. You were great.”

She shoulder-checks him, blushing. She knows she’s talented, it’s just nice to hear from him—a prolific Olympian himself. “Thank you. So were you. The way you… you felt the music. I was…Impressed.” She swallows thickly, knowing she’s not saying what she means. Seeing him skate made her better today, and the emotions that washed over her, were more than she expected to come across. This is going to get awkward. “And they say you can’t dance.” She teases instead of letting them wallow in it.

He laughs, too loudly. It startles Loki awake in the seat in front of them. Sif barely stirs beside him.

“Jesus..” Loki clasps his chest.

“Sorry,” Thor chuckles as his brother looks back at them. “Go back to sleep, your highness. Sorry to have disturbed your beauty sleep.”

“Fuck off,” Loki growls and settles again. Rue bites her finger to keep herself from laughing.

“That was your fault,” Thor says, once it’s quiet again.

“Definitely not... It’s not my fault you laugh like the jolly green giant.” Rue returns, faking her indignance. He snorts.