pirateangelbaby | Admitting You Have a Problem

Unfortunately for Thor, Loki had indeed noticed his prodigious consumption habits. And despite his own hopes, it wasn't temporary, and in fact seemed to only grow worse over time.

He wasn't entirely sure what to do. He was well aware that Thor was buying in a type and amount that would definitely effect him. Too much. And any vague hope that he was just helping stock everyone in the little Asgardian village was rather spoiled by how determined it seemed that Thor was to avoid him when he picked up his orders.

It was the same bartender who answered the phone when Thor called, surely that meant that Loki was away either on some business or assisting Cricket with his own endeavors.

And unfortunately for Thor, the bartender rather looked like Loki from behind, so there was nothing to warn the thunderer that anything was off. At least until he got to the bar and the one behind it turned on his heel in a slow, almost lazy manner.

That certainly wasn't Alex.

"Thor!" Loki's brows lifted as he played at surprise, hands still busy drying a glass. "What a pleasant happenstance!"

Busted.

"Loki!" Thor falters midstep, surprise flickering to guilt and back again. He hadn't expected this, hadn't planned ahead, had figured he could get in and out without anyone ever being the wiser. And yet he isn't doing anything wrong, is he? He's legally purchasing goods, that's all. Never mind what those goods are. Never mind what they're for.

Then why does it feel like being caught by his mother after sneaking out of bounds?

"I... didn't expect to see you here," Thor stammers, a beat or two too slow to be natural, and curses himself for his slowness. What is wrong with him? He should be able to improvise on the fly, as he has for hundreds of years. This is Loki. This should be easy.

It's not.

"What are you doing here at this hour?"

"Normally I am away at this hour," Loki allowed, setting the dry glass and rag down with a shrug. Almost casual. Everything about him straddling that fine line of almost playing along. "It makes me almost think you were trying to avoid me!"

A little moue of noise as he blinked almost as if injured by the thought.

"But surely not, just a coincidence. Like Alex having to go run a few errands for me, such a helpful young man. But come, sit! I can help you as well as he can!"

You're not getting out of it that easily Thor, sorry.

Maybe he can still salvage this. Thor has never been the smoothtalker of the family, particularly when it comes to pulling the wool over his brother's eyes. But he's not doing anything wrong. He's not.

"Loki, don't be silly," Thor says, summoning up a smile that seems just a touch too nervous, a small laugh that's just a touch too off. "Of course I'm happy to see you. I always am. You're just not usually here when I come by."

Yes, this is the right tack to take, he's pretty sure. Play along, make nice, get his drinks and go home. Don't let Loki see that he's making it up as he goes, that he doesn't know what he's doing. Don't let him think that his other brother was wrong to trust him with the children in his absence.

He hesitates, not really wanting to sit down. That feels too much like settling in for a long visit when all he wants to do is leave. But Loki will be suspicious if he doesn't, right? After a long, long moment, Thor slowly reaches for a barstool and sits, worrying his hands against one another. "I called in an order to pick up," he says, as if Loki doesn't already know. "I wasn't planning to stay long; I have to get back soon. You know how ravens are if you leave them on their own," he adds, seizing upon the excuse with a relieved smile.

Surely not doing a thing wrong. No not at all. That squirming nervousness was just silliness right? Nothing to feel guilty about here!

Loki pretends like he doesn't seem that nervousness. Lets Thor think that for now everything seems perfectly reasonable, like his unease wasn't broadcasted like it was on a neon sign for any observant enough to see. Smiles brightly as his brother takes a seat, nodding as he plucks up the clipboard from under the bartop where orders were logged.

"Oh yes, ravens can be tricky things," How badly was Thor still hurting? It made Loki ache just thinking about it, something he tried not to let bleed into his tone or smile. "But surely whoever you have watching the children while you're on this errand are more than capable of keeping the ravens entertained a few minutes extra. You've a little time to visit!"

Excuse denied!

The smile falters now too, and Thor frowns, continuing to fidget. "Well, I... suppose you're right." A few minutes. He can do that. Deflect, deny, ease Loki's worries and get back home. Simple.

Should he order a drink? That's a normal thing to do in a tavern, especially when you're socializing. It's not like it's something Thor hasn't done a thousand times before in better days, and it hadn't meant anything then. "A glass of ale, then?" he asks, trying to put the smile back, as if they were both youths celebrating after a successful hunt. That's all this is. Just hanging out with his brother. "How've you been?"

Simple!

Except totally not.

"Ale? Honestly Thor, you need to expand your horizons!" Loki tutted as he plucked up a pair of glasses, filling them with something a dark, rich purple shade that clearly wasn't ale, one being nudged his brother's way. "Try this. Blackberry cider, rather good if you ask me."

Non-alcoholic as well, he knew some brought their kids when they came around for meals so he figured it would be prudent to have some 'kid-friendly' options beyond sodas. Well, non-Asgardian kid-friendly anyways. He's not giving you any more booze Thor, gosh he's not gonna enable you!

"Busy!" How did you do it? Just blurt out that he knew? Demand to know why Thor hadn't reached out? Did he not trust him but then with things like this it wasn't... like that. Not that this stopped that anxious little barb from working in his heart, making his cheer seem a bit more strained. "But you know me, always lots of irons in the fire. What about you, what're you up to these days? How're you holding up?"

Would he luck out and hear Thor come clean? Probably not but he felt like he needed to give him every chance. Loki knew how it would hurt him if the roles were reversed and Thor didn't at least try to let him come clean himself even if he doubted he'd do so.

Thor's heart seems to sink into his stomach when Loki shoots him down, a strange chill spreading through him. It's strange, and uncomfortable, and he doesn't like the way it makes him feel as though he's lost some kind of battle before it even started. What's worse is he isn't sure why. He has no reason to fear a different drink, no reason to think that Loki is judging him for his choices. What is his problem?

A part of him knows it, but does not want to name it. In part because he doesn't have the words, and in part because acknowledging it out loud would make it real.

So he takes the cider and sips it, and it is quite good, if lacking that alcoholic tang to it. "This is delicious," he agrees, a little surprised. It's not what he wanted, but not every drink has to be able to get him drunk, right? He takes another drink, listening to his brother's chatter, casual and unassuming and utterly normal. Maybe he can still get through this all right. "Busy," he echoes with a wry sort of smile. "Looking after the kids while Loki's away," and oh he doesn't like the anxious twist in his gut when he thinks about how little he's heard from his other brother since his departure. "And the garden's growing well, I've started a bed of thyme that's growing like crazy."

Loki could feel that knot in his stomach like a cold pit of iron as Thor continues to dissemble. A faint smile for Thor's enjoyment of the cider, though it was a short-lived thing. Nothing for it. He would have to start the conversation, would have to confront Thor, and hope that the Thunderer didn't wind up hating him for it.

"Sounds like you've quite the green thumb," He settled his hands against the bar, his own drink untouched as his gaze fell to the clipboard, to the order written there almost like an accusation. Steeled his nerve. "There is... something else though. That I think we need to have a little talk about."

A small, almost boyishly apologetic smile turned Thor's way, something nervous in it. "I think... that I was hoping it would take care of itself. Things do that sometimes! But not this, I'm afraid."

Thor's grip on the glass tightens a little, and he's quick to set it down before he cracks it in his nervousness. Maybe this is something else? Maybe Loki has a problem that has nothing to do with Thor, something that he needs his brother's help with. Deep down, he knows that's not it, not with that look on his face like he's visiting a sick relative. "Whatever it is must be quite the problem," he says with a false laugh, feeling utterly slow in his deflection.

He used to be quicker than this. Quick enough to fool his clever brother, once in a while. But now it's like trying to wade through molasses, his own anxiety bogging down his thoughts and leaving his tongue too muddled to cover for him.

"Unfortunately so. And it's not one with an easy solution." Loki huffed a faint, uneasy sigh, fingers picking uncertainly at the page on the clipboard.

"I do the inventory. So... I know what people are ordering, how often, and... how much. And while my staff might not know, I'm keenly aware of how much is too much for an Asgardian..." He trailed off a moment, searching for some way to say things, some way that wasn't accusing, might not send Thor out the door. "You need help, brother. I might... not be an expert but I want to help you, if you'll let me."

He knew that much at least. That nothing would change, nothing would get better unless Thor realized he had a problem, wanted to make a change.

With every word, that stone that seems to be sitting in Thor's belly gets colder, and without the glass in his hands to keep them occupied he's fidgeting, worrying them against one another, a nervous wringing that he seems helpless to stop. Loki knows. He knows.

He knows that Thor is not capable of dealing with the kingship and the children and the waiting. He knows that Thor isn't getting better, not like he'd hoped, not like Eir thinks he is. He knows that Thor needs the drink as strongly as he needs water or air or sunshine. He knows that Thor is failing, that he doesn't know what to do, trapped in a cycle that seems to have no end.

"Help?" he repeats, attempting a laugh that comes out strangled and a little too high. "You're... you're mistaken. I'm fine. Maybe your numbers are wrong. These things happen, you know? I've always ordered this much." He hasn't. It's a terrible lie, a terrible excuse, but he's gripped by an anxiety that seems to seize his thoughts entirely. Loki knows. He knows.

"No, Thor."

