Chapter Text
“Loki,” Sif snaps, but her voice is once again drowned out by the blare of a horn.
They have been driving for merely ten minutes on the lawless Midgardian construct known as the Autobahn, and she is convinced that Loki has provoked no fewer than twenty human drivers into a berserker bloodlust. His mouth is set in a thin, callous line as his foot presses down further on the accelerator. Their “luxury sports” vehicle purrs aggressively in response as they overtake yet another automobile within seconds. She thinks she can hear the faint shouting of expletives outside the window.
“Loki! For the last time, stop this reckless behavior before you get us killed.”
“Your distress is noted, but remains unwarranted,” he says in a mockingly patient tone. “The protective wards will hold, should I ‘lose control of the steering device’ and collide with another vehicle.”
“I place no stock in your assurances when a petty vendetta is involved,” she retorts. “And your wards would not extend to the Midgardian victims of your carelessness.”
“Petty vendetta?” He feigns surprise, though beneath his pleasant demeanor his annoyance is still apparent. “Pray tell, against whom might I bear such a vendetta when rest and relaxation are the only things allowed on my mind these seven days?”
His expression does not falter when her hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, but she can feel him tense under her palm as she runs her fingers with deceptive gentleness through his hair. Twining a few strands around her forefinger, she begins to pull.
His smirk turns into a grimace as he is forced to lean his head back to accommodate her unrelenting grip. “Sif,” he says, the edge of his long-simmering temper finally beginning to show.
“I concede my error,” she says with false agreeability. “Why don’t we turn back and return this vehicle so that we can travel your way? Your magic is so much more efficient after all. How foolish I was to think you might enjoy the journey itself, and my company along the way. My miscalculations have wasted an embarrassing amount of our time.”
Loki sighs, briefly casting his gaze heavenward as his head is still tilted at an uncomfortable angle from her grip. “Sarcasm suits you ill, my lady. You continue to wield it as a hammer when it should be aimed as a needle. But I concede as well – I will attempt to enjoy the journey as you say. After all, if the destination were all that mattered, I certainly wouldn’t have chosen this backwater realm for a holiday.”
Sif lets go of his hair and pats the back of his head in mock consolation. “You cannot manage to speak one sentence without aiming some veiled insult in my direction, can you?”
“Alas, there are limited directions in which to aim within this vehicle. I would much rather take aim at the incompetent humans sharing the road with us, but I’m afraid they cannot hear me.”
Sif withdraws her hand from his collar so she can bury her face in her palm, but behind it she is smiling. “You are the only man I know who becomes even more of an arse while on holiday.”
“Whatever serves to entertain my lady, for this is her holiday as well.”
And just like that, the tension lifts for the first time since they embarked on this poorly planned trip. Shaking her head, she covers his hand on the gear with her own, feeling the faint hum of the engine under the smooth metal.
“What are you most looking forward to?” she asks. “There must be something.”
“Let me see. Not preparing for another month-long negotiation with Alfheim. Not compiling briefings to prepare my brother for said negotiation. Not answering his dull questions as he inevitably misunderstands what I have written—”
“I am most looking forward to trying the cuisine called sushi,” she says as she interlaces their fingers. “Jane recommends it quite highly. I don’t know whether it is served in this region of Midgard, but I believe it is very popular.”
“Such simple pleasures,” he says, but there is no mockery in his tone. “I suppose I am looking forward to the musical performance tonight. According to the Midgardian press, the Berlin Philharmonic has a reputation for transporting its audiences to Valhalla. The two of us will perhaps be the best judges of that claim.”
She hums in agreement. She enjoys these brief respites where they stop clashing and simply carry on a normal conversation. Then again, their relationship would not be uniquely theirs without the frequent insults and the occasional pulling of hair.
There is a long silence as they continue down the Autobahn at a more reasonable pace, and Loki’s driving does not attract any more rude gestures from other motorists. The tension in his shoulders is still there, and she is certain he is thinking of the delayed negotiations and his brother, and of the war his brother continues to prepare for without them beside him at the moment. She moves her hand to the back of his neck again and runs her fingers through his hair in a soft, repetitive motion. This is how she offers sympathy, and how he accepts it best – not with words but in actions. Since she initiated their relationship that night not long ago, ensconced at his side before a warm hearth, she has discovered just how responsive he is to physical contact, how he craves it, even.
As she patiently draws the tension from his shoulders, he taps a few buttons on the complicated interface above the gear, and a pleasant harmony of rich strings and subtle winds fills the car. A preview of tonight’s performance, he tells her. She smiles and closes her eyes, his hair still twirled around her fingers.