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Sif slammed the lid of her small jewelry box shut with a decisive click, a scowl crossing her reddened lips as she started sorting through the mess cluttering the surface of her vanity, looking for her favorite pair of hairpins. She’d been certain she’d left them in her small box before heading out to her morning training, but now they were nowhere to be found and it was one more annoyance to add to her lengthening list of the day.

“Blast,” she hissed out, slamming a fist against the surface of her vanity as she sank down on the bench, frustration welling up within her with a suddenness and a force that for a moment, she couldn’t think. It was such a little thing, but the little things had been adding up over the past few days and this was almost the straw that was her breaking. Struggling with her emotions, she gritted her teeth, rubbing angrily at her eyes before she caught sight of the door across the room in her mirror’s reflection. It was cracked open, just as it had been when she’d returned to her room after training, something she’d taken no notice of at the time but now made her suspicious.

Her gaze narrowed as it turned on her jewel box once more, her lips twisting downwards for a moment in speculation. “Dammit, Loki,” she hissed after a moment, pushing herself to her feet and stalking out of her room once more. She knew she’d put those pins in her box, she could remember it clearly. If they were not there now, it was through no fault of her own.

Her strides were determined, almost angry as she left her own home and crossed the square, returning to the palace she’d left a short time before. She was still dressed in her training gear – a simple bound corset adorned with bronzed mail and soft leather breeches with a belted sash of deep scarlet, the colors of her father’s house. Her pale blond hair was drawn back in a braid to keep it out of her face while she practiced. She’d had no more plans for the rest of the morning beyond taking a long soak to ease her sore muscles – training had been especially brutal this morning. It always was when she was partnered against Brull. The older boy was a brute, and a strong one. What he lacked in wits and speed, he made up for in sheer strength and he’d managed to get the best of her today. She’d been distracted and slower than her usual self and she was going to sport several vibrant bruises on her ribs and arms before the day was out.

The fact that she had to postpone her bath to search out her own missing possessions was not improving her mood any.

No one was foolish enough to interrupt her – Sif within the palace walls was as common a sight as one of the royal family. Not to mention that most people were wise enough to get out of her way when they caught sight of the expression on her face. She stalked through familiar halls with a purpose, only pausing when she came to the entrance of the library that the younger son of Odin had been haunting recently. The doors banged against the walls when she stormed in, but she didn’t care as she started off down the shelves, searching for the source of her ire.

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Thor only grinned maddeningly in response to Loki's sardonic smile. He stood, raising his goblet. "Then a toast, to the jewels of Asgard. At least if my brother is to be blinded, it will be with beauty."

Loki met his brother's eyes, and he smiled at what he found there. Thor had his brilliant moments. Loki rose as well, raising his own goblet. "Rather, to the blades of Asgard, as I think they shine more brightly today. My poor eyes may never recover."

Whatever they thought of the words, the rest of the court had little choice but to follow along. Loki risked one last glance at Sif as he sat. He felt strangely clumsy and awkward, though it certainly didn't show in his movements. Normally he was better at things than this. He frowned down at his plate as if the food had personally offended him. Maybe it was the headache, but he felt unguarded and clumsy. Even his tongue felt thick and strange, like he'd have to try to come up with glib things to say instead of just producing them like magic.

And looking at Sif definitely was just too distracting. So Loki spent the rest of the night studying his plate, or speaking politely to his mother, or inspecting the table in front of him. Toward the end of the evening his headache grew even worse, his hand wobbly enough that he actually spilled a little wine as he picked up his goblet.

It was embarrassing, but it was also a good excuse. He excused himself from the table, saying that he felt unwell, and made his escape before the final two courses. It had the added advantage of meaning he could avoid any possible interaction with Sif entirely for the evening, when he was already off balance and would probably make some horrible mistake.

Sif's cheeks had flushed a deep red when the princes' toasted her, feeling unaccountably awkward at having such attention dropped on her at Thor's side, though she hid it behind a blank expression and a cool smile. At her side, her father seemed to puff with pleasure at this and it made her want to kick him, but she restrained herself, taking this for the boon it was. She caught Loki's gaze for one brief moment when he sat, but he spent the rest of the night studiously avoiding looking at her again.