He tries to strangle down the flash of hurt at the front, the lies that spill almost desperately from Thor. It wasn't personal. It wasn't because he was Loki. It was because Thor was hurting, and this was some desperate attempt to salve that.

"I checked more than once. Because I made that same excuse at first. That it wasn't that big a difference. And from one delivery to the next, it wasn't a large difference, but sitting down and looking at the whole trend..."

Loki saw that anxiety, reaching to take his brother's twitchy hands in his, giving them a squeeze.

"Please let me help you."

He should know better than try to lie to Loki. His brother has always been the far more talented liar, able to spot a falsehood at a thousand paces and outdo it a hundredfold. But it's neither reason nor rationality in charge of Thor's behavior, not when his truth has been exposed in one blow, like a bandage ripped from a raw wound in a single pull.

And the thought seizes him like a strike of lightning that Loki intends to take the drink away from him. To take away something he needs, even if he does not understand why.

He freezes under his brother's touch, still as a storm that's waiting to break. "It's... not that bad. I'm a grown man, a paying customer, can't I decide that for myself?"

"See, that's why I waited. I hesitated, dithered so very long, because you are indeed a man grown. I hoped that you would choose to ease back on your own."

His voice was soft, as he did the best he could to be honest here, gaze on the hands frozen in his own, as he tried to piece together what he could say here.

"But it has become that bad. And it would be a monstrous thing, to see my brother hurting, to see him on such a self-destructive path, and not want to try and help."

Choose? This has never been a choice, and Thor feels a twinge of desperate anger that Loki does not seem to understand. That he thinks this is something Thor is doing to himself, that this is something he wants to be happening, his own fault.

Is it?

It hurts all the more deeply that Loki's words could have come straight from Frigga herself, an echo of their mother who always saw through whatever tale they'd chosen to tell. What Heimdall had seen with eyes, Frigga had seen with heart, and she had done much the same the last time Thor ever saw her alive.

He jerks his hands back, choppy and disjointed, and runs them through his hair, pulling harshly on the strands as he tries to figure out how to get himself out of this. It's too late, too late to deflect, to lie, to get Loki to believe he's mistaken. But he doesn't know what to do.

"It's fine! It's... it's not as bad as it... looks. Don't I look okay?"

Loki would be distraught to know that Thor had taken it that way. But then he was good at saying things in the worst ways at times. There had been a time when Thor might have been able to choose to moderate himself, but through whatever was troubling him, it seemed he was a bit past that stage.

"It's not fine, though," Loki replied softly. "And... it's alright if it's not. Wasn't it you that told me that we're all works in progress? I understand that you don't want to show your troubles to all and sundry, I understand what it's like to turn to self-destructive ends to try and mask the truth of what's wrong. You're my brother, and I want to help, but you need to allow it, to let me help support you."

It's too much, too fast, and Thor is far too sober for this. He doesn't need much, just... just a little. Enough to calm down. Maybe one bottle. Or two. It's hard to keep track sometimes, once he's started. But that's not so bad, is it? Just one or two?

But Loki won't let him. He can tell that right now, his brother who denied him alcohol from the moment he stepped in the door, no matter how delicious the other drink was. Is.

He needs it.

He needs to get out of here, to find somewhere he can sit and think, to drink enough to settle his nerves and get his head on straight. That's what he needs. Just a moment. Just... make it all stop.

"I-I just remembered, there was something I was supposed to do," he blurts out, not meeting Loki's eye, trying to smooth back his hair and look like he's not losing it inside. "So if you'll... just... give me my order, I'll be on my way."

"Thor..."

Loki was fairly certain that Thor could end up hating him. Even if it was only until he'd gotten help, was in a better place. But wasn't it a risk he had to take? Thor needed his help, and if he enabled him in this because it was easier...

He came around the bar to approach his brother, to take his hands or settle hands on his arms, whichever was allowed.

"You know I can't. You're my brother and I love you, and I won't help you destroy yourself like this!"

He's not choking up, you are!

Thor stands up, nearly knocking the barstool over in his haste to take a step back, unsure what he's afraid Loki will do but unable to consider it rationally. Even the hands on his arms make him flinch, and the roughness of Loki's voice seem to cut him to the core.

He's done worse than he thought. He's made Loki upset.

He didn't mean to. Didn't want to. He'd wanted to keep this to himself, where it'd hurt no one but him. But then Loki had to dig and worry, and drag him out until he can't hide anymore. He feels cornered, and there isn't a way out, Loki shutting down every avenue of escape until he has to face the truth that's been staring him in the face for over a year.

"Half, then?" he asks, far more pleading than he'd intended. Surely they can compromise? Enough to delay needing to talk about it, enough that he can get away and fortify himself against his brother's words behind the shield of alcohol.

It wasn't just Thor who hurt. For all the man had been convincing himself it was, hiding behind the supposed safety of that wall of drink, those who cared for him noticed. Unsure what to do about it, with Asgardian culture being what it was, how to get Thor to accept the help he needed.

He wished he could. Just give Thor what he wanted, let him hide. But it wouldn't help. It would just put this off longer, Thor would hurt longer. It would be cruel, for all Thor would thank Loki for it, and he couldn't bear the thought.

"No Thor," He tried to keep his tone firm, but as kind as he could manage it, a faint, almost watery huff following. "Bor's Blood but of all the times for my famed silver tongue to have fled me."

No. Not even half? That's far less than he'd been drinking before, never mind that Thor would've had to supplement from somewhere else. No, if Loki is denying him even this, then he would deny it all.

Thor cannot articulate why that thought is so terrifying, even to himself.

"What would you have me do?" he demands, his good eye stinging with tears, wrenching himself free from his brother's grip and grasping his own arms tightly enough that his metal fingers will no doubt leave bruises.

Oh but those tears, and that yank free of his grip are like a knife to the heart, for all Loki knew to expect such a reaction.

"Seek assistance," He replied gently, wishing that this was something he had the immediate solution to. That he could simply wave a hand and magic it away. "Have you spoken with Eir about this? I would... think them best suited to help you figure out what to do. I could go with you if you wanted, let the others think you're dragging my troublesome ass in for a checkup."

Would it make it less harrowing, to have an excuse to go see Eir, to have support as he did? Loki hoped so, because it seemed the best option he could think of.

Go see someone else? Let Eir know that her king is failing worse than she'd thought, that he is still struggling despite her medicines? Word would get around, and get back to the other Loki, when he returns. And he'd know that Thor was not fit to watch over the children in his absence, that he'd made a mistake to trust his brother with this most important task.

Never mind that this Loki could tell him just as easily. In the depths of his distress, this doesn't occur to Thor.

Thor had thought that he was done seeking solitude, hiding away like an animal licking its wounds, but right now he wants nothing more. He'd been getting better, and now it feels like he's back at square one and he doesn't know what to do.

"No, no, there's no need for that," he says, looking anywhere but at Loki. "I... I have to go." He has to get out of here. Empty-handed, a growing knot of anxiety writhing in his chest, but he has to leave before Loki realizes what's really wrong. Thor does not wait to hear his brother's objections, leaving the half-finished cider behind on the counter and knocking the barstool over in his haste to make for the door. He has no idea where he's going, what else he can do, but it's Not Here.

Edited 2020-09-23 00:30 (UTC)

It's unusual for Amelia to receive a phone call from someone she doesn't interact with regularly, but the request from Loki - any Loki - to help Thor out of the hole he's drunk himself into is one she's glad to get. Her friend needs her help and if she can offer him aid to get him off the destructive path he's on, she'll do so without hesitation. Thor has given her so much that's helped her through some of her darkest hours; Now it's her turn to give him the same.

She decides to start the conversation over text. From her own experience, she knows how horrible it can be to have someone show up at your door and ask you why you're doing something to yourself. Even help that's offered on someone else's terms can be hard to accept. So she'll begin small, and build up to asking him the truth in person.

Are you free this afternoon? I can't stay focused on any of my reading today and was wondering if I could visit for a while.

There's a possibility of Loki's charges being underfoot, but that's manageable. She's handled all four of them and Thor at the same time in the past, and she's certain she can make it work again now if necessary. They'll need time without the children to really talk about the issue at hand, but there's no need to worry about that until it's actually a reality.

It is fortunate that the children are under Solvi's watchful eye at the moment, because Thor spares no thought for them as he rushes to return home, to get away from Loki and his pointed questions that slip under his skin like a knife. He has not had a panic attack in what must be weeks, if not months, but he feels dangerously close as the door bangs closed behind him. There's a startled cry from the ravens in their perch, but he pays them no heed either, moving to immediately pour himself a drink from his limited reserves.

It doesn't matter how little is left. He needs it now more than ever.

He's had enough to start to feel fuzzy when the phone on his kitchen table jingles at him, still far more sober than he wants to be. His grip tightens on the glass, and for a long moment he agonizes over whether to ignore it. It's probably Loki, again. Thor doesn't want to talk to him. He knows what will come of it. More arguing, more panic, just when he's started to feel as though he's gotten his feet under himself again. He just needs another drink.

He downs the rest of the glass in one go, and picks up the phone, squinting at the screen. To his relief, it's not Loki after all, but the twisted knot of anxiety under his ribs does not go away. He carefully pokes back a brief reply. Not a good time.

