Nothing Compares

Sigyn sits on the edge of a cot in a room that is little more than a cell. A cloth is wrapped around her naked body and her heavy blonde locks lay wetly against her bare shoulders. The robes she'd been wearing when found were still being laundered.

She chews her bottom lip, staring at the door. She can hear the shouting in the hall, the argument over her presence and what to do with her. A towering woman had awaited them after they stepped through the peculiar, glowing entrance to the offices of the Time Variance Authority. Quickly, Loki had ushered Sigyn away while his mustached associate offered an explanation for what was considered against protocol.

With little more than a sweep of his hand gesturing to a showering room attached to the small chamber, Loki suggested she bathe and leave her mud and blood stained dress to be cleaned. She'd turned away from him when she pulled the thin fabrics from her body, overwhelmed with the pace of all that was happening and that after two hundred years he was back in her life. Her husband said nothing and did his best to keep his eyes from trailing over her lithe body. Despite this, she could still feel his lingering emerald colored stare. He'd always been affected by her appearance alone, and it would seem that their time apart had done nothing to temper that fact.

"She is my wife!" Loki bellows from the other side of the door. Sigyn winces. His anger has always been a fearsome thing. The constant noise of the TVA falls to a hush, the others probably remembering they kept a God within their walls. "She stays with me."

More yelling and a few threats rise before the door slides open and Loki stomps in looking furious. Behind him, his companion acts as a barrier between the outraged woman and her gaggle of armed soldiers.

"Alright, alright." Mobius raises his hands. "We'll take it to Renslayer. Okay?"

The door shuts before an answer can be made out. Sigyn carefully watches Loki as he raises his scowl to her. "Hunter B-15 wishes to wipe your memory and return you to Moord," He states gruffly, as if it is Sigyn's fault. She bows her head and nods.

Loki is quiet when he crosses the small bedroom and slowly sinks himself to the bunk, his weight just enough to dip the mattress and causes Sigyn to reshift herself, unless she wishes to fall into his lap.

She doesn't. She's fairly certain of it.

"I should not have sent you away." His admission is kind, but two hundred years late.

No, you should not have. Sigyn bites her lip and wills herself to cease her nervous shaking. Though he waits for her to meet his pleading eyes, she refuses. He knows nothing of what she'd endured on that wretched planet. How she hid from the Brotherhood of Badoon in caves and under rubble, nearly losing her mind to fear and desperately wanting nothing more than to just go home. For two hundred years she'd barely scraped by, surviving on whatever alien animal she could capture and roast over a puny fire.

And it was all because of the man sitting next to her. Loyal and nurturing as she is, Loki had cast her away as if she were nothing.

I am not nothing. A lump forms in her throat and she turns her back to him to hide her bitter tears. She coughs, trying to clear the tight feeling. Damn you, trickster.

Without a sound, Loki's draping a jacket over her shoulders. His hands rest on her for the briefest of moments before he drops them back to his lap. "Your washing should be done soon. I've arranged to have it brought here. There's only one bed and I'm afraid I cannot leave this room. You may have the comfort and I'll sleep on the floor."

Sigyn nods her agreement, again feeling Loki's gaze boring into the back of her head. The nervousness that washes over her is not wanted. Anger bubbles inside of her, but when her husband lays his eyes upon her, it's as if a hungry wolf is waiting to feast upon her flesh.

I married a beast, she thinks not for the first time.

The weight from the bed lifts and Loki makes his way into the adjoining shower without a word. When he's returned, his black hair is dripping wet and he holds a towel around his waist. Sigyn raises a delicate brow at his bare body. She can appreciate a man's physique, regardless of her resentment towards him. Nevertheless, she averts her eyes before Loki notices her blatant approval of his chest and abdomen.

He dresses shamelessly, dropping his towel and pulling on a pair of loose pants and shirt provided by Mobius. When he faces her, he frowns at the clean yet tattered clothing she now wears. "Will you be warm enough in that?"

Sigyn nods, though her traitorous body shivers at the moment.

Without hesitating, Loki strips his shirt from his body and hands it to her. "Here. I have a limited wardrobe here, or else I'd give you a full set."

She takes it, risking a glance up at him. She finds pain etched in his face, a weary hollowness behind his eyes, and a milky paleness in his complexion. She can't help the twinge of needing to comfort him. What has happened to you? She furrows her brow as she studies him. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. She sees regret and sadness and again has the urge to carry his burdens.

Which makes her sick. She should be stronger than this. Two hundred years… she reminds herself and snaps her head away.

Gruffly she pulls the shirt over her head, ignoring that the scent of it is not of him like she'd clandestinely hoped it would. Unexpectedly, he's kneeling before her when her head pops through the crew neck. He rests his hands upon her knees and the warmth from his palms is...nice.

"I owe you an explanation for Moord and all that has happened since. You do not trust me and I don't expect you to. I've done terrible things to you, I know. I have no excuse for any of it. I am a creature created to flourish in chaos and destruction. I...I don't know how to love." He looks down at the floor. "I've wanted to. For so long I've wanted to feel love and be loved and…" he sighs. "You. Faithful and true and kind beyond reason. You've defended me against my foes and protected me from the snake's poison. And I," his voice cracks with emotion. "I am sorry, Sigyn. I am a wretched being and I am sorry."

She hates that tears threaten to slip down her cheeks. Hates that she is weak and caring and the Goddess of Fidelity, Nurturing, and Grieving. For she knows that no matter what Loki has done to her, no matter how unfair or cruel, she will always stand by his side. Whether he deserves it or not, she lives by her vows.

He doesn't cry in her lap, but keeps his head bowed as if awaiting punishment. Instead, Sigyn brushes her fingers through his unruly black hair.

You are wretched, yes. But you are mine.