Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Val walked out of the bathing area, wrapped in both large towels. The sight of her made Loki's body heat.
No. That's not what she needs. She's still vulnerable.
She needed him to be there for her, and for the first time in his life, he was okay with that.
It surprised him how okay he was with it when it came to Val.
How much he took and how much he put up with.
Things he would never have tolerated with another woman, or that he would have found annoying, he actually liked about her.
He pointed to the ointment and bandages that he'd pulled from the wardrobe-sized first aid cabinet. "Let me look at your injuries."
"They're fine, thanks."
Loki nodded. "I know you can take care of yourself, but I'd like to take a look. Especially your wings. They did not look like they were in good shape in the arena."
"My wings are-"
"Fine? It'd make me rest easier to see for myself. After all, I’m the one who got you into that fight."
She looked about to argue, so he stood and gestured to the bed.
"Please? Humor me."
Her eyes narrowed. "This isn't your way to get me into bed, is it?"
He sighed. "When are you going to trust me?"
She bit the inside of her cheek. "Trust isn't something that comes naturally to me. All the people I've trusted have died. I've had to learn to rely on no one but myself."
"Well then, how about if you give me one small inch of trust and sit on the bed and let me check you over. No funny stuff. We both know if I try anything, you'll pummel me like you did Odin. Here." He pulled out her blades and handed them to her. "You can stab me if I try anything."
After a brief silence, she moved towards him and sat on the bed beside him.
She slipped the towel off her shoulders, letting it fall around her hips.
His gaze traced the path of scars that etched stories across her skin- some deep trenches carved by fierce battles, others faded whispers of long-forgotten skirmishes.
Near her spine, a jagged line told a tale of hasty stitching.
He extended his hand to trace the ridges of her past, but before he made contact, her wings unfurled with a startling grace- a sight both mesmerizing and heartrending.
These were not the grand wings of legend; though they should have resembled lustrous clouds drifting lazily across a summertime sky, they were tattered remnants.
Dozens of feathers lay absent from their rightful places, while those that clung on bore a muted dullness where brilliance once shone.
So different from the wings she'd shown him in her dream.
A gentle rustle accompanied their hesitant movement, reminiscent of autumn leaves brushing against one another in the forest.
"When was the last time you took care of them?" he asked.
"Before Ragnarok."
"What?" Loki couldn't believe she hadn't done anything to tend to her wings in so long.
"After Ragnarok, when I was kidnapped, I had to keep them hidden. If I didn't, Surtr would try to break them. And from there we came straight to Midgard, and there aren't a lot of places to fly and stretch my wings. You know, because of all the humans without wings and stuff."
Loki reached out and stroked her wings. The feathers remained soft despite their neglect. He ran his fingers over several broken pins, and the wings twitched and trembled beneath his touch.
“Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head. “I’ve not had someone touch my wings in eternity.”
He wondered how long it had been since she’d let someone touch any part of her. Had Surtr’s men pushed themselves on her? Loki shoved the thought away before his rage took over.
"We should remove the broken quills so you can heal, and they can grow back. The broken feathers we should trim down. And then you should let me rub them with some oil to help protect and rebuild them."
To his surprise, she agreed.
He was about to ask her if she meant it, but he was afraid that if he did, she’d change her mind. So instead, he gathered the supplies and started to work without a word.
For the next hour, he removed the broken quills from the membrane.
Cut down the damaged feathers. And finally applied oil to every feather where it met the skin.
Through the whole thing, Val didn't say a word; she just watched the movie on the television.
When he finished, he touched her shoulders, and she folded her wings in.
"You should leave them out for the night if you can. Let them breathe a bit."
She nodded, and her eyelids drooped.
"Here." Loki walked to a closet and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a large T-shirt. "You can put these on. I'll cut the back out so your wings have room to spread. And I'll have your clothes washed for you."
"You don't need to do that," she murmured.
He smiled at her. "I know. I'll be back in a minute. Don't leave, okay?"
She nodded.
