Another Chance

Hug

A strange laugh filled the air, and it took him a while to realize that it was him.

His laughter was cut short as Sigyn took his hands, examining his open palm and bloody fingers.

"Oh, Ancestors... We have to go to the infirmary."

"No, no," he murmured, tugging at his hands gently. "If I go they will call Odin. I don't want... I can't..."

He looked up at her and caught her looking back at him. Sigyn opened her mouth, closed it, and nodded.

"Let's wash it, at least."

Loki followed her to the small kitchen sink and did nothing while Sigyn put his hands under the cold running water and washed them with a little soap and a lot of care.

A part of himself was horrified that he would allow this. For behaving like a child, for letting Sigyn wash him. For allowing her to see him in such a state. His old self would have teleported away, or turned into some animal, or turned invisible, and he would have fled far away. Very far. From her sorrow, from her pity. From her and from her touch, which made him shiver.

But instead he stood there and let Sigyn wipe his hands dry, carefully avoiding the gaping wound on his palm.

"I'm going for some gauze. They are in the warehouse, right here. It won't take long, I promise. Just... don't move from here," she told him.

She didn't wait for an answer before almost running out of the room. Loki heard another door open and waited. He waited with his hands on the sink. His palm was still bleeding, but more slowly. And he realized that he didn't feel the pain that he should feel. He hadn't felt the sting of soap on his wound either.

With some fascination he studied it. It wasn't very serious, but it was wide enough to cover almost his entire palm. Even so, it was only scratched skin, the result of having been pinched and scratched with more force than it should have been. He studied the fingers of the other hand and saw that there were still bits of skin under the nails. He didn't take them off.

To his surprise, Sigyn returned. She had a bottle and some gauze envelopes in his hands. She put everything on the table where he had been sitting earlier and then walked back to him.

"Well, it's stopped bleeding now," she murmured. "Come, I'm going to bandage it so it doesn't get infected."

She guided him to the seat before hers and had him spread his injured hand across the table. She sat down next to him and used an alcohol pad to wipe off the new blood. She then put a layer of some kind of reddish liquid on top of the wound and finally wrapped his hand in a bandage.

"You're good at it," he murmured.

"You'd be surprised how much an amateur gardener hurts her hands," she said, continuing to bandage it. "Mom taught me the basics. It's okay like that?"

"Great," he said, flexing his fingers. "Thanks."

"You do not have to thank me. Although you could do it by telling me what happened, Loki." Sigyn held his injured hand in hers, very, very gently.

And Loki knew he was snapping out of his dissociative stupor when he felt the sting of embarrassment shoot through him. He wanted to withdraw his hand, hide it (hide himself). But he didn't, unable to relinquish the warmth of Sigyn's hand around his fingers.

"Thor's friends have come to visit him," he said, opting to get right to the point. "I followed Thor for... Out of curiosity, I suppose. I stayed hidden, I'm good at staying in the shadows, as you know." He gave a laugh empty of humor, staring at his bandaged hand. "And they began to tell Thor that he should talk to Odin, so that he would let him come back. And the conversation turned to... To me. About me making him fool, and you, into thinking I've changed. And then Thor... Thor defended me."