He should probably suggest an alternate time to meet, as he's enjoyed her visits many times before. But between the fear that still has its grip on him and the beginnings of inebriation that is slowly sinking its claws into him, he can't consider saying anything else. Does not realize that this, in itself, will come across as strange even as he tries to act as though everything is fine.

She knows why it's not a good time. In Thor's place, she would say the same or more to get the person reaching out to her to leave her alone. On the one hand, she doesn't want to push on him and possibly drive him away. On the other, she knows letting him go without so much as attempting to force a meeting could make things worse. Both are options she's loathe to admit to or try, but she has to try something.

That's all right. If today isn't good, would you mind if we planned for tomorrow? Having something to look forward to should make my books a little more interesting.

It's all she can think to do right now. Forcing the issue by showing up in Asvera unannounced will only complicate matters. Giving up at the first sign of resistance will actively harm any of her efforts to offer help and support. A first step needs to be taken, and Amelia has to be the one to make it happen.

It's getting hard to focus on the words on the little screen, but he sees the word tomorrow and latches onto it, ignoring the rest. It can wait until he sobers up, he figures. It's the most important part, isn't it?

Sure

Anything more seems like too much effort. He tops up his glass and drinks again, feeling that knot of panic slowly start to unfurl, muffled and soothed in the warm haze of alcohol. He's fine. Everything is fine.

There's a fluttering and a small set of claws on his shoulder, and a croaking noise in his ear. He reaches up to roughly pat the raven, not sure if it's Huggan or Miskunn, and not much caring. It's nice not to be alone, with someone who isn't going to judge him. Who isn't going to tell him that this is a problem, that his greatest method of coping is wrong. He needs this.

Doesn't he?

Edited 2020-11-28 21:17 (UTC)

That's... an answer and it's technically a yes, so Amelia's going to take it. She'll let Thor have the last word today and to cope with what he's feeling in whatever way he feels is necessary without interruption. It might be the last time he feels free to do so without feeling guilt or shame for doing so, and things will be difficult enough as they start to address the destructive habits he's picked up. No matter how gently she starts that conversation, they're both going to feel some sort of hurt for it.

So she leaves the conversation for the day, trying her best not to think about how to try again as she researches cures for hangovers and alcohol poisoning. For all her desire to help her friend through this, Amelia knows she doesn't have all the expertise required; Her vices have never included alcohol and even a single night of research can only help at this point.

Late the following morning, the rogue works up the courage to reach out to Thor again. It should be late enough by now that Thor's had a chance to get his day started properly and, better yet, the right time to ask about a meal together. It should be an easy thing to accept, right?

Still up for a visit today? We could do lunch, if you're up for the company. I could even bring it with me if you don't feel like going out somewhere.

She takes a breath after hitting send. There's no need to be anxious yet, she reminds herself, when she hasn't even given him time to respond. To focus herself, she takes a few minutes to organize a few things in her apartment as a way of busying her hands while she goes over everything she read about during her research the night before.

Were he thinking more clearly, Thor might be more inclined to ration his dwindling supply, knowing that it may be some time before he can find a reliable source of more godlike alcohol. But he's not. Once he starts, it's difficult to stop, and one drink leads to another. And another.

He wakes up on his couch the next day, head aching fiercely and a terrible taste in his mouth. He's not quite sure how long he stays like that, sitting still and hoping he does not lose whatever's still in his stomach, before he manages to drag himself to the washroom. The house is in a bit of a state, and there's no sign of the children, which sends a surge of adrenaline through his muzzy brain until he remembers he'd left them with Solvi. Had he told her to keep them overnight? He doesn't remember, everything past leaving the Viper's Pit is a rapidly darkening blur.

A shower is a bit beyond his ability at the moment, but he splashes some water on his face and ties his messy hair back away from his face, and trades his shirt for one with less stains on it, feeling wrong and yet not quite able to get himself to do anything about it. Thor can't quite face breakfast, either, instead pouring himself a glass of water and adding an infusion of mint from the pantry, his heart aching nearly as much as his head. Loki would've made me drink it.

He does not recall texting Amelia, but when the phone buzzes next to where he's half-slumped against the kitchen table, he blinks in surprise at what it says. When did they talk about this? How late is it? It's hard to tell sometimes, when the sun begins rising late and setting early. He's not fit for company, but it seems more important to be as normal as possible so she doesn't worry about him. Head propped up against his metal hand, he slowly pokes out a reply with the other.

Staying in sounds good. See you in an hour?

That has to be enough time, right? He'll drink his water and get his head in order, and everything will be fine.

Of course. See you then.

It's time enough for Amelia to ground herself and her magic before she obtains something for them to eat. Loki said Thor left the Viper's Pit in a bit of a state, so something simple would be best. As she steadies herself and gathers all the calming herbs and oils she can think of, she orders them a basic charcuterie board and a few cups of various light soups from a local deli. She's not sure it'll be the right call, but everything will be easy enough for her to pick at so she can pretend she's able to get food into her stomach while it's in knots. To not put any further pressure on her body, though, she takes the time to change into a simple long-sleeved shirt and jeans before she heads out.

A little over an hour later, the rogue arrives at her friend's door, a bag of food in one hand and a cooler filled with ginger ale in the other. She takes a breath to calm her heartbeat and schools her expression into something approaching neutral. She can do this. It will take time and all of her patience, but she will help her friend starting today.

Knocking softly, she manages a small smile as she waits for Thor to answer the door. It should be more than convincing enough through the haze of his hangover, though she hopes she can make it last long enough to start the inevitable difficult conversation they're going to have.

An hour should be plenty of time, and yet Thor's not quite sure where that time went when the knock comes at the door. His head still aches, and the bathroom is a mess best not spoken of, but he's managed a whole glass of water and that counts for something.

"Just a moment," he calls out, not quite as loud as it probably should be, and double checks to make sure the bathroom door is closed and the empty glasses are in the sink. There's a smell of ale in the house where he must have spilled some on the carpet, but there's nothing that can be done about that right now.

He's been avoiding mirrors, so he does not know how rough he looks as he pasts a smile on and opens the door. "Good morning." At least, he hopes it still is.

It's difficult for Amelia to hold her smile when she sees how terrible Thor looks. He doesn't smell particularly good either, but there's nothing that can be done about that right now. There will be plenty of time for difficult conversations after she's gotten inside and managed to get him to eat something. Dreams only knows how difficult that might be if, as Loki intimated, Thor doesn't see his drinking as a problem.

"Good morning. I brought a light lunch we can enjoy at our leisure today." She lifts her hands briefly to show off her bounty. "Might I come in? I can at least get the breads, cheeses, and dried fruits set up on a plate for us to start with if you're not in the mood for soup."

She wants to push her way in to get the upper hand here, but she knows that won't help him right now. Taking care of himself and changing his habits needs to be Thor's decision; All Amelia can do is offer to be at his side when he needs help along the winding path ahead of him.

"Sure. Come on in." Normally, her refusal to enter without a face-to-face invitation strikes him as quaint yet admirable. Today he's just glad that she messaged before coming over. She might have noticed the mess - both himself and the house - and then she'd be too busy fussing over him for them to have lunch.

Not that he's terribly hungry yet, his stomach still feeling a bit unsettled, but the way his head aches means he should probably try to eat something. Maybe next time he could suggest they get Bloody Marys.

With Amelia puttering around the kitchen setting up the meal, Thor retrieves a pair of glasses and is halfway across the kitchen before he realizes he shouldn't be pouring them both an ale this early in the day. His step stutters and he backtracks, trying to look natural as he returns to the cupboard to trade them for coffee mugs instead.

She takes a breath when she sees him all but trip over himself with indecision. A frown tugs across her features as she looks away to gather a few plates and some silverware. This was always going to be difficult, she reminds herself, and trying to hide from even the smallest things at the start will only make it more so. They will make it through this and she will help him through to the other side, however long that takes.

After taking another breath to steady herself, Amelia puts on a smile and heads out to the table. As she sets up their lunch, she looks over at Thor fondly. "Could you bring over some glasses for ginger ale as well?" she asks. "We don't have to open it right away, but I brought it with to give us some variety. If you're planning on coffee, though, I would love a cup." Not that she needs it at this point, but it'll give them both something to hold onto that isn't food.

Once their lunch is fully set, including a small plate and bowl set aside for each of them, the rogue takes a seat at the table such that she can clearly see into the kitchen from her position. She's not about to let Thor try to hide from her today, though she'll go easy on him with her opening question. "How are you feeling today? You look a bit tired."

"Oh, uh, sure." Has he had ginger ale before? How strong is it? Thor is open to trying any ale, of course, even though this is breakfast. Or possibly lunch. Maybe that will make him feel better and chase off the hangover.

His body language is a little more relaxed as he grabs the glasses again, setting them on the table before he turns to brew the coffee. By now he can do it in his sleep, setting the kettle on the stovetop to boil the scoops of grounds in the Norwegian style. Still, he's glad to sit down, slouching a bit as if it will help his head stop pounding. At least this late in the year, he does not have to worry about sunbeams coming through the windows to seek his eye.

"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing," he says with a chuckle that sounds just shy of genuine. "Didn't sleep well, I think. No visions though," he hastens to add, in case that's what concerns her. "Just dreams, normal dreams."

