california 02 // loki's romanoff prelude

six // loki's egress

Months of training.

Late night runs.

All for what?

Sit ups, push ups, stretches.

Is this what we came for?

The wail started in his chest and worked its way up to his throat.

Is this what we came for?

Everything was wavering around him, everything, and Thor was just a blur of colour. His temples ached, his head was dizzy.

He didn't care.

(I lost.)

(I lost.)

(I came second.)

(I did not win.)

He had only lost to Thor yet another time. How could this be? He had had enough fuel to last him to the end. He had it. For a shining moment, he had won.

And then his ankle-
He punched at his right ankle and then yelped at the pain. He didn't care if Thor was watching. He didn't care if the whole world was watching.

They had already watched him fall, and they had laughed.

He couldn't bear to look at Thor. Someone was saying his name, but he ignored them until they went away. He sat there, on the edge of the track, unable to look at his brother.

He could have done it. He could have, and he knew it.

He remembered Odin looking at him. That had shaken him so badly that he had fallen. How? Why?
He wanted to blame Odin, but couldn't quite.

All that pain. All that fury. Gone. Wasted.

His legs stared imploringly up at him, stinging and painful. He rolled up his trouser leg to examine them, and realised how much he hated them. They were sticks and they were slippery with sweat and his knees were so knobbly and were bleeding from where he jumped across the line and landed on them.

He had proved nothing. Like always, when when he went against Thor, he was the one who bled.

He watched silently as the rest of the runners all crossed the line, sweaty and red-faced. Not one of them had his ambition, or strength, or stamina. And they looked so pleased with themselves! Why? How could they? They were losers, just as bad as himself!
He was just another loser. Loser number thirty three. He ripped the shiny number off his vest, and tossed it at his feet.

Sif didn't come third. Hogun did. He must have been holding back until the last lap - and Loki watched as Thor high-fived him. A sharp-looking woman who could only be Hogun's mother gave him a hug.
Loki watched. His chest felt hot, and bitter, and heavy.

Sif crossed the line at fourth. She looked ready to murder someone. Loki didn't meet her gaze.
They must be surprised. He could hear them muttering his name. They hadn't thought he would do so well.

But nobody congratulated him. Nobody said "well done" or even just a "you've improved". They all congratulated his taller, blonder, more muscled brother. He knew this was what would happen - and this was why he had had to win! His anger swelled, he wanted them all dead! Did they know? He wished it so intensely. He longed for control, longed for silence. They were too loud, he wanted them gone, banished, into a black hole of no return.

That would leave him alone and friendless, but wasn't he always?

He sat there, trembling in his fury and outrage.

Until the voices got too loud.

The colours got too vivid.

Were there tears on his face?