Loki gathered her clothes, underwear, and boots, then walked out of the room. He closed the door and waited a minute, worried she might try to run for it. He'd asked her to trust him, though, so he needed to trust her in return. Besides, she was in no condition to run anywhere.
Loki strode down the tunnel to a split and turned left. He walked down another tunnel and stopped next to a large door. He knocked, and it swung inward. The scent of fresh laundry and a cloud of humidity wafted out to him.
"Put them in the basket," someone called through the steam. "When do you need them back?"
"Morning," he called.
"Will do."
Loki dropped Val's stuff into the basket as he was told, and the basket floated upward and out of sight.
He turned and headed back to the room. The closer he got, the more he worried she'd taken off in his absence.
But when he opened the door, she sat on the edge of the bed.
She'd already cut the back of the shirt herself, and it hung loosely around her arms.
Loki closed the door.
"I should get home. Check on Elle," she said without conviction.
"Why don't you rest for a few minutes?"
She nodded and, as if she'd just been waiting for permission, lay down on her side.
Loki waited, trying to decide what to do.
"Will you stay?" she asked, not looking at him.
Hel yeah, he would. "Absolutely."
He slipped off his shoes and walked to the opposite side of the bed from Val. He sat for a moment expecting her to change her mind, jab at him, or say something else, anything else… but she didn’t.
He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.
Every inch of him wanted to reach for her, to touch and comfort her through her pain and thoughts.
He’d gone through what she was going through.
The fleeting feeling of satisfaction, mixed with confusion and lingering anger, is still bottled up after decades of pain.
Of wanting to get right back into the ring and hurt Odin all over again, yet knowing that doing so wouldn’t make it feel better.
Nothing made it feel better. Nothing erased the memories and the pain.
Only time dulled the ache and the guilt.
The guilt for not doing more. For not having saved more.
For not having died herself. He knew it all.
Had felt it all. And somehow, had made it out the other side of it. And she would too.
The covers rustled against her wings as she rolled over, eyes closed, her body facing his.
She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Strong and tall, delicate and willowy. A complex set of opposites that fascinated him.
Without a word, she scooted closer to him, eyes still closed.
He waited, hoping, praying, and then his breath hitched as she nestled against him.
A wave of overwhelming protectiveness washed over him, causing his heart to gallop with a mixture of longing and disbelief.
The gentle weight of her head on his chest felt like a fragile miracle.
She was touching him. Choosing him. He didn’t know if it was the simple need to connect with another being or if she wanted to be closer to him specifically, but he didn’t care.
He would take whatever she would give him.
He adjusted his position, allowing their bodies to meld together.
Every beat of his heart seemed to synchronize with hers as she settled in closer, her warmth seeping into his soul.
He wrapped his arm around her back and down her soft wings.
He traced his fingers through the downy feathers.
She made a small sound he couldn’t decipher as he studied her face.
A purple bruise bloomed across her left cheek, but strangely, that was the only one.
As if Odin had tried to spare her face from damage.
Interesting considering Odin was known for his jabs and hooks.
Yet the more he thought about it, the more he realized Odin hadn’t used even a fraction of his strength through the entire fight.
Not that many would have noticed, but it struck Loki how much Odin had pulled his punches with Val.
Even before he’d given in to her need to release her rage on him.
He sighed, and for a split second, he pitied Odin. In so many ways, he’d taken on the brunt of everyone’s anger at one point or another. Loki, Fenrir, Thor, Val, and so many others. Yet he never complained. Never made excuses. Simply allowed them their anger and then moved on.
Val’s hand slid across Loki’s chest and stopped short of wrapping around his torso in a hug.
The soft sound of her snores brought a serenity to him.
A silent acknowledgment of the precious trust she had placed in him.
It was a victory he never dared to dream of, a moment of pure joy that reverberated through every fiber of his being.
In the stillness of the night, he marveled at the privilege of being her guardian in slumber, cherishing the thought of being a source of comfort in a multiverse of uncertainties.