The glasses aren't what she'd choose for the ginger ale, but they'll do. Amelia holds off pouring them each a glass while they have hot coffee in their hands, choosing to watch Thor a little more closely first. It's not lost on her that his muscles are tensed and his brow furrowed at the edges even when he manages a small laugh. She wants desperately to pull him into a hug and encourage him to open up to her, but she holds on the impulse, focusing her energy on steadily turning the coffee mug at a slow pace between her fingers.

"Normal dreams aren't always better," she counters with knowing smile. She's suffered enough nights of "good" dreams to know that. "But it's good they weren't visions, even if they were disruptive to your sleep. That would be far more than you need to deal with right now."

Dreams, she didn't quite mean to phrase it like that. She quickly brings the coffee to her lips to give herself a moment to think and for her slightly leading phrasing to settle. Time to slowly make their way toward the hard part.

"You've seemed tired a lot lately. I haven't wanted to mention it while Loki's children were around, but you seem..." She frowns a little, nervously shifting her coffee mug around on the table but not dropping her gaze from Thor's face. "You've seemed exhausted at times, even a little overwhelmed at others. I don't doubt your ability to care for the children or your duties around Asvera, but I worry you're neglecting yourself in the process." A beat of hesitation, then she quickly adds, "I only say this or even notice because I've done the same thing when I've pushed myself to keep up with so many large responsibilities at once."

More than he needs to deal with right now? Thor's chuckle is breathy and awkward, a hint of nervousness. It's not as if she knows of his argument with Loki, though. She must mean the children, he reasons. "I'm holding up all right."

He's not so sure when she continues, however, like she's avoiding some pitfall he can't see, carefully stepping around the edge. Why would she fear to say this in front of the children? He may be their king and Allfather, but unlike Odin, the survivors of Asgard are well aware of Thor's foibles. It's for the better, in his opinion - one of the people, not some untouchable god above them. And less likely to disappoint them, though he does not admit that to anyone but himself.

A frown creases his brow, and he hides his uncertainty behind the mug, draining half its contents in a single swig. "I've been worse. This is not like last year, if that's what you're worried about."

"No, I understand that much." Her frown deepens as her gaze drops to her coffee. How to phrase this without directly asking about the issue they both know is there? If Thor isn't offering the knowledge directly, it seems very unlikely he'll open up about his drinking problem without a more pointed question about it. Amelia would still prefer not to back Thor into a corner by calling it out by name unless it's absolutely necessary, so it's time to try something new.

After helping herself to a sip of coffee, she sets the mug aside and pours them each a glass of ginger ale. It's mostly to give herself something to do, but it might also be a tool she can use. "Worse is also a matter of opinion," she muses quietly, offering Thor a glass. "I know things are different for you now than they were a year ago, but in some ways it seems like you're struggling more. Maybe it's an outsider's perspective and everything really is fine, that's plausible. I don't know what you're thinking or feeling outside of what you say."

She looks up slowly and gently places a hand over his when he reaches for the glass of ginger ale. "No matter what you're feeling, I'm here, in good times and difficult ones. But... you offered your hand to me on the darkest of my days and I want to make sure I offer the same to you should you need it."

Thor is hungover, though not so much that this doesn't strike him as being odd, uncomfortable, like waiting for some sort of bad news to break. He looks uncertainly at her hand on his, aware that she's trying to send some sort of message and utterly unable to figure out what it is.

It can't be what happened last night. It can't. When would she have spoken to Loki?

Uneasy, he pulls the glass of ginger ale towards himself instead, sniffing at it and frowning when he doesn't detect so much as a whiff of alcohol. What kind of ale is this? Even the human-strength stuff is usually evident enough for him to tell, no matter that it's not enough for him. "Well, I do have four children to look after this time, not just myself. It's not going to be easier." He sips it, not sure what to make of the flavor, but the bubbles are weirdly soothing. "They're with Solvi right now, I had the night to myself."

He wasn't supposed to, but she doesn't need to know that, he figures.

It's frustrating to know they're so close to broaching the subject without her having to call it by its name. Amelia sighs heavily as she takes a sip of ginger ale, needing a moment to think before she tries again. The last thing she needs is to let her frustration turn into anger and make things even more difficult and upsetting. It's a hard temptation to resist.

"The children aren't an issue." She wants to make that very clear. He's not hiding behind them, but he's deflecting and she wants to take that option off the table before he tries to use it further. "I understand they can be stressful at times, but this has been going on far longer than the length of time you've been looking after them."

With another sigh, she pushes aside her glass and looks Thor in the eyes - or attempts to, anyway. "This time last year, you were dealing with loss and responsibilities far greater than what you have now. Things are different now. Better in some ways, but worse in others." Despite her best effort, her face takes on a pained edge. "Did you ever let go of the heaviest burdens? Or are you hiding them with something else?"

It's hard to break the habits of a lifetime. Putting on a strong facade for the people has long been part of Thor's life, long before he was king. To admit anything else would be weakness to be exploited by Asgard's enemies, or to erode the people's faith in their leadership. Even now, there are days when Thor believes he only remains in his people's good graces because his descent into darkness was alongside their own.

He's been trying, though. Trying to normalize the aftermath of the trauma they've all endured as a culture, to be open and honest about the illness it's caused in him, to show his people that they do not need to suffer alone. Perhaps this makes him a hypocrite.

His grip on the glass tightens a little, looking as though she's punched him in the gut. Did you ever let go of the heaviest burdens? "Could you, if you were me?"

It's a fair question, one she has more experience with than others might think. Their burdens are different and hardly a good comparison for everything Thor has been dealing with, but it gives her the empathy she needs to take this opening and ease it open.

"No. I carry everything with me that I've done, even those things that are gone and far beyond my reach." She tilts her head ever so slightly as she watches him. "But I don't hide those hurts under habits that will kill me. I have, and dreams know I have days when I don't turn away from things that harm more than help, but I've grown enough to carry the weight without always hurting myself in the process. I can talk about those things that hurt, let others in when I feel the pain the most."

Now, she thinks, is the time to finally say it. Gently, but the tides are in the right direction for them to make progress in this journey.

"Asgardians are a hearty people, but even they have their limits. A house that smells of ale says you may have reached yours." She looks him over with soft, worried eyes. "A friend who's seen you struggling hopes she can help."

Thor is so certain that this is supposed to be a conversation about his feelings, 'bottling them up' as humans often say, and so the tack that she takes with her final statements catches him completely off-guard. Don't most homes smell of ale, when it's time for a meal? And she brought him this gingered ale, as well. But this is a problem to her?

Bewilderment creeps into his eye and he chuckles nervously, lifting the glass to drink from it. What has gotten into everyone all of a sudden? "All Asgardians drink." Sure, he's been drinking more than most, but he needs it.

"To excess?" she counters. "A home may smell of ale if there's open drinks at a table, but unless you added ale to your coffee, there's none in front of us right now." Amelia's certain she would have noticed the smell if that were true, but at least by being honest about what she brought with her, she can attempt to push more understanding onto Thor. She knew this was a problem before she arrived, so she avoided bringing anything that could make it worse.

"I don't understand why you're attempting to hide the truth we both know. I'm not going to judge you for it, because everyone has struggles and faults. There's no shame in that." If there were, she might have died from shame years ago. Her lips press into a thin line as she continues. "But I worry for you, for your health, if you continue to deny what's happening."

"None...?" Thor gives another look at the drink in his hands, a pink flush to his cheeks above the scruff of his beard. Did she trick him? Or is he a fool for not knowing?

Flustered, he sets it down heavily on the table. "I'm not hiding anything. I'm fine. Don't I look okay?"

He doesn't. He looks distressed and a little betrayed, and more than a little desperate. Desperate for this to all be normal, for her to laugh and change the subject to something more comfortable, for a real drink.

"None." It wasn't her intention to mislead Thor; She simply didn't realize until they were sitting down together that he didn't know what ginger ale was. True, she used this to her advantage, but she wanted to make sure he ate or drank at little something of substance while she was with him. Terrible as it may be, Amelia won't apologize for it until he's in a better place to hear it.

"No, you don't." She frowns softly. So many emotions are written on his face and in his body language. Some of it is her fault, certainly, but this is so much deeper than what she's forcing him to confront today. On top of that, he looks ragged and unhealthy in ways that betray how long this has been a problem. "That you would try to convince me otherwise, that you've convinced yourself otherwise, scares me."

If she were to leave now, what would happen? Would he go straight for a drink? Would he do something worse after feeling so attacked? Her chest clenches at the thought and it requires more effort to force a breath into her lungs. She can't focus on thoughts like that right now or she'll fall apart, too.

"Admitting you have a problem is difficult," she affirms, hoping this will help Thor vocalize the real issue. "It forces you to address and fight things you've been hiding from. It hurts and you'll want to fall back into habits that are best left behind. But with help, and with all the strength you already have, you can overcome it. I promise you it's possible."

There is no rain in the forecast, yet from outside, there is a low roll of thunder across the horizon. Thor clenches his hands into fists, metal fingers scraping against each other on one side, the other silent save for the rustle of his shirt sleeves. "Don't you think I've tried?"

