That hurt as well, when she stepped away; there was an echo of that pain in his expression for just the blink of an eye, and then he had himself under control again. Loki quickly dropped his hand away from her back. He pulled her hand away from his cheek, pausing to place a light kiss on the back of it, the motion made into an irony with the practiced arch of an eyebrow.

He had wanted her to tell him to stop his self-pitying and move forward. This would do just as well, he supposed. He should not have asked for comfort in the first place, and it was not a thing he could ask of Sif, for all her noble offers of help.

She had said he could give her orders, he mused for one dizzying moment. But that would be a new level of pathetic to grasp at.

He opened his fingers to let her hand go, adding a polite, if half-bow to the motion. "I require nothing of you at this time, Lady Sif, but I appreciate your concern. I ought to go see my father now. I've already delayed far too long." He gave her a smile that was all pleasant, polite distance, as if they were miles apart rather than nearly on top of each other in the tiny room. "Perhaps find my brother and delay him if he has not yet spoken to our father, though it's no doubt too late for that."