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For the first two days he’s fine.
The Statesman’s cooling system may be failing rapidly, but it has yet to completely give up. And so, although the ship feels rather smothering, and most of its passengers are in foul moods, Loki manages alright. He merely casts a minor cooling spell over himself and keeps going.
After all, there is much to be done, and—even with Val and Bruce and him all shouldering significant chunks of responsibility—too few people to do it. This artificial heat wave is just another item on a to-do list miles long. Regardless of his natural sensitivity to warm temperatures, he isn’t about to take a nice, little break and leave all this to his companions.
Especially not to Thor.
The burden of being king weighs heavy upon him, Loki can tell. His gate is slower, more plodding, his face is drawn with exhaustion and pain, and when he finds time to sleep, it is as restless as Loki’s own. He has endured much in the past few years, chaos and heartbreak ordained by fate for some Norns-forsaken reason. All too often it has been wrought by Loki’s own hand.
There was a time when that fact brought him a sick sort of satisfaction, hollow though it was. Now, however, it gives him nothing but pain.
He cannot undo the things he has done, but he most certainly can try to make things right. And if ensuring he is there for Thor is the way to accomplish that, he will do it in a heartbeat.
But things never do seem to go even close to the way he wishes them to.
On the third day, the cooling system fails completely, and they all awaken to a ship that’s hotter than Muspelheim itself. Their ability to practice damage control is minimal at best, and by the end of the day, the already unpleasant atmosphere has grown downright murderous.
“Okay, I don’t care if we have the parts for it or not, we have got to fix that stupid system,” Val growls after they have broken up yet another fistfight, and Loki is more than inclined to agree with her.
Because the fighting and general aura of stifling discomfort are bad enough, but now with horrible predictability, his own body has begun to fail him.
Nausea comes first, paired with a sickening, incessant dizziness that makes the room dip and spin. And then his head begins to ache, pulsing an agonizing beat behind his eyes and blurring his vision until his surroundings are imperceptible.
It's a sheer miracle that he makes it back to the quarters he and Thor share without falling.
But things only go downhill from there.
Sleep is unattainable, despite how exhausted he feels. Every sound bounces around inside his skull, each impact agony. The room whirls around him, circling faster and faster until even shutting his eyes does nothing to stay its uncontrolled spiraling. His muscles scream, every single one aching as though he has just run around the Nine Realms without stopping. And as the night wears on, his already tangled thoughts only grow murkier.
At one point he is certain he can hear Mother calling him, beckoning him to find her, to save her. At another, he opens his eyes to see Thanos looming above him, his ruthless gaze spelling out his doom. And still another he runs smack into Hela, standing with her arms crossed in the middle of a hallway he doesn’t even remember stumbling into.
“Well, you look like death,” she sneers.
And Norns help him, he feels like death, but she really has no right to point out the obvious.
Before he can spit out some snarky comeback or even draw his daggers, however, his legs give way beneath him, sending him crumpling unceremoniously to the ground.
Seconds later his churning stomach gives a rather definitive lurch, and he tips forward, gagging on what little he managed to get down tonight.
“You must eat, brother,” Thor had said when he had seen him picking at his food, the rising nausea keeping his appetite at bay. “It will give you strength against this miserable heat.”
Well, little good it had done him in the end.
He heaves again, the sound of his own retching impossibly loud in his ears. There is a rushing noise there too, somehow managing to both drown out and amplify every sensation and noise at the same time. He is stuck in a current of inescapable pain, held there by the heat that assaults his burning eyes and aching head and eats at his very bones.
But perhaps the worst part is the horrifying familiarity of it all. This has happened before, after all, on a planet cloaked in darkness and populated by monsters all too happy to exploit his weaknesses. What better way to force a Frost Giant to obey than to expose him to overpowering, suffocating, horrible heat? It had certainly done the job, sent him straight to Midgard, armed with a weapon whose full power he didn’t even comprehend, set on a mission that was not his own.
If they found him now, if they came across him in this very hallway, loomed over him as Thanos did not long ago, ordered him to give them the Tesseract, would he?
