Cellmates

13

There's no place like home, she thought. Even when we hate it or even if it's gone, we yearn for it. But not simply the ground upon which it once resided, but the aura and the sense of belonging. The place in the world you were gifted with until you had to find your own way. The friends you didn't have to find – they were just always there. Long ago, she had let all of that go. There would never be another place like home, but I've never felt closer before.

Loki opened his heart and made a place for her to stay. But watching him tear open old wounds in the process was gut wrenching. She'd never understand how they got here. At each other's throats one moment and in each other's arms the next, begging to just forget all that came before. And not only their slights and jests and harsher words, but everything. The lives that led them here. The heartache and pain. The torment and loneliness. There's no place like home, but I don't need it anymore. They were still locked in a dungeon. The ways to ease the boredom were dwindling slowly to nothing, but she wasn't alone. Never alone again. So long as he was there, the years could pass with everyday and every hour the same mundane existence and she would be content.

But their game of smoke and mirrors still irked her in a way she couldn't completely ignore. A nagging thought. A thorn in her side. Ever since their late night conversation, she'd been mulling that thought around. On that night she'd been unsure. Now she was simply stuck between a highly conscious desire and an involuntary panic attack. Knowing that Loki's presence was only a projection helped her smother the anxiety in the beginning, but now it only upset her. She wanted it to be real but there was still that little voice reminding her of all that transpired already. Still indecisive as always.

Loki held his distance, but she could feel the way he tested her – ever so gently as the days dragged on. Pressing closer. Teasingly closer. Only to pull away in the end for fear of her fear. Stupid fear. Stupid panic. Stupid everything.

Stupid me.

But he was endlessly persistent and patient. Little but time, he'd said. His life was measured in millennia of course. It was only fitting. Naomi's life, however, was measured merely in decades and already she'd grown impatient with herself. And Loki took notice, finding amusement in that. And so it became yet another game of theirs. She'd yet to decide how she felt about this one. But she could sum it up in a single word: frustration.

For now, they indulged a siesta and he sat in the center of her cell, softly reading a poem from one of his leather bound tomes. She was nestled safely against him, head in his lap as every word, enunciated in his ever-dulcet tone washed over her, leaving her numb and content. "Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness." His fingers habitually found their way into her hair in the way they had day after day for days on end. It had become part of their rhythm – a silent hymn for tortured hearts. The only peace they would ever find down here. "You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should." And it was enough.

"... in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. And above all, strive to be happy."

"Is this your first time reading this book?" she mocked, glancing up at him. "I'm not sure you've quite absorbed its message." He feigned bopping her on the head with it, before she quickly snatched it from him. It was a nicely leather bound book. Old. Older than her probably and very well read in spite of her jest. She flipped open the page he'd been reading. "This is in English," she noted quizzically. She flipped a few pages back. "This is one of our books."