Contest of Champions

56

I wake on a cot in a white tiled room, a far cry from the dark chamber of the Q-ship I had lost consciousness in. Perplexed, I furrow my brow. Where am I? Why am I here? What happened? Pushing myself up into a sitting position, I feel a stab of pain in my abdomen and grit my teeth.

Then it all comes rushing back to me. The Contest, the arena, the Avenger pack, Sif, Hogun, Peter, Cassie, Carnage, Veers, Natasha and Clint, my illusions. Veers and I being announced champions.

I won. I won the Contest. I can go home to Gamora now.

I glance down but I can't see my wounds. There are no red splotches on my loose white tunic but that doesn't calm me, just heightens my anxiety. I could be dying and I wouldn't know it. Sweat breaks out on my skin and before I really think about what I'm doing, I tear the tunic off my body, wrenching it over my head, and crumple it up in my hands.

Looking down at my abdomen, I see the broad, long scar across my stomach from where Carnage had hurled one of his blades at me. In the center of the scar is a line of stitches from where Veers stabbed me. My side holds more stitches from Clint's katana, and my whole body sports bruises blooming across my pale skin.

I trace my finger over the stiches, feeling my anxiety subside slightly at seeing the extent of my wounds. Then my eyes find the faint mark on my shoulder from Clint's arrow, back at the beginning of the Contest, which I know will soon completely fade away. My fingers then run over the scrape on my temple, mostly hidden beneath my black hair, from the other arrow.

Eventually, my heartrate slows but I don't want to lie down again. I slowly release the tunic in my hand and glance at it for a long moment, eyeing the wrinkles, before slipping it back on.

Where is everyone?

I thrust the white sheets back and slide out of the cot, glancing around the room. On the other side of the room hangs a new tunic, an exact replica of the one I wore in the arena. I step across the cold floor towards it and quickly dress, feeling better as I exchange the loose patient's tunic for the coolness of the Asgardian leather. I feel more put together, dressed like this, more like my old self.

Nebula's pin has been fastened to the sash and I finger it as I hear a speaker crackle, telling me I'm about to be on camera for my reunion with my team. Smoothing my tunic down, I wait until the door opens, running my finger over the cool wood of the Yggdrasil pin to help calm myself.

Shoulders thrown back, head up, eyes confident, the slightest hint of a triumphant smirk teasing across my lips, I leave the room behind as I stride down the hall. The entire team is waiting at the other end, Hela, Valkyrie, Thor, Jane, and Erik Selvig.

"Brother!" Thor bellows exultantly. "You did it!"

A broad grin breaks across my face and I quicken my step. "What can I say, brother? Victory runs in our blood."

Hela tilts her head at that.

And then I'm standing in front of them, looking at the people who helped and advised me along the way, and I don't know what to say. Thor reacts first, stepping forward and pulling me into a hug, clapping me on the back so hard I lose my breath.

"You came home," he whispers. "I'm so glad to see you, Loki."

I nod, feeling my throat close. It takes me a moment before I can say, "Thank you, Thor."

Jane's next, brushing past Thor and embracing me. I'm caught by surprise and there's a lag before I hug her back, and she grins at me in sisterly affection. Or what sisterly affection must actually look like, not what Hela plays as the sister card. Perhaps this is what Pietro knew with Wanda as his sister. I feel a momentary stab of regret, thinking how he'll never see his sister again, Wanda will never see her brother anymore. "I knew you could do it," Jane tells me. "You Odinsons are too stubborn not to win."