He shudders, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to block out the images parading in a nauseating line before his eyes, trying to shut down this train of thought he in no way wants to follow. He was alone then, alone and scared and terribly angry. Now, he has hope and new beginnings. Now he has Thor.
Thor.
He peels his eyes back open, squinting against the smudgy blur of his own vision, searching for his brother. If he can just find Thor, everything will be alright. He will keep him safe, chase away this agony that saps the very life from his body. It will be like it was when they were younger and one of his priceless embraces was all it took to make Loki’s ailments and troubles melt away.
Only, Thor is nowhere to be seen, and try as he might, Loki cannot garner the strength to go search for him. The exertion of merely propping himself up on one arm is more than he take, and no sooner has he raised himself than he slips back down, gasping for the air his lungs scream for.
It’s too much—the pain, the loneliness, the mind-numbing exhaustion, and heart-thumping terror battling within him—and before he can stop it a miserable little whine escapes his parched throat.
If this is his fate, to perish in some Norns-forsaken hallway on some Norns-forsaken freighter all because of a bothersome cooling system fail, he cannot say he is at all happy with it. What a truly pathetic way to go out. What a joke, an absolute disgrace, for him to have endured so much, strived so hard against the lot the Norns always seem to grant him, only to end up fading away here.
Perhaps it is what he deserves, to be within an arm’s reach of what he has always wanted and yet denied himself for so long, and for it all to be snatched away when he least expects it. Perhaps his crimes are too great to warrant anything else.
But he still wishes Thor were here, to hold him, to tell him once more that he loves him, the way he did that first night when he drew Loki into his arms and promised to never let him go.
If he listens hard enough, he can almost hear his voice, though it sounds impossibly far away, the words indiscernible through the rushing in his ears. If he concentrates, he can even feel as though his arms are wrapping around him, their touch searing pain and glorious comfort.
And it’s not real, of course, it’s all just another illusion craftily spun by him for him. But he will gladly believe it nonetheless. Because that means in these agonized moments before the darkness arrives, he is not completely alone.
He awakens on a bed of ice.
It’s certainly not the most pleasant way to regain consciousness, with the clammy coldness surrounding him on all sides, clinging to his skin and drenching his clothes with an annoying dampness that strikes to his core. And yet, it is considerably preferable to the world of pressing heat he passed out in, so he’s not about to complain.
What he most definitely will complain about is the sheer amount of blinding light that assaults him when he opens his eyes. It makes the dull ache still throbbing behind them rear up into a full-blown pound once more and that terrible nausea set his stomach churning anew. With a groan, he snaps them shut again.
“Oh look,” someone says off to his right, “Sleeping Beauty’s awake.”
Shuffling footsteps approach and Loki can feel someone bending over him, their presence uncomfortably close. They linger just long enough for him to garner the strength to raise a hand and swat them away.
“Yep,” comes the unmistakable voice of Korg, “definitely awake. And rather feisty too!”
“It’s alright, Korg, Lackey just makes it his business to be a dick.”
Loki dares pry his eyes back open just in time to see Val approaching, the smallest of smirks on her face. He sends her a weak glare.
“So, how are you feeling?” she asks, coming to a stop beside the cot he is lying upon and crossing her arms. “Besides grumpy, of course.”
He feels like he has just walked through a desert into the blessed embrace of a frozen tundra. He feels like he needs to locate the nearest body of water and drink the entire thing. He feels like he has just had yet another traumatizing visit to death’s doorstep only to have been plucked off the stoop at the last moment. Which considering what he remembers of the whole ordeal is accurate enough.
But what he says is, “fine,” in the most undignified, horribly hoarse voice he could possibly have put forth and lets his eyes slide shut once more.
He wants sleep, he wants his brother, and he absolutely, positively does not want to dwell on the fact that the inherent weakness of his biology has been put on full display. Norns, he could very well be in Jotun form right now, his true self laid bare for all to see.
(And isn’t that a lovely thought?)
Val gives a disbelieving hum. “No one’s ‘fine’ after having a heat stroke, Lackey. It just doesn’t happen.”
Ah, a heat stroke. Yes, he supposes that sounds about right. Though he really should have seen it coming. Norns know he has suffered the effects of high temperatures enough times by now.
