Above All Shadows [Loki Timetravel fic - Completed]

34. Fugitives

They didn't run - running would have only attracted attention, but they moved quickly, leaving one city block after another behind them. After about half an hour they had reached the outer ring of Sanctuary City where warehouses and workshops proliferated. Some buildings clearly saw more use than others and some were, in fact, being pulled apart to be used for building material in new construction. Loki nudged Brunnhilde towards one of these.

Their entrance was a foot-wide gap between two pieces of wall panelling. To Loki's relief, once they squeezed through, they found they had the building to themselves. All the furnishings had been stripped long ago and only a fine yellow powder remained caked over the floor. Not knowing what the powder was, Loki steered Brunnhilde to a few square metres of floor by the back wall where the powder layer was the thinnest.

'We can take a rest here for a while,' he said.

Brunnhilde nodded, then propped herself against the back wall and slid down to the floor. As she buried her head in her hands, Loki dropped the concealment spells over them both, but he didn't like what he saw even before he exposed the damage Brunnhilde had accrued in Thanos' custody. She sat now with her legs sprawled out awkwardly and at the same time, seemed to be trying to hide her face from the world. What bluster she had summoned back in the interrogation room had utterly dissipated.

She reminded Loki of a wounded wildcat, who would claw and hiss with such vehemence that you would scarcely believe the animal was injured at all. Yet moments after the cat believed danger had passed, it would shrink into itself, wholly exhausted. Loki had seen this type of response many times before and had done much the same thing himself too. He supposed it was a manifestation of a primordial survival instinct many of the universe's sentient species had inherited from their less sophisticated forefathers.

Swallowing all the candid words that simmered in the back of his mind, Loki crouched down beside the Valkyrie. 'Will you let me have a look at you?' he said softly. 'Please? I need to know how badly off you are right now.'

Brunnhilde peeled her hands away and brought up her head. The lighting wasn't ideal, but what penetrated the dusty windows above them was enough to see the bruising across Brunnhilde's nose. Loki carefully felt the area around her blood-shot eye.

'Leave it,' she said. 'The socket was fractured; it's half-way through healing now. The nose too, I think.'

'What about beyond your face?'

'It'll be fine. Just need to rest for a bit. I just need to...'

'Have a drink?'

'Or twelve.'

Loki wasn't sure whether alcohol was supposed to be a psychological comfort or if Brunnhilde physically needed it. Asgardians were heavy drinkers; it was part of their culture, but he had come across other species for whom over-consumption often led to dependency. If any Asgardian had crossed the threshold from liberal drinking to addiction, it had to be Brunnhilde. She had drunk less in their last few weeks together, but a half-empty bottle of whatever alcoholic substance she could get her hands on remained her faithful companion.

In any case, Loki wasn't about to go hunting for alcohol while a fugitive in Sanctuary City. Officially, alcoholic beverages weren't permitted on Theta-Three, but there was such a rambunctious black market for the stuff, he was sure it was secretly supported by elements within the governing clique. This meant that the vendors likely maintained regular contact with the Palisade insiders and with the right amount on offer, could be persuaded to be on the lookout for Brunnhilde and Loki.

He tried to take stock of Brunnhilde's condition once more. The damage on her face was healing - Asgardians were a hardy lot. The angle of her left forearm looked off, probably a broken bone that had knotted back incorrectly, but he would have to re-break it and reset it if he was to fix it, which he didn't want to do right now. Better a crooked arm than a newly broken one. A part of him wanted to ask what had been done to her. Judging by her state, it wasn't all crude beatings. He had a wealth of experience with mistreatment in the hands of Thanos' followers; a small, morbid part of him longed to compare notes.