Luckily, Thor at her side maintained an avid conversation, both with her and their fathers, although she slipped more and more into silence as the evening progressed, a small frown marring her brow as she watched Loki with increasing concern. When he excused himself early, it took all her will not to go after him, but she bided her time instead, especially when the Queen and none of the others seemed to notice anything amiss.

The rest of dinner was torture, but she survived it. There was no chance to slip away from her parents afterwards, and her father's firm hand on her shoulder as he steered her out left no room for discussion. She suspected she was in for it the moment they returned home but somehow her luck held and her mother stepped in, interfering long enough for Sif to flee to her room once more.

She feigned sleep when her mother came to check on her, and from there it was only a tense impatient wait for the household to settle into sleep. On silent feet, she scrambled from her bed and dressed in her training clothes once more, dark leggings and simple tunic. She'd snuck in and out of the palace for years now, ever since she'd befriended the princes. Her fingers absently touched the ends of her hair with a crooked smile. She wouldn't need to worry about this giving her away this night.

Then it was a simple task of scuttling down the tree outside her window, creeping her through the long shadows back to the palace and slipping once more along the back corridors where no one wandered at this late hour.

She didn't bother knocking at Loki's door, slipping inside on silent feet. There were still lamps lit, although they were dim, just enough to illuminate her way and show his form on the bed.

"Loki?" she called out to him softly, her voice a whisper. Had he already fallen asleep?

Loki wasn't quite asleep; he'd been napping off and on since leaving the feast, just laying on his bed with a cool cloth over his eyes. He'd intended to dress for bed, but had only gotten as far as taking off his boots and pulling off his tunic, and then the rest just seemed like far too much physical effort.

It was annoying, since he couldn't read without making the headache worse, though he could at least think about things. And he determinatedly thought about fields and calculations and other bits of magic technique and theory that would help him develop his mental muscles a bit better so he wouldn't get headaches quite so easily in the future. He was not thinking about Sif.

He refused to think about the pale skin of her neck, or the way the now black-hair framed her face, and how striking it was, and... damnit.

Magic. Fields. Calculations.

Except then there was Sif's voice, and he had to wonder if maybe he'd started hallucinating again. Though he'd only driven himself to that point once before, and he hadn't thought this time was even a tenth as bad.

He slipped the compress off his face with one hand and sat up in bed, looking toward his windows. And there stood Sif, now dressed much more normally. He hadn't thought she'd be quite angry enough to come murder him in his bed, but there was no telling some times.

He sighed quietly, though he did sit up a little straighter. "Yes? To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked, tone sardonic. Then he shifted effortlessly to something far more plaintive. "And could it possibly wait until the morning, when I will hopefully feel less foul?"

"I knew it," she stated, crossing the room on still-silent feet, her voice quiet so as to not carry beyond the room, just in case there were guards passing in the night. She stopped beside his bed, staring down at him with a small frown, her intent gaze taking in everything.

"You overdid it, didn't you? What were you thinking, Loki?" There was no accusation in her voice, not beyond the concern at seeing him pained and pale, at any rate. If anything, it was pure confusion.

She was far too calm and that actually scared him a little. In his rather diminished state, he was still prepared to deal with a bit of rage and arguing so long as the volume didn't creep too high. But calm?

He was starting to wonder if he really had gone too and he was about to be knifed by a madwoman. While he wasn't determined to die in glorious battle like Thor - he abhored the idea actually - knifed in his bed during his tender years was definitely not a better alternative.

"I might have had a little more excitement this afternoon than I should have," he admitted with a very measured tone. "Though that is not necessarily a concern of yours unless you feel I ruined your dinner with my early departure. Though I somehow doubt that is the case, since you were seated next to my brother and he seemed to be entertaining you more than sufficiently." The last statement eas delivered a bit more snappishly than he'd intended, but he wasn't at his best.

"Idiot," Sif muttered under her breath, shaking her head at him. "Don't you start that, I've had to hear enough of it from my father tonight, and will no doubt hear more on the morrow. As if Thor needs to be more smug about anyway. Even he picked up on my father's 'subtle' hints."