It comes out harsher than he means, frustration at being interrogated over a glass of something that isn't even real ale, that he doesn't even realize he's admitted to recognizing the problem.

"I can't give it up. I need it."

His frustration is palpable in multiple ways. Amelia takes a breath to steady herself, to fight the way her eyes begin to water and form tears at their edges. It's so much more difficult than she imagined it would be.

"Why? Why do you need it? What does it do for you that you couldn't do for yourself with time, patience, and care?" What makes alcohol so special that Thor would run from Loki and hide his drinking for months - years? - without end?

"I don't know!" Thor has rarely excelled at talking about his feelings, not when they hurt, when he feels backed into a corner with nowhere to go. It has been a struggle to accept what Eir has told him about depression and post-traumatic stress, that it does not make him weaker, and those are things that he understands. This is something else, something that cannot be blamed on his illness. This is something he should be able to control, a choice he can make, and yet...

...and yet...

Amelia has him dead to rights, and he cannot bring himself to get angry with her, to throw her out of his house and destroy the friendship they've built. The old shame snakes its way into his chest again, that insidious little voice inside that tells him that he's a failure and he might as well accept that. He's gotten very good at ignoring that voice, but right now it's all but impossible to muster his defenses against it. "I can't stop myself," he admits, so quiet that she might have missed it, if not for the attention she refuses to avert from him.

No matter how Thor yells or recoils, Amelia doesn't flinch. She's been the brunt of anger and hurt in the past, rightfully or no, and she'll hold onto it as she has so many times before. It feels different this time, knowing as she does that he's upset with himself and not her. There's something else to it as well, a pain she feels sit deep in her chest as she watches her friend crumble in front of her. She wishes it wasn't this way. She wishes she could ease his pain with soft words and promises of better days ahead. But life isn't that simple and what's happening now will take work to get through. Work Amelia is determined to help Thor with - if he'll accept it.

She lets him speak in peace, the silence between them tense but necessary as they both process what's been said. "Doing what you should isn't always easy," she agrees in a soft tone. "We all fail. We all struggle. No one is above that. No one is required to do it alone, though."

Slowly, cautiously, she extends a hand to him across the table.

"This is your battle. How you move forward is your choice. If doing it on your own is too much, help is within your reach." She offers him a small, sad smile. "I don't know this problem personally, but I know how difficult it is to break terrible habits. I can be here as you find your feet again." Her face takes on a somber edge as she continues. "You won't hurt me by taking what I'm offering, but I won't force it on you. The path ahead will be difficult and I only want you to be as prepared as you can be."

He doesn't look at her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, aware that she's reaching out but he doesn't move to take her hand, his own hands fidgeting against each other, a nervous gesture she has seen from him more than once during his darker days. Even with the truth out in the open, it makes him feel exposed, vulnerable, seeking for a way to deflect her attention away from this rot that's been spreading at his core and not finding any.

"You don't understand." How could she? Even Thor does not understand, despite himself. He struggles to put it into words, not sure even to himself what he can say of it. "I tried... just one night. I didn't make it. I need it. Like you need to breathe."

It never used to be that way. Something's changed, and he doesn't know where it all went wrong.

"Loki won't give me any more." It feels like confessing a terrible secret, one that should never see the light of day.

"I hear you," she says simply. He's right to think she doesn't understand - addiction like this has never been in her life - but she understands the need to stay with a habit that's destroying you. The need to hold onto something even when you know it can, has, and will only bring you and your loved ones pain. The need to hide and pretend everything is fine to hold onto a façade that's been in place for so long that letting it down feels impossible. It helps her stay steady as she watches him crumble, piece by piece, to the foundation of his being so he can start again.

Her hand rests gently against the table between them, unmoving as she watches her friend with worried eyes.

"I know. He told me so himself." Amelia hopes this won't be too much for him to hear. She doesn't want to drive him back to denial, but this is a truth that needs to be shared. "He worries for you, about what the ale and mead is doing to you. He didn't want you to be alone - and neither do I. So I'm here to help however I can, even if all I can do for now is listen."

It's not denial that flickers across his face when she admits her source. It's betrayal, a wounded look as if she's slapped him, shame that his friends are talking about him behind his back. Thor is not sure which is more humiliating, knowing that they're talking of him in hushed whispers or the fact that he's backslid so much that they feel the need to. He'd thought that he had a handle on things, and having it shoved in his face that his progress has slipped away from him is a hard reality to accept.

"Talking won't make this... this need go away," he says, struggling to make her understand, to put his thoughts and feelings into words even though doing so at all contradicts what he just claimed. "It won't bring Loki back, or anything else I've lost. It won't make me feel as though I know what I'm doing, with the children, with the village. I'm... so tired of waiting and worrying."

She knew it would be hard for him hear the truth about Loki, but it's far better to have it out in the open than to hide it. Someday, maybe, he'll understand it was concern for him rather than accusation that caused Loki to reach out to someone when his own attempt to get Thor help failed. If not, Amelia will do what she can to shift the blame onto herself. Loki did what was right, there's no reason he should suffer for it when she's the one sitting across the table breaking Thor down now.

"So focus on what you can do instead." Her tone is neutral, despite how harsh the words are. "The worries and waiting won't end, but focusing on them won't address the need you feel either. Neither will telling yourself that it's a hopeless cause and the battle isn't worth fighting."

She frowns, trying to think of the best way to phrase the rest of her thoughts. "No one expects you to know how to do everything. The lives of everyone in Asvera have changed so much over the past year. Everyone has had to adapt, change, and grow, and they've done it with the help of those around them. You are king, but no king can do everything. The best rulers delegate and ask for help from those they trust. You allow yourself to do this with certain parts of your life, but not others." Her gaze fixes on his in an attempt to make this next part stick. "Every king is also a man, and all men need help from time to time. No one can force you to accept the help they offer, but if you won't take the hands extended to you, you must extend yours instead."

If Thor won't seek help or attempt to help himself, his first failure will be as a man and not a king. Amelia doesn't want to see her friend fall in this way, but as an outsider to his pain, what else can she do but repeat her offers of help?

She may know Thor better than he thought she did, he realizes. Because it's not just the kingship that looms over him at times. The days that Thor had spent as a mortal man shifted his world off its axis in ways that he's still grappling with, coming to terms with himself as a man first and foremost. Not as crown prince, not as king, not as a god. Not as an older brother. For nearly all of his life, Thor has defined himself by his ties to others, what expectations they have of him because of his birth, his talents, his family.

Amelia has none of those. Yes, she knows him as a god of thunder and growing things, but perhaps he has been more transparent as the man beneath those things than he'd thought. And that man is her friend, regardless of how many lightning bolts he can throw.

Accepting help is hard, and asking for it is even harder. Even after all that he's been through, Thor's pride is still his strongest fault. He wavers, hesitant, wishing that he had something stronger in his glass to bolster his courage. But then, that would be exactly the problem she's trying to convince him he has, wouldn't it? It's being caught between a rock and a hard place.

"So what am I to do? Just... get rid of what I have?" he asks, waving vaguely toward where the last of his stores are kept.

Finally, they have progress. Amelia's body relaxes the smallest amount as Thor takes his first step forward.

"In some way or another. You could donate it to Asvera or sell it back to Loki as you please. You could even take it outside and dump it, if it wouldn't be too much to ask of yourself." Getting it out of the house, at the very least, is a good first step that will allow them to take other steps. It won't remove the temptation entirely, but it will make it easier to deal with it when the need can't be fulfilled so easily. With Loki no longer selling to Thor, it'll be much harder for her friend to simply replace what he gets rid of today. Hopefully.

"After that, you'll need to make adjustments to your routine. Finding ways to stave off the desire for alcohol will take time, but finding ways to use your time that feel fulfilling should help." Here she pauses and openly sighs a little, her expression a little regretful. "I'm not sure what would be most useful to you in that regard. You'll have to decide for yourself what is best. It'll take time and patience, both of which I'm offering freely, should you decide you want them."

It's not much and it's far from everything she wishes she could offer Thor, but it's still something. This is a completely new situation for her and she knows she'll stumble a little as she helps her friend. But if he makes it to the other side of all this, that's all she particularly cares about.

Thor is not remotely confident that this will work. It hadn't before, why would this be any different? Maybe he'll let her try, and he'll fail, and that will be the end of it. The alternative frightens him in a way he can't articulate, which makes no sense even to himself. It should be less frightening to reclaim what he used to be, surely? And yet the alcohol has been a crutch for long enough that it feels like... like... losing a limb.

His prosthetic fingers curl into a loose fist.

Donating his stores sounds reasonable, but he visibly bristles at the idea of dumping the precious mead. "I can't just waste it! It's dwarven, it's not being made anymore." Dwarven, not Asgardian, but a product of the Nine Realms and one whose makers are gone. Asgard has lost so much of its culture that voluntarily discarding even this small part of it is something he won't even consider.

Time and patience, she says... Thor has far too much of one and not enough of the other. He looks down at his hands on the table, drumming his fingers nervously against it. This isn't going to work. He just knows it. "I can't... sleep without it. Not without dreams."

"Then don't do that," she counters, calmly. "I meant no offense with the suggestion." Loki didn't specify what alcohol it was and she was too worried to think about asking. Her focus was, and still is, on Thor himself. Everything else is secondary.

