And now that Loki has his arms around Thor, he finds himself reluctant to let go. He is, himself, teetering on the edge of some kind of collapse. His best hope, just now, is to force himself to keep going until there are enough safety nets around his lost people--
(Not really his, but he tries to forget that.)
--enough safety nets that he can take the time to scream his anger and grief into the void, bury himself in it, and perhaps rise again, if not renewed, at least repaired. And so he clings to Thor a little longer than practical, and finds some small, hysterical part of him wanting to curl up in a knot in his elder brother's lap and stay there, and believe nothing could harm him there, as he once did when they were very, very small.
He can't have that, of course, and he detaches himself when Thor reacts to Solvi's presence, watching the joy flicker across his face with a small burst of pride in his chest. He knew it, even without the new mother's confirmation. And this more than anything else was a mercy he thought Thor might take heart from. This reminder that he has gifts other than battle prowess. That he need not be Odin.
Solvi gets up as quickly as she comfortably can, eyes shining. It's an echo of her king's emotion. Relief that he's alive, gratitude for what he did for her and her daughter. She clearly has no idea what to say, but she smiles, clears her throat and murmurs, "She's gained almost half a pound since we got here. I think the place agrees with her."
The little girl holding the baby looks utterly fascinated, her gaze going to Loki as if for reassurance that whatever is happening is okay. And he smiles at her and goes over to straighten the ribbon in her hair, without a word. It seems to be enough.
There is no need to discuss logistics further. Thor will need a report sooner or later, but Loki is wary of laying anything on him until he asks for it. It's very hard, all of this. He will not be the one to break Thor under the weight of it, though, not if he can help it.
Fǫnn has been surprisingly patient, but now that he looks at her, she seems relieved to have gotten his attention back. "The lighting is better in my room," she tells him firmly. "And my supplies are all there."
She opens the door to what must be one of the bedrooms that she's claimed. There appear to be large windows there, as well as plenty of artificial lighting, and her own sleeping area is curtained off, but there's a neat cot, shelves and tables of medical supplies, and a few instruments that are not Asgardian make, but seem to be similarly sophisticated. She's even got a small notebook computer. Constructing the ship's medical records is going to be impossible, but based on the census Prometheus provided them, she's been slowly checking in on their people and beginning new records.
Putting the king's file in among them is going to feel quite satisfying.
no subject
(Not really his, but he tries to forget that.)
--enough safety nets that he can take the time to scream his anger and grief into the void, bury himself in it, and perhaps rise again, if not renewed, at least repaired. And so he clings to Thor a little longer than practical, and finds some small, hysterical part of him wanting to curl up in a knot in his elder brother's lap and stay there, and believe nothing could harm him there, as he once did when they were very, very small.
He can't have that, of course, and he detaches himself when Thor reacts to Solvi's presence, watching the joy flicker across his face with a small burst of pride in his chest. He knew it, even without the new mother's confirmation. And this more than anything else was a mercy he thought Thor might take heart from. This reminder that he has gifts other than battle prowess. That he need not be Odin.
Solvi gets up as quickly as she comfortably can, eyes shining. It's an echo of her king's emotion. Relief that he's alive, gratitude for what he did for her and her daughter. She clearly has no idea what to say, but she smiles, clears her throat and murmurs, "She's gained almost half a pound since we got here. I think the place agrees with her."
The little girl holding the baby looks utterly fascinated, her gaze going to Loki as if for reassurance that whatever is happening is okay. And he smiles at her and goes over to straighten the ribbon in her hair, without a word. It seems to be enough.
There is no need to discuss logistics further. Thor will need a report sooner or later, but Loki is wary of laying anything on him until he asks for it. It's very hard, all of this. He will not be the one to break Thor under the weight of it, though, not if he can help it.
Fǫnn has been surprisingly patient, but now that he looks at her, she seems relieved to have gotten his attention back. "The lighting is better in my room," she tells him firmly. "And my supplies are all there."
She opens the door to what must be one of the bedrooms that she's claimed. There appear to be large windows there, as well as plenty of artificial lighting, and her own sleeping area is curtained off, but there's a neat cot, shelves and tables of medical supplies, and a few instruments that are not Asgardian make, but seem to be similarly sophisticated. She's even got a small notebook computer. Constructing the ship's medical records is going to be impossible, but based on the census Prometheus provided them, she's been slowly checking in on their people and beginning new records.
Putting the king's file in among them is going to feel quite satisfying.