He swallows, cringing at the harsh burn of saliva against his dry throat. “Where’s Thor?”
“Dealing with a supply issue. He should be back any minute now.” She sighs. “You scared the shit out of him, you know. “
Of course, he did. Because apparently causing his brother pain is his role in the universe, as inescapable as his blasted heritage.
He was an idiot to ever think his presence around here could be even remotely helpful.
But perhaps that had never been his reason for remaining by Thor’s side. Perhaps, it had been for his own benefit the entire time, carefully concealed beneath the lovely deception of selflessness.
He no longer knows, and to be completely honest, he no longer cares.
Because no sooner has the unmistakable sound of Thor’s footsteps reached his ears than an overwhelming wave of relief washes over him, sending all other thoughts scuttling away to the recesses of his mind.
“He’s awake,” Val announces, just as Loki manages to get his eyes open.
He shoves himself up on his elbows, gaze locking with Thor’s as he does so. There is something distinctly unreadable in Thor’s face, something broken and joyful all at once, and Loki cannot help but feel a bit unsure of himself with it leveled at him. It is not often that he can't read Thor and it never sits well with him when it happens. Especially now with so much between them and behind them. Not knowing the look on his brother’s face can quite possibly mean the difference between acceptance and the cruel rejection he fully deserves.
But Thor is moving forward now, face painted with utter relief, and before Loki can comprehend what is happening, he has been enveloped in a crushing embrace.
“You bastard,” Thor whispers, thickly, his breath tickling the top of Loki’s head, “you should’ve told me. Why didn’t you?”
Loki shifts, so his neck isn’t at such an uncomfortable angle. “I was fine, Thor,” he murmurs. “There was no reason to worry you further over something you couldn’t even fix.”
Thor’s arms tighten around him until it is almost painful. “I could’ve figured out something. I should’ve figured out something before–before–” His breath hitches dangerously, and he pauses, visibly struggling to keep his voice steady. “You nearly died Loki.”
Loki swallows, hard, against the guilt bubbling up within him. Damn his Jotun heritage and all the trouble it has given him. Damn this false hope of being able to stay here and have some sort of relationship with his brother again.
“Perhaps I should leave.” The words are out before he can even figure out if he truly wants to speak them.
Thor pulls back abruptly, holding him at a hand’s length so he can look him in the face. “What?”
Loki swallows again, trying unsuccessfully to keep the tears out of his eyes. It’s amazing really, that he can still cry when he feels like all the water within him has dried up.
“I am here to assist you, Thor, and the rest of Asgard. But as it seems I am much more adept at creating further problems to plague you with, perhaps it would be best if we went our separate ways.”
Thor’s face spasms, a streak of agony come and gone. “I have lost you twice already, brother, and now I have nearly lost you again. And yet you believe it will help matters if you simply remove yourself from the equation completely?”
Loki offers him a small smile he doesn’t feel. “Well, yes. If I’m gone you won’t have to worry about me anymore, will you?”
The room grows deathly quiet. Emotions roll across Thor’s face like dark clouds heralding an approaching storm.
When he finally speaks, his voice is dangerously low, every word hitting the air with the force of a thunderclap.
“You may go if you like, I will not stop you. But know this, no matter if you are galaxies away or right by my side, I will never stop worrying about you because I will never stop loving you.”
And with that, he turns and leaves the room.
Enduring that night seems infinitely more difficult than the one where he was delirious and half-dead.
At some point during his and Thor’s conversation, Val had sensed their need for a bit of privacy and dragged Korg off to do one thing or another. So, save for the healer who comes occasionally to check on him, he is completely, miserably alone.
He likely should sleep, given how much his body has been through in the past few days. According to the healer, he only narrowly avoided certain death, and even that escape was mostly due to him unconsciously reverting to his Jotun form.
(It’s lovely, really, that the very thing that doomed him saved him in the end.)
But slumber eludes him, despite the exhaustion weighing him down, flitting just out of his reach on the wings of crushing guilt.
Somehow in trying to make things better, in trying to deny himself something he so sorely craved for Thor’s sake, he has managed to make much more of a mess than he began with. He could try to remedy things once more, go to Thor’s room and explain everything. How can he explain this though? What could he possibly say that would make Thor see he was truly looking out for his welfare this time?