Her smile falters as he talks about his trouble sleeping. This is a pain she knows far too well. To know he's suffering from dreams, too, hurts a little more than she's ready for and she has to stop to collect herself for a moment before she can speak again.

"Dreams aren't the good things most people make them out to be," she says softly. She slowly draws her hand back to her chest, holding it there for a moment before she presses it onto the table next to her other. "When I closed my world off from the Nexus, I suffered from the most terrible, wonderful dreams. Dreams of my friends' successes, my family's health and prosperity, and wishes... I didn't know I had fulfilled. It hurt to see these things, to know they could be true and I would never see it for myself. That I chose to give up the chance to protect them when no one asked me to do so." It still hurts, but she needs to continue with her story if she's going to help Thor with it.

"I barely slept for weeks until someone gave me a tea that prevented me from dreaming." A soft sigh falls from her lips as her gaze drops to her hands. "I hated taking it. I felt weak for needing it even as I enjoyed the benefits of it. Every night I forgot to drink it or told myself I didn't need it, I'd suffer from the dreams and go right back to it and feel both relieved and frustrated the next day. But, eventually... I was able to use the energy and peace of mind from not dreaming to process what I'd done, to push through what was hurting me so I could move on. I took it less as time went on until, one night, I didn't need it anymore."

Slowly, she looks back up at her friend. "Maybe that's why you started the drink. I don't know and the actual reason for it doesn't matter. Your dependency on it is hurting you. We can find something else to get you through the dreams while you work on everything else, but the alcohol has to go if you want to move on from whatever drove you to it."

She didn't mean it like that. Thor knows this, and yet he can't bring himself to apologize for snapping at her, too agitated by the frightening prospect of committing to sobriety for good. No more drink, no more muffling the nasty thoughts that steal into the corners of his mind and tell him things that he cannot shake, no more drowning out the memories and nightmares that haunt him. Instead he wrings his hands, staring down at them, the knuckles of his living hand pale from how hard he's gripping the other.

Rain patters down on the roof, a soft tempo drumming against the shingles.

But when she starts speaking, he listens. Surprised to hear that this is a hurt she knows, that she knows something of this type of pain, the strange pull to be dependent on a potion to take it all away. Not quite the same. But close. Enough that there is a resonance, a familiar footstep on the path.

"How? How did you... move on?" He's tried telling himself that he's doing just that, trying to put the past behind him. But he can't will it into being true, like if he hopes hard enough, it will all go away. And Eir has not learned enough of the human understanding of the mind to help, her skill more in potions and poultices and spellwork than psychology.

His question brings up so much self-doubt and shame over her own weakness that she has to look away from him again. The full truth - I haven't really moved on. - is more nuanced than she thinks is helpful here, so she has to think about how to answer. How does she explain the complex nature of coming to terms with something but not fully letting it go when she's never actually settled on answer for herself?

"Time. Feeling grief and pain for more days than I can count. Talking about it with others. Accepting that what I'd done was done and that I'd never allow anything to change it. Reminding myself... that I can have hope about those I left behind, that their lives are everything I was seeing in my dreams and more." She reaches up to pull her fingers through her hair pin to ground herself and exhales a shaky breath. Hearing the musical sound it produces helps soothe her anxiety, but it also reminds her of a moment that was more important than many others when she was still dealing with the worst of the pain.

"About a year and a half after I'd closed my world off, when I was still using the tea to sleep a few times a week, I faced the pain head on. To free myself of the physical burden, I followed the ritual of my family when someone dies. I walked to a nearby lake with each of their names in my hand, written on scraps of paper, and I burned them. I gave their physical presence in my life release to the sky and the water as ash, locked myself away for a week to write out all of the best memories I had of each of them, and allowed myself to dream again. The dreams were still so intense, so real that I almost didn't last the week, but every morning I woke and could compare them to what I'd written. I could know that what I'd seen was only what my heart wished for and not truth, and it let me, slowly, accept the still wonderfully terrible dreams as simply that."

Slowly, she pulls her fingers away from her hair pin to quiet the sounds it's been producing while she confessed her secrets. A few people know some of these details, but no one still in her life knows them all the way Thor does. Her lips press into a thin line as she exhales again, but she doesn't look up at him. This all still sits heavily on her and the next part of her story isn't likely to make him feel better about his own situation.

"All of it remains with me," she tells him, her voice softer now. "That pain is still there and I still cry at the loss I've inflicted on myself from time to time. The dreams come on occasion and sometimes I have to make the tea for a night so I can sleep and deal with everything with a clearer head. But I can do that because I've dealt with what's causing me to reach for it." She shakes her head a little and sighs. "Whatever is causing you to drink is what you need to deal with first. The reliance on alcohol is caused by whatever is truly hurting you. And to figure that out, you need to talk to those around you about what you're feeling. If you're not willing to do that, I don't know if you'll be able to move on."

Time. Something that Thor has all too much of. It's been nearly a year since the last battle of the Avengers, only two years since Ragnarok. A blink of an eye, and yet an eternity all the same, with thousands more years waiting ahead of him. He feels at once as though it is not enough, and yet frighteningly long. Even knowing that his friends and family have gone on to golden halls and green fields, their absence wears a hole in the tapestry of his own life, loose threads still grasping for what was once there.

He envies Amelia a little, even though he knows that he shouldn't. He too has had good dreams of those who are gone, memories of childhood, and woken to discover himself alone. But even those are preferable to the images that still sometimes haunt him at night. His hand slides up to wrap around his upper arm, where metal meets flesh, beneath the fabric of his sweater.

"Sometimes I can still feel it," he says, not really wanting to speak of this at all and yet wanting her to understand why he cannot simply decide to let go. "I... dream of the attack, sometimes. Watching them die in front of me." Only a year ago, he would not have been able to speak of such things without a panic attack, and even now he can feel that tightness in his chest. But he has learned how to help himself, and he stops and breathes, focusing on the kitchen and the woman sitting across from him, concern written into her face.

She can feel it as he speaks, the pain that sits so deeply in the body it can be felt in the bones and blood. It makes her chest tighten, her heart race, her face pale. What Thor went through is far more traumatic, his loss more visceral than her own, but she understands the struggle of seeing death like that over and over. It brings up memories of the last time she watched someone slip away in front of her, but she forces the thoughts back and out of her mind with a small shake of her head and focusing on words to help Thor.

"What happened that day was terrible. I truly can't imagine seeing or living through something like that." How to phrase this next part without sounding like every person she hated listening to while she was working through things? "Seeing it again and feeling everything you did that day is normal, I think. I've been through similar. It's always going to hurt, but you can learn to live with it if you address why it still comes to mind as often as it does." She tilts her head ever so slightly, her expression somber. "I suspect you already know and aren't ready to face it, if you're bringing it up to me now."

Thor gets flustered at that, not quite distressed or upset but agitated nonetheless. "I... don't know what you mean." She said she wanted him to talk about it, and he doesn't. But other than ejecting her from his home, there seems to be no avoiding it, this mortal woman stubbornly standing in the way of his path to muddling his mind until the ghosts are quiet for a time.

Norns, his head hurts.

He lets go of his arms to run his fingers through his hair, nervously combing the tangled locks back, only to have them slump onto his shoulders again. "There's no... no reason. It's the illness." Not weakness, not his fault, that's what he's been told and it has been a terrible battle to accept that. To accept that an injury of the mind is no more shameful than the breaking of a limb, no matter how it was received.

"No? Then why do you cling to it as an excuse for everything?" It's more accusatory than she means to sound, but they're too close to him actually opening up for her to back down. "If you had nothing to hide, you would tell me the truth about this. You would've told Loki the truth, too."

She pauses to take a short, noisy breath and exhales it in a huff. Her frustration is more at herself than at him right now, but he's not going to know that. Without her anger in check, Thor will end up in a deeper hole than he started in. Taking this brief moment to collect herself makes it easier to continue, though her tone is still more clipped than she'd like it to be. After all the pushing she's done, it's difficult to see him hold himself back.

"Nothing will get better until you make the effort. I know this is difficult. I know how much it hurts and how much hate and shame you can feel for yourself. But I can't take the step for you. If you really want this, you need to try. If you want to move on, you have to admit what's holding you back."

Thor doesn't want to do this anymore. He didn't before, but now a ember of anger and hurt smolders in his chest, harsh words thrown at him that strike deep like little knives. "You call me a liar?" he demands, and he is not certain which hurts more - the accusation, or knowing in his heart that she speaks the truth. He hasn't been honest, not even with himself. No matter how hard he tries to pretend that he's fine.

He's been getting better. He has, truly. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

Frustration leads him to pull a little harder on his hair, ignoring how it makes his head ache all the more from the abuse. Thor accepted long before today that he is a coward, and yet having it thrown out in the open hurts just as much as all the terrible things he's ever told himself. What does she want from him? To hear him admit it? "What would you like me to say?" he asks, this time sounding less like a demand, more of a plea. "That I am being haunted by my own failure? I know this. I would give even more of myself if I could do it over again. But I cannot, and I know this, too." Yet knowledge and acceptance are not the same thing, and Thor still struggles to find the path from one to the other. "I have lost more than any man should ever have to. And now I may have lost even more." The words slip from him without being bid, the dark fear that he's kept close to his heart in Loki's long absence, that insidious little voice that whispers in his ear that perhaps Loki will not return at all.

