Author's Note: Chapter. Nineteen. NINETEEN. My Doctor Who fanfiction ended at Chapter Twenty. And this is only just beginning. Well then. I apologize for the long delay, and the sub par quality of this chapter, but it's more of a transition, and it broaches some things that will come up again later. Bear with me! Thanks to all my new fans, and most importantly thank you for getting this little story to over 1,000 reads! Wooo! I felt I owed you guys a chapter for being dedicated even when I'm distracted. Now, read, and make sure to comment. It makes me happy on the inside.
EDIT: Apologies about the chapter ending mid-sentence. I don't know what happened. I had a lot of techinical trouble trying to post yesterday. Should be returned to full glory now. Also, I forgot to warn for strong language--so that too!
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Fuck.
If I hadn't severely and royally screwed up yet, I most definitely have now. I swear to Odin himself, when I find Loki Laufeyson I am going to see him fucked up by my own hands.
I sat on the floor for quite some time after he took off...sitting there, shaking, and staring after him. Of course, that could only last so long. Once I finally willed myself to get the hell up, I didn't exactly go in search of Loki. I ended up here instead. Here being the kitchen. Stuffing my face. I shove another fistful of bread into my mouth, my hands still trembling with utter unbridled rage.
"Are you...I beg your pardon, my lady, but are you feeling quite well?" A soft voice asks. I look up to see a stout woman, flour on her hands and woven through her swept back hair. I squint at her over the bread held up to my face and I give her a curt nod, returning to my food. She does not go away.
I look back up, "Thanks...for the bread, I mean. But I'm a-okay." I grin broadly at her, and her eyes widen. I realize how mad I must look—my hair is loose and sticking out at all angles, there is dried blood on my face, too, come to think of it...
She smiles nervously and wrings her hands, looking past me. I straighten up, sensing the presence of someone behind me. I turn in my chair slowly, expecting it to be Fandral or Thor or even Odin, who would likely wring my very neck. Instead Loki stands before me, looking pissed and bloodied, his clothing dirtied and torn. I glare at him, my hands clenching into fists. I get off my chair to give him a peace of my mind, but he wavers on his feet and I stare at him apprehensively. I lunge for him and catch him just before he falls face first. I manage to support his weight, but somehow I end up half-cradling his torso on the floor.
I look to the nervous woman, "Please, get Thor!"
"No," Loki groans, writhing in my arms.
"What happened, Loki?" I ask. I look back to the woman, still standing, paralyzed. I sigh and gesture for her to do as I say. She scurries off and I shift Loki in my arms, grabbing a hold of his face by the jaw and forcing him to look at me. "What did you do?"
"Get your hands off of me," he says lowly, looking at me through his slashed eyelid.
"Fuck off, you're in pain, and you're definitely in trouble as far as I'm concerned, now tell me what happened!" I demand.
A painful smile comes to his lips, "I—ah—I acted a bit like you, truthfully. I acted irrationally. I was a fool."
"You're an asshole. Come on, get up, Loki. I'll take you to Ei...um, Eye—Eileen?"
"Eir? I will not allow you to take me to the glorified healer, I will heal myself, if you will get your hands off of me."
"Suit yourself, Loki," I huff, pulling my arms back to myself, crossing them over my chest. I shift my legs, forcing Loki onto the floor. I watch him carefully, bewildering and infuriating all the same. I stand over him, looking down, and before I realize what I'm doing my fist makes contact with his nose, and I hear the bone splinter under the impact before it begins to bleed.
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