A Bang and a Whimper

21

Jenna feels brave. She talks about her mother more with her father's friends, people she sees as her built family- uncles and an aunt she would otherwise not have. On occasion, she plays with Volstagg's children. She still prefers the quiet of stargazing in the gardens with her father and uncle, but having someone else to run around the training grounds with when they are not in use is a nice break once in a while.

Loki has also been feeling a little brave, particularly when it comes to Sif. He is not entirely sure what is between them, but he knows they are close. It is she who firsts suggests that they spar on the training grounds and he hesitates. She lets him decline the first time, but when she asks later the same week, she will not. He says he does not want to be seen. She suggests that they do so in the evening, perhaps at dusk. He agrees, but on one condition- that he is allowed to stop the match at any time. She finds the request odd, but consents. When they meet, he is in simple armor- nothing elaborate, nothing regal- and he carries his training daggers. They are wood, they will only bruise. She has brought staffs. He takes one, and they begin. He has not fought since Thanos, and he is out of practice, but she begins slowly and he takes his time, testing his own skills. She speeds up. Strike, parry, riposte. And then he misses blocking a strike, feels the wood connect with his knee and panics.

"Hold!" She freezes and waits as he stays where he is on the ground, breathing heavily, trying to capture the flurry of thoughts, "This was not a good idea."

She sits beside him, "What did I do?"

"Nothing. Nothing wrong at all."

"Then speak, so that I might understand this."

"You cannot understand this, Sif. And I hope you never do."

She is perplexed, "Is this because of your legs?"

"More than that. But yes."

The light is quickly fading, "Do you need to go in, or shall we sit here for a bit?"

"Sit here. Please. Just for a moment."

They sit in silence listening to the crickets. She very carefully sets one hand on his knee and he flinches. She does not move it. She waits. Then she takes his hand with her free one and squeezes it.

"Do you trust me not to hurt you?" she asks.

"Yes. But trust alone cannot overcome this."

"What is it? You still have not told me."

"Memories," he sighs, "Memories that are far too real. Everything came back with that blow. I felt Thanos'...weapon.... I never properly saw what it was. I felt it shatter the first knee. And as I fell, I swear that I could hear the bones shatter below it. And once I start remembering, it is very hard to stop."

"You said 'hold' as much to yourself as you did to me."

"Yes." He is ashamed to admit this. It feels like some kind of weakness, though he knows Thor would assure him it is not. That a defeat as brutal as Thanos dealt is not something one ever forgets. Nor is the pain of having every bone below his waist at least fractured, if not outright destroyed. But still, there is something about it that makes it all hard to admit.

"Why did you not wish to tell me this?"

"Because it should not still be this way. It has been a year. I should be healed from this."

She gapes, "You believe this?"

"Yes. Though I know Thor would tell me otherwise."

"Thor is wise in that. Loki, it has only been a year. Only. Or just over it. You had to relearn to walk. A wound that bad is not something someone simply moves on from once the body has healed."

"But we are taught differently, are we not? We are taught that even in defeat, if a warrior comes home, he comes home ready to go out for another victory after a good meal and time with his woman. We never hear the stories told any other way."

"The stories are, to quote Jane, 'a load of bullshit'. There are many warriors who come home after even a victory harrowed by what they have seen and done. Men who do not wish to ever set foot in a field of war again. And there are those who cannot. Those who die at home from what haunts them. Not all, of course, but it is not uncommon, and it is certainly not uncommon for those who suffer to never heal up here," she pushes a lock of hair behind his ear, "or here," she says, resting her hand over his heart.

Loki slumps, his head in his hands, and Sif holds him, "You are a good friend, Sif. Perhaps the best I have had, excepting my brother."

"Thank you. I only ask that you always keep trying."

"You mean at sparring?"

"And in general, but yes, that too."

"It will not be easy."

"I never said it would be...or that it should be."

"Then yes. I will. But not tonight."

She gives him a squeeze and then stands, offering him her hand, "It is too dark anyway. But we will again, and next time I will not aim for your legs. We will approach that more slowly."

He accepts her hand and does not let it go after he is on his feet. She does not protest and they return to the palace.