The Captive Titan [ManxMan]

Chapter Twenty-four: Keep Watch

~Chapter Twenty-four: Keep Watch~

"We're home!"

There is a brief moment of confused silence following the simultaneous exclamation from Nate's two daughters when our argument falls flat at the arrival of newcomers and the girls' enthusiasm fades upon seeing us. That awkward, uncertain silence is quickly filled, though, when Nate hurriedly stands up and walks over to his girls, all the while saying, "Welcome home, sweethearts. Why don't you go put your bags in your room?"

For all their energy the last time I saw them, they seem far more reserved and cautious now that there are three strange adults rather than just one. That does not stop them from whispering - in the way that many children whisper, loudly - to each other as they walk towards the hall, "His hair is so fluffy!"

"It looks soft. Maybe he'll let us touched it?"

Nate's skin is starting to look alarmingly clammy again, but something tells me that the less attention he receives right now, the better, which is why I look towards the focus of the girls' fascination, as it is not that hard to figure out who they are referring to even if they are not looking at him directly. Loki's hair is slicked back with some sort of gel or oil, not to the point of seeming like sweaty helmet hair but still definitely not fluffy, and my hair cannot be all that great after days in bed, nor has it gathered the girls' attention before. Ullr's hair, on the other hand, definitely matches 'fluffy' and 'soft.' Unsurprisingly, he has obviously also come to the same conclusion, but rather than be embarrassed by it, he just looks smug.

Out of the corner of my eye, though, I catch Nate wavering a bit on his feet, and seeing that Loki looks about ready to stand up, having noticed the same thing, I force myself to stand up first. After all, as much as my body hates me for moving again so soon after sitting down, I will hate myself more if I allow Loki to make Nate pass out. And while I believe that Nate is made of sterner stuff, there is a difference between facing difficult problems and knowingly being helped to a couch by the god who, according to legend, is supposed to bring about Ragnarok.

And Loki very well might if he feels like it on any particular day.

I take Nate's arm carefully and tug him back to the couch, noting the short-lived resistance in his initial steps before resignation takes hold as he lets me guide him. He is just sitting down again when his wife enters through the still-open front door, closing it behind her, and like her daughters, she pauses when she realizes that there are now two new people in her living room. She immediately looks to her husband, but seeing his frankly concerning composition, she switches from cautious but curious to aloof but worried.

"Are you all right, honey?" She asks Nate, all the while glancing warily at me first before outright staring at Loki and Ullr.

If anything, her borderline hostility only makes Nate look worse, but considering what he knows that she does not, I can understand why. That does not, however, mean that is how I wanted this to turn out, nor do I want him to continue to feel like he is standing on a bed of coals with nothing to do but stand on them. That is not why I told him the truth, and the sooner that our - if not outright good - neutral intentions are established, the better.

Nate clears his throat, and then, in the same moment that Loki decides to speak, says, "Laura, why don't you check-?"

"I think you should take a seat, Lady Obadiah," Loki announces at the same time, though while Nate cuts himself off, Loki does not. "There are some things you need to know."

Nate's wife, Laura, frowns, looking between Loki and Nate for a moment, clearly trying to figure out what is going on between them in particular and the four of us in general. There is no way she is going to be able to figure it out without being told, though, and I can see her growing more and more distrustful by the second. Nate does not let the silence drag on for long, however, before reluctantly patting the spot on the couch next to him.