She climbed up beside him, settling against the headboard before dropping one of his pillows on her lap. "Lay down. You look like you're about to pass out."

"My brother is smug like he breathes. He can't help it." That those implications Sif mentioned were only making Thor smug rather than disgusted only confirmed some of Loki's unacknowledged irrational fears and did nothing to lighten his attitude.

He looked ay Sif suspiciously, eyes widening as she made it plain he was to lay gis head in her lap.

And disturbingly, he rather liked the idea on principle.

"Is this the part where you lull me into relaxing so it will be easier to snap my neck?" But he laid down anyway because it sounded nice. "At this point you'd only be doing me a favor anyway."

He looked up at her and swallowed hard, then resolutely closed his eyes. Looking at her made him feel strange.

"Of course he is, that doesn't mean I want to give him more reason for it," she retorted, waiting patiently while he eyed her with suspicion before finally laying his head down on her lap. She retrieved the compress, folding it until she could rest it over his brow, noting that his eyes were closed. he looked... different like this. Unguarded. It was strange to see him such and her eyes searched his face for a moment before her fingers drifted to brush through his dark hair, the touch soothing, knowing his head pained him.

"I should be furious with you, you know," she stated calmly, still combing fingers through his hair, ignoring his ridiculous statement. Well. Mostly ridiculous. She hadn't decided yet if she was actually furious at him or not.

"But he doesn't need a reason to begin with," Loki pointed out, sounding amused. His eyes snapped open when she touched his hair, brows drawing together in puzzlement. But he didn't see any answers immediately evident in her face, and it seemed inadvisable to keep looking. He closed his eyes again, sighing.

It was soothing. Nice, even.

"You're often furious with me, so I fail to see how anything has changed. It's probably unhealthy to spend so much time angry, really."

Sif made a quiet noise of exasperation and lightly tugged on one dark curl before going back to combing her fingers through his hair. "I would have to agree. Now if only we can endeavor to make you less of an annoying brat, that might even be possible," she retorted wryly. "As Thor is smug, you are perverse."

He laughed, though very softly. "Perverse is much more interesting than smug, though. I would wage that if Thor were to become less smug and I were to become less perverse, you would eventually find yourself missing that perversity but not the smugness."

He almost thought to catch her hand, but realized that if he did so, he'd have no idea what to do next. Which had great potential to be quite humiliating. Instead he clasped his hands on his bare stomach, lacing the fingers together.

She rolled her eyes, even though he couldn't see it. "Now it is you who sound smug," she countered, relaxing as her lips quirked faintly. His hair was dark against her fingers and she played with it lightly, recalling why she'd come. She fell silent for a long moment before voicing the question that had drawn her here.

"Why did you do it, Loki?"

She still wasn't sure what she thought of it. By all means, she should be enraged and furious and humiliated right now. he'd very nearly ruined everything and it was only by sheer luck that she wasn't facing her father's wrath tonight. But instead of being furious she felt... relieved. Lighter.

Perhaps she was in shock?

"I'm working on an impression of my brother, do you like it?" He smiled.

And there was the question he'd been dreading. Because he knew that no matter what answer he gave, she'd either get angry, or not believe him, or both. He was having a difficult time coming up with anything coherent to say, between the ache in his head and the strangely pleasant feeling or her playing with his hair.

This time, he did take one of her hands, holding on with both of his so she couldn't break free. He brought her hand to rest on his chest, as if somehow she'd be able to read and understand the strange knot of feelings he'd been dealing with all day with her fingertips.

But all he could really think to say was, "I don't know. Because you were upset. Because I could."

Because you couldn't.

She wasn't sure whether to be surprised or frustrated with his answer. It was so rare that he gave her a straight one, and while this wasn't exactly informative, she sensed it was actually the truth. Her fingers twitched against his chest, her hand still caught in his and she didn't draw away.` His skin was cool beneath her hand, but she could feel the speeded flutter of his pulse in his chest.

"It could have gone very badly," she pointed out, her voice still calm, reasoning things out logically. She had to. She didn't want to think about how it could have gone wrong because she feared she would start to hyperventilate, and really, one emotional fit in a day was more than enough. "It still might. My father... He still will not accept this easily."

