He sighed heavily. ”Done nothing more than care, I suppose.” He stood, looking out into the glow of morning.
“I wonder if anyone will mourn his death,” he mumbled under his breath. He wondered briefly about all the deaths that went unnoticed, every day. And then there were those that were celebrated.
Softly, Summer said, “I do.” She looked at her hands, lying on the covers. “I can deal death, but it doesn’t mean I like it, and it’s sad that there was no way to save him from himself.” She paused, blinking rapidly. “Everyone should be loved.”
Except me, she couldn’t stop herself thinking.
“Not everyone,” Loki hissed, thinking of himself. He excused himself to wash for the day. ”Is there something else I can do for you, Summer? Before you are on your way today?”
Sudden anger shot through Summer. She flung herself out of the bed, heedless of her state of undress, and snatched at Loki’s hand, projecting love as hard as she could. Through gritted teeth, she said, “Everyone.”
Loki staggered back from her sudden touch, as an unfamiliar feeling pushed at him from all angles. He felt it surround and press against his skin, curling warmly between his fingers as they were clutched in Summer’s. The feeling pricked at his eyes and climbed up his throat. It was unbearably beautiful.
“Ahh, what…” he breathed, but then could only close his eyes and pull her closer.
She let him pull her in, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her cheek to his chest. “Oh, Loki. Look at us. Both so convinced we’re worthless people, so confused by others caring.” Closing her eyes, she kept projecting, pouring her sympathy and caring and desire for this wounded, struggling man out.