So, as much as his feet urge him to rise from his bed and go make things right, his mind keeps him stubbornly put.
And he remains there, lying on his side, curled in a miserable, little ball, until Thor returns.
He rounds the cot when Loki doesn’t rise at the sound of his footsteps, and stands there for a moment, regarding him.
“You’re still here,” he says, simply.
Loki smirks. “Well, it was just such fun sitting here amongst this exorbitant amount of ice and feeling sorry for myself.”
Thor huffs a laugh and pushes aside some of the ice so he can sit down. “I can imagine.”
“So, I take it you’re through with being angry with me?”
“If you’re through with wanting to leave.”
Loki hums, shifting a little so he can see Thor’s face better. There is no remnant of that stubborn aggravation, now, only a sincere sort of hope that takes hold of his heart and squeezes.
“In the elevator, on Sakaar, you said being alone, without you, is what I’ve always wanted,” he says, slowly, measuring each word with a careful precision that belies the desperate yearning within him. “You were wrong though. I never wanted that, not truly, not even when I thought I did.”
“Then why did you want to today?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to leave you, Thor, I wanted to stop being a burden to you. You are king now, and the responsibilities that accompany that task are enormous. The very last thing you need is to have to worry about me on top of everything else.”
Thor reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder, his Aesir flesh stark against the deep indigo of Loki’s own.
“I told you, Loki,” he says, with a gentleness Loki does not deserve, “I’ll never stop worrying about you. I’m your big brother, after all, and whether you like it or not, that is what big brothers do.”
“It’s intensely annoying,” Loki mutters, rolling his eyes even as a smile quirks his lips.
Thor huffs a laugh. “Well, fortunately being annoying is not just reserved for little brothers.”
“Careful. I might just stab you.”
“See? I would be so lonely without this!” Thor says, giving Loki’s shoulder an uncomfortably hard squeeze. “You threatening to wound me at various points throughout the day, our little talks and escapades and bouts of bickering that seem to frighten everyone except Val–it all makes my day so much brighter.”
Loki glares at him. “Well, when you put it that way I feel like an integral part of this whole operation.”
“But you are,” he replies, and his expression has returned to that painful sincerity that despite his best efforts never ceases to make Loki believe whatever words follow it. “All the aid you have given me these past months has been invaluable. You know the ins and outs of rule as I never have and never will; you know what needs to be done to keep our kingdom alive. I need you brother, more than you could ever know, and not just for your help in running Asgard either. Trust me when I say that your support has been the only thing keeping me from the brink of madness.”
Loki laughs, a sad, little sound nearly choked out by the tears clogging his throat. “And here I thought I would be the one to drive you to madness.”
Thor chuckles. “I cannot say that once that would not have been the case, but now things are different. We have a hope we did not have before, the opportunity for new beginnings, a new life for the both of us.” His face grows solemn, and if Loki looks close enough he can see the beginnings of tears in his eye, shining beneath the bright blue of his iris. “But if you leave again all of that will be gone.”
Loki takes a deep breath and blows it out through his nose. The tears are coming in earnest now, sliding down his face in rapid streams and plunking down onto the cot. No doubt this little display of waterworks is only serving to dehydrate him when what he really should be doing is rehydrating, but he can’t bring himself to care. Because Thor is asking him–no begging him–to accept the very thing he wants. And Norns help him, Loki can no longer find the strength within himself to fight it.
“Fine,” he says, unable to sound reluctant despite his best efforts, “I’ll stay.”
Thor’s face lights up like a rainbow after a raging thunderstorm, and in a matter of seconds, he has yanked Loki upward and into his arms.
“Thank you, brother,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, “thank you.”
And as Loki melts into his embrace, he cannot help thinking that he is the one who should be expressing gratitude. Come what may–injuries, illness, even a Mad Titan–he has the certainty of a brother who loves him, undeserved and unbelievable though that love may be, and who is willing even to fight to stand by his side no matter the cost.
And that means the world to him.
So, perhaps, just perhaps, being worried over is not quite so bad after all.