But there was a determination in her voice now that hadn't been there earlier in the day. A resolve. Somehow the shedding of those long blond locks had somehow shed the urge to meld into her father's expectations along with them. As if looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger had somehow finally showed her how to be that stranger. She couldn't put it into words, couldn't explain the calmness that had descended over her in that moment. As if something were finally right.

She feared that if she tried to put it into words, he would think her crazy.

He was surprised that she still sounded so calm, and opened his eyes just a slit so he could peer up at her. He glanced at her hand, still captive between his, then back up at her. "It could have," he agreed. "But I had faith in you." His mouth went tight when she mentioned her father, but for the time being he held in the unkind words that wanted so badly to escape his lips.

Because the whole point was that Sif wasn't her father. She was herself, as stubborn and cranky and terrifying as that occasionally was. And at least this way, she seemed to look more herself too, as odd as that seemed.

He glanced down at her hand again. Tentatively, just an experiment really, he ran his thumb over her knuckles. He'd had plenty of unpleasant encounters with those knuckles, though nothing he probably hadn't deserved. He liked them better this way, though.

Sif gave a quiet, disdainful snort. "Me? I don't think it had anything to do with me." It never did, to be honest. "If you and Thor hadn't done that ridiculous toast..." she trailed off, wrinkling her nose. "What was that all about, anyway? 'The blades of Asgard'? That was almost as bad as Thor's babbles about jewels."

At least the blade part had been more accurate, she admitted. Loki's elder brother, on the other hand, was going to have an interesting time of it when next they met in the sparring ring.

Despite her flippant words, she was thoroughly aware of the brush of his thumb over her knuckles, although she made no comment of it. She was playing with his hair, after all, and she did her best to dismiss it as an absent gesture on his part. Surely that was what it was.

"He started it," Loki said. "I just finished it. But I had to go with the motif, didn't I."

She hadn't snatched her hand away, she didn't look upset, and she was still playing with his hair. So he supposed that meant this... whatever it was... was alright with her. Again he moved his thumb lightly cross her knuckles, finding the tiny imperfections of the skin where they had split and later healed. It was fascinating, and... something else besides.

He licked his lips nervously, then cleared his throat for good measure. "A good knife shines just as brightly as some bauble," he said. His voice sounded odd to his own ears. "And is far more useful to have around as well. I'd certainly rather have a good knife with me in a fight than a handful of gems to throw at whatever wants to eat my head."

Sif gave another quiet snort, glancing down at him now, her eyes dark with amusement. "What are you talking about? You'd probably be just as dangerous with either. You'd have some bit of magic handy that would just blind whatever's trying to eat you. Or sharpen the baubles midair so they were just as good as knives. You've always been better with those anyway."

Which was true, and she felt no shame in admitting it. Thor was dangerous and deadly when dealing with his strength up close. He came at you from the front, all power and force and few could stand up to him. Not even she tried, unless he'd managed to get her good and pissed off. Loki's attacks ever came out of nowhere. He was much harder to read and predict. If you had him in your sight and kept him there, you had the upper hand, but it was there that was the hardest challenge.

Loki's lips curled up in a familiar, sly smile. "I suppose you have a point. But it sounded nice when I said it. Eloquent, even. And if it didn't make the impression I wanted, I'm prepared to find other ways to make my point most... indelible."

As if his fingers had developed a curiosity all their own, they began to explore the rest of her hand with light touches. He found the rough places where she had built up callouses with weapons, different from his own. He found it strangely fascinating. And while her hand was just as strong as his - quite likely stronger - her fingers were still finer.

"Just because you use words no one else knows the meaning of doesn't make you more eloquent," she pointed out with a roll of her eyes. "It just makes the rest of them confused."

Her free hand still played in his hair but as she tilted her face forward slightly to glance down at him, a loose lock of dark hair tumbled into her vision. She stilled, for the sight of it still caught her off guard. She suspected that she was going to be doing double-takes at any reflective surface for some time. Her eyes crossed as she stared at it, then she gave a small puff of breath to blow it out of her face once more, considering both of her hands were occupied and she was reluctant to budge either of them.

This was surprisingly relaxing and comfortable. She suspected it might be a new record in the length of time Loki had not tempted her to punch him.

