Pushing Buttons

Ghost

He almost never had regrets. The key word being almost. If anything he did somehow managed to backfire onto himself, Heimdall faced it head on. He refused to be a sniveling coward, to drink his problems away like Thor or to outright up and run away from them like Týr. But when it came to the All-Father, if there was even the slightest bit of disappointment or anger, the Aesir god practically had his tail between his legs.

And so, as he stood in his father's study, he hung his head, avoiding eye contact like a child who had been caught stealing sweets when he thought no one was looking. Of course he knew why he had been pulled from his morning duties. Nothing escaped the All-Father in the end.

The door closed, followed by indiscernible mumbling and footsteps walking towards the cluttered desk in front of him. But the lack of any direct communication was making Heimdall grow more uneasy by the second. The smack of a book against the wooden surface nearly made him jump, grounding him firmly in the present.

"You know," Bony fingers drummed atop the polished wood, each sound seeming to match the loudness and intensity of Heimdall's own heartbeat, "When I...encouraged you to play nice and be diplomatic, I honestly didn't expect you to take that to the extreme."

His fingers curled at his side, eyes hesitantly looking up. Words had formed on his tongue, but upon opening his mouth, nothing came out. Fear suffocated him, crawling from the base of his spine and squeezing his chest and throat.

Odin sensed his son's uneasiness, and dismissed it with a simple wave of his hand. "Now, now, I'm not mad." He chuckled, "Honestly, I'm more shocked than anything else. Of all the things, Heimdall." He shook his head, "Of all the things."

His unease didn't dissipate. It continued to simmer, settling in his gut and gnawing its way to sink in his chest. "I..."

"Sjá hvat," The old man mumbled, shaking his head. "We've been through this, Heimdall. You need to think," He pointed to his own head for emphasis, "Think. And by that I mean with your head—not your dick."

His brow furrowed. It was a low blow, and as much as it made his stomach twist, it was still the truth.

The All-Father freed Heimdall from his stern and disappointed gaze, instead turning to the materials laid out on his desk. A raven's caw pierced through the air, accompanied by the flapping of wings. Huginn made his perch atop the All-Father's shoulder, undoubtedly whispering into his ear of what his eyes had recently seen. With a simple nod, the bird inched down the length of his arm, preening his feathers as he came to a stop on Odin's wrist. "Go," He all but shooed away his loyal hound, "Patrol, drink, antagonize—do whatever you have to clear your head. And don't come back until it's properly working."

As sharp as the words were, they were considerably tame, at least in comparison to what he had expected the All-Father to say. But with a hand to his chest and a respectful bow, Heimdall sulked away, exiting the dimly lit study.

He sought a bath first, dousing himself with the hot water prepared by the servants and scrubbing his skin until it was nearly raw. As if he could wash away any and every instance of her. Purge himself of the sin and weakness that weighed him down. But the memories remained. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face, heard her soft voice as well as those sweet cries that left his throat dry and sent a rush of blood to his groin.

The refreshing cleanliness brought little comfort, and he all but rushed to pull on his clothes again. Routine was what he needed—his solitude patrolling Asgard's wall would force him to focus. There he could be alone with his thoughts. Away from Loki's brewing mischief, away from Thor's drunken ravings and especially away from her.

Stepping out of the Great Lodge and into the open air was like shedding an overbearing weight. And while he was never truly free from Odin's watchful eyes, he was no longer suffocating beneath dimly lit rooms, the gossip of his kin, or the stale stench of mead.

Few wandered the grounds, and the precious early hours of the morning before sunrise were arguably his favorite time of the day simply for that reason alone.

His mount, ever loyal and vigilant, stood near the edge of the small courtyard, having remained there since the night before. Upon hearing his master approach, the large Graðungr lifted his head. Claws capable of slicing through bedrock kneaded in the dirt, and a mouth filled with sharp teeth that could easily split flesh from bone fell open and gave way to a deep and bellowing croon.

"Gulltoppr~." He practically purred, giving the horned beast a soft pat on the neck. Looking into those bright blue eyes provided a window into the animal's true and honest nature. It truly was rare, but appreciated nonetheless, that someone was at least happy to see him.

Mounting the intimidating beast, he turned them both towards the city's main road.

He welcomed the cool morning breeze atop Asgard's wall. While the first few rays of the rising sun created a spectacular view of the realm's beauty and splendor, Heimdall took the opportunity to pace, and think.

Weakness was not something he had to tackle often, at least when it came to himself. His gift and mere existence had him spending most of his time looking outwards rather than in, reading and picking apart the thoughts and intentions of others rather than himself. Was this all just a test of loyalty suddenly thrust upon him by the All-Father? A cruel trick played by the Norns as they attempted to twist and skew his fate?

Regardless, his actions were what mattered most. And he—Heimdall, Scion of the Aesir, the Herald of Ragnarök had fallen prey to nothing more than a pretty mortal and her equally pretty words.

He froze, realizing his own train of thought. By the gods, this was a major fuck up on his part. His actions had been swift and foolish. He had clung to the belief that if he simply acted—got every filthy thought and desire out of his head—that any conflicting feelings he had would up and vanish. But that obviously wasn't the case, at least in this instance. Even here, in his one place of cemented solitude, she haunted his thoughts like a ghostly spectre.

But why her? Why?! Romance was the last thing on his mind. In fact, it wasn't on his mind at all until she showed up. Prancing around, with those stupid thoughts hidden away from his eyes, those stupid pretty smiles that she gave away to anyone no matter how sour they were to her, those stupid kind words that made both his stomach lurch and his heart melt...

In a state of frustration, he kicked the nearest pebble, sending it soaring through the air and disappearing somewhere within the stretch of hills and beaches on the other side of the wall. He glared at the expanse that lay out before him. From his father, to his responsibilities, to Loki's chaotic intentions, to Ragnarök looming over his head, dealing with anything else only created an even bigger migraine for him.

She was a distraction, and a distraction was something he couldn't afford.