The fight goes out of him, then, and his shoulders slump as his hands come to rest on the table, empty. "I can't lose anything else," he whispers.

Edited 2020-12-27 22:56 (UTC)

Dreams, it's like hearing her own anxieties, hurts, and fears thrown at her as he pulls the truth from deep within himself. It's difficult to keep her thoughts focused as she hears an echo of her voice in his.

This is the only way to protect them.
I can't change what I've done.
I have to do this. There's no one else.

There's no room to be anything but perfect.

How painfully familiar this all is, but at least Thor is admitting the heart of the problem.

"Hiding in the drink won't prevent future loss," she points out quietly. "It might dull the pain of future losses, but it will make it harder to stop them, too. If you're so far gone that you can't help yourself, you'll never be able to help anyone else." Harsh words, but they're a lesson Amelia learned through pain and struggle that she'd rather Thor not have to deal with. He's going to have enough to deal with for the foreseeable future. "If you lose yourself, nothing else will matter."

Thor scoffs, ducking his head even more, absently flexing his empty fingers and wishing that false ale she'd brought was something stronger. "I can't do anything. At least... this way I don't feel it so much."

Part of the problem. He knows that. She's said as much. But is it so wrong to protect himself?

He drops his face into his hands, pressing against the closed lid of his good eye, as if to push the hangover out of his skull. Is he hiding? Perhaps. Almost certainly. He is only fifteen hundred years old, and yet he feels as ancient as human think him to be. "I'm tired."

"Not sleeping will do that. It's worse when you do and the sleep is terrible." She remembers being that tired. Drinking so much coffee and tea that her head hurt for weeks after as she eased up on how much she allowed herself every day because she couldn't function without it. She doesn't envy Thor having to deal with that now.

"But you're not helpless. You can do plenty on your own. Without a drink in your hand today, you've managed to make yourself at least somewhat presentable and make us coffee. You've opened up, at least a little, and you haven't tried to throw me out of your home. Those are still victories, even if they feel small." Her lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. "All of the first steps will be small. You can't climb a mountain without taking thousands of steps to overcome it. I know it isn't much now, but I can tell you from experience that today, these first few moments of struggle against this, will be much more important than you want to believe now."

She isn't wrong. It's not quite what he means, but Thor is not about to say so. He's tired in a way that seems to go beyond the surface, a fatigue that is not entirely unlike the one that ensnared him after the battle of Wakanda. Not entirely the same, not even close, but he can't help but think of it.

He doesn't look up from where his face is hidden behind his hands, fingers massaging at his forehead and temples. "Doesn't feel like a victory," he mutters, a bitter tinge in his voice. It feels more like a fox being cornered in his den, a hunter smoking him out where he is vulnerable and exposed. "Can I have one more? Just... for the road."

Her heart breaks to see him like this, but her answer is decided before he can add a plea to it.

"No. You've been drinking on the road for a long time now. Even one more will keep you from letting it go completely, and we'll end up having this conversation again and again." Because she won't stop coming back and having it every day if that's what's necessary. "You need water, something to eat, things that will nourish your body rather than take from it. When was the last time you did either of those things?"

He doesn't have to listen to this. She can't physically stop him if he decided to get up and pour himself another ale, nor could she stop him from drinking it. He is a grown man, a king, a god. Who is this mortal woman to make him do anything he doesn't want to do?

Thor raises his head, a surge of outraged indignation giving him strength as he prepares to tell her so, and falters at the look on her face.

"I... had lunch yesterday," he says instead, hesitant, defensive. But not angry, the wind petering out of his sails. "It's not like before."

"I suspect it isn't. After drinking for so long, your body wants drink more than the things that will keep it going." That's what all the books from her research said, at least. If Thor hasn't felt the need or desire to eat for almost a full day, she suspects the books are right.

She sighs and motions to the plate of breads, cheeses, and dried fruits. "Everything here should be easy for your body to handle, and the ginger ale will settle your stomach if you're feeling ill. I have a little raw ginger for you to chew as well, if you'd prefer that." There's not any room for him to argue with her on this. He needs to take care of his body as he lets go of the alcohol or he won't be strong enough to deal with the withdrawal. Frowning softly, she adds, "Even if it's only a little now and more later, it will help. It's all right to take this slow and with small steps."

Edited 2021-01-04 03:47 (UTC)

Thor had meant to assure her that he was not in as black a mood as he'd been for the worst of the previous year, but she is not wrong despite how she interpreted what he'd said. Something that he can't help but resent her for knowing, because it means she will worry all the more.

He doesn't move to take any of the food just yet, folding his arms over his chest and tucking his hands close, a defensive posture. He has never dealt well with being ill, even as a child, nor being fussed over whether or not he needs it. "How long did you plan for this?"

"Only a day. I spent most of the time since I texted you yesterday doing research and preparing." Sleep was a secondary thought to making sure she was ready for this conversation. Taking care of her friend far outweighs any personal discomfort she may be going through. She can always recuperate later.

Her face softens a bit as she adds, "I didn't realize you were struggling with so much until Loki told me. I knew something was amiss, but I never thought..." She sighs softly and shakes her head a little. "What you're going through is new to me, and I didn't know the signs to look for. I still don't know everything, but I read everything I could and will keep doing so as you work through this. I don't intend on going anywhere while you need help."

Well... at least she hasn't been plotting this for days, weeks even, without so much as saying a word to him. Still, Thor does not like it, resistant even now to the idea that he needs help to take proper care of himself. Even though it's obvious, even to him.

But looking at her and that stubborn set to her jaw, he can tell that she means what she says, and short of bodily throwing her out of his house, she does not intend to leave.

Fine. He unfolds his arms and grabs a little bread, ripping it apart a little more forcefully than it needs, and not quite looking her in the eye. "You can keep the ginger," he grumbles.

He has food in his hands, which is an improvement over a few minutes ago. Amelia exhales a silent sigh of relief and nods. "The offer remains if you should change your mind."

She lets silence settle between them for a time. It's strained and uncomfortable, but it's not Thor retreating into an alcoholic drink or him glaring at her for doing what needs to be done, so she doesn't mind. They've reached the end of what she knows to do - getting him to admit to the problem and take his first steps to normality without the drink - and a few minutes of silence to think is helpful. Her schedule for the next several days is clear, she has easy access to the library and individuals who will have more knowledge to help her help Thor, and things are still civil between them. All of these are important, and good, things to have on her side.

Dreams, she hopes she can properly do this. All she wants is to help her friend find his feet again.

Once a few minutes have passed, she takes hold of her ginger ale and takes a small sip. It's helpful for her stomach, too, at this point. "Is it helping?" she asks softly.

Thor doesn't touch the ginger ale even once, not even looking at the glass that sits pushed off to one side. It's petty and childish of him to blame it for not having alcohol, and he knows that, but that does not stop him anyway. He should drink something though, and the coffee's gone cold but he sips at it anyway in between nibbling at the bite-sized pieces he rips from the bread.

He's not eating with enthusiasm, nor much of an appetite, but he is eating. And getting out some destructive impulses harmlessly. Surely she can't blame him for that.

When she breaks the silence, he shrugs. "It's all right." His head isn't pounding quite so vigorously, and he doesn't feel as though the bread he's eaten is going to make a reappearance. Grudgingly, he adds, "I'd rather be drinking something else." She can take that to mean real ale if she wants, or simply a dislike of the ginger ale. Thor's not picky on which one he means. But Amelia seems to want to know his thoughts, and whether either of them like it or not, this is what they are.

At this point, Amelia's not sure what to assume. She certainly isn't about to get him an ale (or allow him to get one for himself), but that doesn't leave them without options.

"A glass of water it is, then," she states matter-of-factly as she rises from the table. She doesn't leave any room for argument as she makes her way to the kitchen to retrieve Thor the mentioned water, though she takes care to keep her footsteps light as she makes her way past him. Headaches are common with hangovers and she has enough experience to know how much it hurts to deal with. A minute later, she returns and sets the glass down in her friend's vision before returning to her seat across the table from him.

"It might be difficult to get down, but it will help. With any headache you might have at the very least." Here she offers a knowing, sympathetic smile. "It will get better with time, too. You won't be suffering forever."

It feels important to say that, though Amelia's not quite certain why. Thor seems to be struggling with the idea that everything will require time and patience, and while that's something he'll have to grapple with eventually, it's her hope that knowing the worst parts can be overcome will help.

Water isn't really what he wants, but he's not about to argue, even if she gave him an opening for it. It's better than the false ale at least. It's not pretending to be something it's not.

While she's away from the table, Thor takes the opportunity to take a few pieces of cut fruit and cheese, not really sure why he feels the need to make sure she's not looking first. It's not like she won't notice when she returns. Nor is he doing anything wrong. So why does it feel as though he's grasping for some kind of control?

He doesn't understand himself, now more than ever.