"Which of my words were difficult to understand?" he asked mildly. "I thought I was very concise."

He should let go of her hand, he thought. Before things went strange and awkward. He wasn't really in the mood for strange and awkward; he couldn't really enjoy it with his head pounding. And besides, he oddly didn't want there to be strange and awkward at the moment between him and Sif, because it wouldn't work right as a game. Not right now at least. Not as something to play with.

And yet, he didn't want to let go, either.

He split the difference and raised her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over her knuckles before letting her hand go. He folded his own hands over his stomach again as if nothing at all had happened.

Her lips parted in a quiet inhalation of breath when he brushed a kiss against her knuckles, staring down at him in surprise for a moment, trying to decipher what that had meant. Why must he always be so blasted confusing? It's not like she wanted him to make sense all the time - he wouldn't be Loki if he did - but times like this would be nice, upon occasion, to not stare at him as if he'd suddenly transformed into yet another unknown creature designed just to bewilder her.

"All of them," she finally managed to answer, tugging lightly on a lock of his hair again. "Concise or not. Concise has nothing to do with the fact that you talk circles around everyone. 'Tis most exasperating. Although mostly when I'm one of them."

Like now. Although this time had nothing to do with his words.

"How is your head?" she asked, deciding a change of subject was probably the wisest course of action if they didn't want to end up bickering like five year olds again. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"It would be boring if I didn't," he pointed out. "I certainly don't want to bore anyone that's listening to me. And I'd hate to bore myself with speaking."

He looked at her for a long time, considering the possibilities. He opened his mouth to ask a question, then thought better of it.

But she hadn't reacted badly, just then. And Loki had never been one to leave well enough alone. Carefully, as if he expected to get punched or worse, he took her hand again, but this time he brought it to rest against his cheek. He looked up at her, no mockery in his expression, just a hint of puzzlement and curiosity, like he was trying to ask a question he couldn't quite put into words.

Edited 2011-12-06 06:10 (UTC)

"Loki Odinson, you are many things, but you will never ever be boring."

Sif's tone was dry, but there was nothing but truth in her words as her lips quirked in amusement at the very idea. That everyone around him probably bored him to tears most days was also probably a fact, but that was hardly a fault of his own. Still, a day when he did not leave her sputtering or speechless was a rare one indeed. She wondered how Thor managed most days, but she suspected even worse. Then again, he always seemed to handle it better than she.

She was drawn out of her thoughts when Loki moved her hand, and she watched him, gaze narrowed and slightly confused at the movement. Her fingers brushed against his cheek, finding his skin still cool to the touch beneath her hand. She wondered at the move, and what she saw in his face, because it wasn't one she was used to seeing there. She couldn't even begin to guess at what it meant.

"What is it, Loki?" she asked him softly, her dark gaze searching his face. She felt as if she should know the answer to that already, but he'd asked nothing of her and she hadn't quite caught up to him enough yet to guess it.

Loki laughed a little derisively at that, but her answer did please him. He could never manage to be anything like his brother, and he was starting to conclude that he'd never be so well-loved. But it was very comforting to know that he'd at least never be boring. Boring and unpopular was far, far worse than simply unpopular.

His stomach seemed to be ready to tie itself in knots in a way that had nothing to do with the headache. He searched her face for any indication that he wasn't the only one feeling entirely odd, but there was no sign. Which shouldn't surprise him, he thought with a hint of bitterness, since whatever this feeling was, it was probably something every female and half the males felt around his brother and thus it would never be directed at him. Or perhaps it really was just some strange illness that went with his headache and he'd feel entirely normal again in the morning.

Though even he had to admit to himself that was silly, considering... no, it wasn't a good idea to think about that considering Sif was right there and within easy punching distance.

But too late.

Loki let out a faintly exasperated sigh, though he wasn't certain who he was actually annoyed with more. A light blush suddenly coloring his cheeks, he closed his eyes because it was simply easier to not look at her. He released Sif's hand and then sat up, cradling his head carefully in his hands like he expected it to fall off if it got jostled too much. "You probably ought to go home," he said. "Unless you really are planning to murder me."

Edited 2011-12-06 15:51 (UTC)

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