Two days later, in Midgardian measure, a sudden downpour announced as Thor returned to New York. Loki supposed he must count himself lucky that it took this long. He would, if these few days had been a reprieve from his looming demise, instead of merely a torturous wait for it.
The drugs the Midgardians used were either too weak, which left him feeling wrung and sore, or too strong, which left him fighting not to succumb to the sleep that fought always to overtake him.
And always his mind was in turmoil. He was most often alone, and still too weak to move himself from bed unaided. He suffered through the nights, unable to communicate his needs. This artificial heat they kept pumping around him was stifling and driving him to ever larger depths of misery. But that was nothing compared to the thunder that sounded, suddenly, in the wake of a day of clear skies. It was as effective as the horns of war, or the drums at an execution. It meant his death. And Loki was afraid.
Despite the warm, he found himself moving as much as he could, trying to hunch his way down into his blankets.
The door of his room creaked, but he refused to open his eyes. He had long known he was a coward. He didn’t think Thor would be surprised.
Heavy footsteps drew wordlessly closer, and he squeezed his eyes closed tighter, trying to curl in on himself as much as these medical restraints would allow. And then--
“Loki?” The voice was not what he expected, the figure looming over him not Thor at all.
He opened his eye a crack, scarcely hoping to believe that his brother’s friend in arms was here for some reason other than to hand him over for his death.
Still, in the dark, he drew himself together as best as he could and arched an eyebrow, a clear question-- what?
“Your sensors were going crazy-- they thought you were having a panic attack. Are you alright?”
Loki tilted his head and then looked out the window at the storm, then back at the Captain. He wished he could ask why they would send him, but that wasn’t going to be possible. Perhaps not ever again.
“The storm? Why are you-- oh, it’s. Um, it’s not Thor.” He sounded, if anything, more puzzled, as though unable to discern how or why Loki might fear Odin’s son. Loki let his brow knot, trying to communicate his confusion-- how could Thor not have told the Avengers of what had transpired between them? Why should he be unleashed upon Thor’s pet realm without its defenders at least informed of what and who was in their midst? If they knew, surely they would not be so kind as to see that he was healed, nor so surprised when he revealed his vulnerability, his fear of his foster family.
“It’s just a storm-- it blew in while you were asleep earlier. It’s supposed to be here for just a few days, and then move on. Are you going to be okay?”
Loki sighed through his nose and lifted one shoulder. It hurt, but it seemed they had found a stable mixture of pain killers now. He was awake and only in some pain. Rogers settled in closer.
“I remember when we first met, you said you weren’t fond of thunder… you meant Thor then, too, didn’t you?”
Loki nodded, then shrugged and shook his head. He probably wouldn’t have given a straight answer had he been able, but he’d much rather remind the good Captain of his inability than truly answer him.
Absently he reached up and plucked at one of the strings, braced for the pain and accepting of it, happy to focus on that rather than the dull throb of emotions in his chest.
But Roger’s reflexes were fast; he caught Loki’s hand though not without brushing against the leftmost stitch with a knuckle by accident.
Loki pulled his head back, only too late, and he cringed for the pain that did not come. Instead, there was a soft sound in Loki’s own voice, but different, as though his throat was an instrument, and the Captain had plucked at just the lowest of the strings.
As it vibrated and echoed around them, that stitch snapped, and his lips grew cold where the thread had been. Relief surged into the skin there, and he gasped, tugging the other strings in the process.
“What-- what did I do?” Rogers asked, taken aback. “Hang on--” He got up, crossed to the door, turned on the lights, and returned.
He reached up towards Loki’s lips, then paused to look Loki in the eyes.
“Can I--” Loki had rolled his eyes and grabbed Rogers’s hand, dragging it across the stitches.