pirateangelbaby | Admitting You Have a Problem

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loki

Admitting You Have a Problem

He'd been doing so well before all this. Or at least he thought he had. He'd stopped stashing ale and mead in his living room by the barrel, spent less time drinking and more time going outside and actually trying to tackle the mountain of paperwork that's been building up in the administrative center, even if he hadn't gotten very far. Sure, he'd still drank, but more out of habit than the need to do something, anything with himself. He'd started to get his life back, little by little, struggling to find a new normal and establishing a new routine.

But then Loki left, and there's been no word since.

The children are a delight to have around, and there are times when he feels it's easier to rally himself for their sake, to make sure they're fed and bathed and cared for. As have the ravens, who are growing like mischievous little weeds, both reliant on him and yet also soothing him at times when he is feeling low, hopping into his lap and insisting on being stroked and pampered.

But he is making it up as he goes along. He doesn't know what he's doing, or how much longer he'll need to pretend that he does. And now that he's paying attention, he can tell that there is something still wrong with him, because he's going through his reserves much faster now than he was a few months ago. And he doesn't want to know what will happen if he runs out.

The children are safely under Solvi's watchful eye, under the pretense of helping her around the house while she cares for her baby. Huggan and Miskunn are napping atop a bookshelf, and Thor carefully closes the door behind him as quietly as he can when he leaves. If he's fortunate, maybe he'll be back before they awaken, and they won't scold him for venturing out without them.

By now, he knows his way to the Viper's Pit well. One of the only Nexus establishments to serve drinks strong enough for gods, it's been his primary companion on his descent into his illness, and the steps he's taken to struggle back up. Thor hopes that the other Loki hasn't noticed how many of those barrels have been being shipped to Asvera; he's tried to avoid being there at the same time as the young trickster. Not because he does not want to see him, but because he knows something is not right, and Loki is far too perceptive not to realize that Thor is trying to hide how little he knows what he's doing.

He shouldn't be there now, Thor hopes. He isn't usually, this time of day. The thunderer opens the door to the tavern, and heads inside to pick up the order he'd called ahead.

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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."

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