"Thank you," he murmurs quietly, pulling the water glass closer and taking a drink. Take that, ginger ale. Thor picks at his food, more for something to do with his hands that isn't holding a bottle of mead than out of any real hunger, though he doubts Amelia cares why as long as he's eating something. "It's not my first, um, hangover." That's the right word, he's pretty sure, though he's never been quite clear on what one is hanging on in the first place. "My friends and I, we... used to celebrate after battles sometimes. Big feast, lots of meat, all that." Has he spoken to her of the Warriors Three before? Thor can't remember. Nor can he remember speaking of them since their deaths, other than funerary rites. It had hurt too much, before.

Thor's never opened up to her like this, and it's a bit surprising that it's coming out after she's pushed on him so much. It's not an unwelcome surprise, though all Amelia can really do right now is appreciate the fact that he's sharing anything with her. How important these friends are - or were, perhaps? - to him is something she'll leave to him to reveal as he feels comfortable.

Her expression is warm, if still on the neutral side, as she listens. "A fitting way to celebrate a hard and well fought battle," she offers. "Time with friends over good food and drink is always a treat, too." A thing not properly appreciated until it's gone, of course, but that's something they both know without her calling it out. Her lips tug into a rueful smile. "The days after aren't always so kind if the celebrating is a little much, but I've found it's usually worth the struggle of finding my feet again."

There's so much she wants to ask right now. Biting her tongue and holding back her curious nature is difficult, but she doesn't want to hurt him any more than she already has today. One wrong question could send him back into a place where his problems with alcohol don't exist.

"I never regretted it," he answers, a little defensive edge in his voice, lest she judge him for his overindulgence, even though it was years before they'd ever met. "No matter if I remembered the night before or not. Those were... they were good days. I miss them."

The days, the friends... take your pick.

There's something damp on his cheek as he reaches reflexively for the water, takes a deep drink and silently curses it for not being mead. The glass lets out a low thud as he sets it down, a small tremor in his hand. "That's what they're doing now," he says, absently crumbling a piece of cheese in his hands. "Drinking away eternity in Valhalla."

Her prying wasn't meant to put him on edge, but her smile is sympathetic about his response. She could have phrased that better, but it still got him to open up and that's what's most important. That and drinking water, though she doesn't miss the way his hand shakes as he sets the glass back down. Nor does she miss the tears on his face and in his eye.

She doesn't know enough about Asgardian culture regarding death to know what to say here. All she can do is respond as best she can to the few words Thor's spoken.

"They're celebrating your battles, those you fought together and those where they stood with those who are there with them." She hopes that's right or at least helpful. If they drank to celebrate in life, she feels safe in assuming they'd do the same in death. "It seems a good way to pass the time until everyone they fought with and loved is able to join them."

It's a good answer, full of compassion and gentleness. Yet Thor's troubled heart still stings, and he swipes at his cheek.

"Yet you would deny me the same." Maybe it's an unfair point to make, but he cannot see how it is different. Not in a way that matters to him. Sure, the demons chasing him into the bottle are not the same as the revels in the golden hall, a joyous celebration of life and death. But from what she has said, from what he knows of how insidiously this strange compulsion has snared him, even this celebratory drinking would be enough to pull him back in. One drink leads to another, and another. That is the way of things. It's never just one.

"Don't... don't misunderstand," he adds, stumbling over his words as he tries to unjumble his thoughts, untangle them from his heart. "I don't want to join them yet. Not anymore. My time will come when the Norns decree it. But it's... lonely. Being the last."

His accusation makes her frown, though she waits until he's gotten all of his thoughts out before speaking. "Being alone isn't easy. I understand how difficult it is to be the only person who knows an entire history, to be the remaining member of a group of people I would have given my life for, to be the last of my lineage." She pauses to take a breath and cross her arms in front of her chest. That last thought is always particularly difficult one to have. "It's slowed me from moving forward, stopped me at times, too. I can't bring myself to celebrate that my world is somewhere out there, thriving without me, because it's too painful and that is not my way."

She lifts her eyes from the table to meet his gaze, her face one of forced calm. "But being in pain isn't an excuse to hide myself in something that destroys my mind and ability to live. I did what I had to survive for a long time, and there's no shame in that. Eventually I learned to let go of that, allowed myself to change into someone who didn't need that same crutch to keep going. It was difficult and I am more for having forced my way through it."

She gestures to his discarded glass of ginger ale and tilts her head slightly. "That is my choice for a drink for celebration, because it's what I like. I'm no less for choosing this for myself rather than a more traditional drink. Maybe it's not for you, but if you know the alcohol is hurting you, it might be time to find its equivalent for yourself." It will be something he needs to do for himself, but he needs to agree to the idea in the first place before she offers that point.

"I refuse to be the only warrior in Valhalla who won't drink mead," he grumbles, more to himself than to her. What would his friends think? What would his father think? His kingship is one thing. If he refuses even this most basic of traditions, can he even call himself Asgardian at all? How much can he leave behind and still deserve a seat at the mead hall table?

Perhaps it doesn't have to be forever. Thor already suspects that his willpower alone may not be enough. It hasn't been so far, why would it begin now? Even if he tries, it's no guarantee that it will stick.

She won't drop the matter unless he agrees, he can tell that just by looking at her. What harm will it be to humor her, at least for a little while?

He sighs, and shoves a small handful of crumbled cheese into his mouth. "Guess I should stock up on soda."

She doesn't respond to his words. Whoever he's angry with doesn't matter; Responding to that is likely to start a fight and it won't help anything. Exhaling a sigh, she turns her gaze away and settles her hands on her arms again. Uncomfortable as it might be for both of them, she lets a silence settle between them until Thor's ready to speak again and uses the time to calm herself down a little.

What he says isn't exactly helpful, though, and she can't stop herself from rolling her eyes. "You should find something you want to drink to fill the space left by the alcohol," she retorts, her voice a touch more harsh than she'd like. She sighs and reaches up to touch her hairpin briefly to ground herself. "You could drink water, tea, milk, or any other number of things. Choosing what I like to appease me isn't going to help you through this. If you're not comfortable or happy with the choice, you will fail. It's as simple as that."

"Not that soda," Thor answers, waving vaguely at the abandoned glass. Agitated though he is, he still won't stand to be misunderstood. "The kind they sell in the shops here. Tastes like fruit, supposedly."

It's not ale or mead, but it's not as bland as water, either. Better to have something with flavor than trying to jump straight to a tall glass of nothing, surely.

It's a better answer and it gets them somewhere. Slowly, and a bit painfully, but it's still movement.

"You've never tried it and you still want to invest in it?" A bold move, to be sure. She arches an eyebrow at him. "We should get you a set of them to find a flavor you like before you buy too much. Perhaps once your stomach is settled enough for a short walk into town?"

The only way out of this is forward, and dreams be damned, she will keep him moving until she's certain he can stand without help.

"Oh, I've tried it. Just doesn't taste like any fruit I've ever had." He shrugs, and manages to look her in the eye for the first time in several minutes. "I... suppose so."

He glances over his shoulder, towards the keg that still occupies his house, and grudgingly adds, "And we could take that to the store too."

She huffs a small laugh. "They are strange flavors for 'fruit'," she agrees. Humans have strange tastes if they think orange soda actually tastes like oranges. Whoever created all these sodas must not have had enough people taste test for them before the market took off.

Amelia had been expecting Thor to fight her when she insisted they go outside, and the shock shows on her face. She blinks a few times and shakes her head to clear it. "That seems a wise choice," she says softly. This is such an unexpected thing that it takes her a moment longer to recover from that. When she finally manages to get a hold of herself, she nods. "Whenever you're ready, then. We'll head into town together to take care of all this."

Thor is still wary, on edge, but he relaxes a little when it seems that she understands. That she does not believe he's merely saying what she wants to hear. Just because he holds a grudge against her gingered ale does not mean the idea is without merit, no matter if it fails in the end or not. "Exactly," he agrees, a little bolder. "But it's a local thing, and I'm sure our human neighbors will appreciate us, er, exchanging culture."

Amelia's surprise at his agreement bothers him a little, uncertain if it's because she expected him to fight a losing battle or simply because she did not think him so weak that he would give in. Contradictory, of course, but rational thought has little say in how he feels about it. He sighs and pushes crumbs around on his plate, unable to decide if he's eaten enough to make her happy, and looks down at himself. "I... should shower."

He does look and smell a mess, and Amelia doesn't intend to lie to him about it. She nods slowly, her expression softening. "I'll take the time to package and store all the food." Which she will be leaving here for him when she goes, of course. There's plenty more where it came from and if she finds an appetite later, she'll get herself something else. "Take your time. The soda is unlikely to sell out before we get there," she jokes with a soft laugh.

It might be too early for jokes like that, but she'd prefer to break the tension of the last while now that the opportunity has presented itself. Getting outside into the sun will likely also help, but she hopes bringing a little levity into the current conversation can move them in the right direction before they head into town.

"Great. Thanks." His response is a little flat, rote response out of ingrained politeness, his mind elsewhere. More signs that it'll be good for him to have food in the house that's ready to eat at a whim, not that Thor is thinking of such things.

He pushes back from the table and leaves her to it, vanishing into the bathroom, which really needs cleaning... ugh. It can wait. Right now he just wants to get clean, to take a moment where he's not under Amelia's gaze and try to get his head in order, and steel himself for the day ahead.

Admitting You Have a Problem

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