"He is my brother," Thor says on reflex, because Loki's parentage matters far less to him than centuries of brotherhood. But then his breath catches, because the Loki that Harley knows is not the same one that Thor saw murdered before him, no matter how similar - or identical - their fates had been. Their shared histories. He lost Loki, and still has him, and it should be easier to mourn his brother when he can still visit him, talk to him. But all it's done is make his heart confused, conflicted.
Thor fumbles for the orange juice and takes a drink, forgetting for a moment that it's just juice and nearly recoiling at the unexpected sweetness, rather than the burn of alcohol. Some of it ends up in his beard and he swipes at it roughly with the back of his hand, clearing his throat to cover for his error, not nearly as successfully as he's hoping.
It has been a rare occasion in his life when Thor has ever felt the need for private counsel, and then it had always been with his closest and dearest friends, the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. Heimdall, sometimes. Or his mother, or on even rarer occasion, his father. But they are all dead, now, except perhaps only Sif. Wherever she is, she is beyond his knowing, and so he cannot go to her, either.
These are darker days than he has ever faced. And now he does it alone.
There's a liquid brightness to his eye, and he swipes at that too before tears can betray him further. Maybe... maybe it is best that it's Harley, right now. Someone he shares little history with, someone who knows what it is like to be driven to the brink and lose the way back, someone who does not see him as her king, or worship him as her god. But talking is difficult, especially about this, when he knows the panic will claw at the inside of his throat, waiting to be released at the wrong word. And yet... "I don't know what to do."
no subject
Thor fumbles for the orange juice and takes a drink, forgetting for a moment that it's just juice and nearly recoiling at the unexpected sweetness, rather than the burn of alcohol. Some of it ends up in his beard and he swipes at it roughly with the back of his hand, clearing his throat to cover for his error, not nearly as successfully as he's hoping.
It has been a rare occasion in his life when Thor has ever felt the need for private counsel, and then it had always been with his closest and dearest friends, the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. Heimdall, sometimes. Or his mother, or on even rarer occasion, his father. But they are all dead, now, except perhaps only Sif. Wherever she is, she is beyond his knowing, and so he cannot go to her, either.
These are darker days than he has ever faced. And now he does it alone.
There's a liquid brightness to his eye, and he swipes at that too before tears can betray him further. Maybe... maybe it is best that it's Harley, right now. Someone he shares little history with, someone who knows what it is like to be driven to the brink and lose the way back, someone who does not see him as her king, or worship him as her god. But talking is difficult, especially about this, when he knows the panic will claw at the inside of his throat, waiting to be released at the wrong word. And yet... "I don't know what to do."