Cassie’s voice lacks conviction. It’s the first thing Loki notes. But there’s some quiet hopefulness in her words and he can’t mistake that either. He pulls her into his arms, all gentle smiles and doesn’t say anything in reply. He wonders, briefly, life in this city without her. If she were to go home again, if she were to leave. What would that be like? Was she just biding her time here? Waiting?

If she was, he only wanted her to do it with him like this until then.

She lies next to him in bed, watching his chest rise and fall slowly and pain marked in his face as he dreams – no, not dreams, not dreaming or nightmares. Neirne told her about it. Some deep level of terror she can’t begin to fathom, a past she couldn’t understand. She doesn’t know how to help him. She can’t bring herself to touch him; a part of her thinking she’ll only bring more pain to him. It hurts to be so useless, so helpless. She watches him, feeling her breath shiver in her throat as the tears soak the pillow. She puts her hand to her mouth, muffling her sobs.

He sits with her in silence on the rooftop of the residences. Clint is gone. So many of those she cares for are gone. The air is cold and the sky is clear. He can just pick out the tear-tracks down her cheeks as she stares up at starry skies, quiet in her grief. He takes her hand, her sorrow flooding his veins like wild-fire, adding fresh pain to her history of hurt. He frowns, closing his eyes and lowering his head. Once more, he wants nothing more than to free her from the sadness and pain she feels but she wears her heart so openly when she loves – it leaves it so vulnerable to the ache that comes so readily in this city. He silently hopes it won’t last long; she’ll grieve and move on, the pain won’t feel so fresh and raw.

There are days when he marvels at her: this small, incredible Midgardian. Her compassion, her fight. He imagined the ground quaking in her wake; passionate and righteous in her own way. He listened to the song in her voice; her joyful laughs and gentle, comforting words. A bright, beautiful light. The way she poured over her composing or baking. How she cared for so many; befriending all who came into her path. She was trusting, too trusting at times – her emotions always bubbled so close to the surface. He didn’t mind.

The way she looked at him and saw no monster, held no fear or loathing in her eyes. The way she’d kiss his cheek, the way she once brushed her fingertips along the marks of his Jotun skin without judgement. The way she made him want her to be happy; how she gave him hope that there was something else for him than destruction and madness and chaos.

She was something good in him. Sometimes he wanted to be good for her. She had turned a small, fragile light back on in his chest.

If you must die, sweetheart,
die knowing your life was my life's best part.

He hears the gunshot, the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Something is not right. Moments pass and he rises from his chair. There’s commotion in the Residences, raised voices and panic, cries that echo in the lobby, drifting to the clinic. It’s only when he hears her name being called does his legs move quickly. His vision narrows, focuses as he searches, following the voices.

He bursts into the clinic, a sharp and tense aura around him. Everything is chaotic around him: a man stained with red yells in distress in another language, Hael’s hands are covered in blood. He calls her name desperately; the only word Loki can pick out. Mack stands off to the side, numb with shock. There’s smears of blood on her too; her head in her hands, pulling at her hair and tears in her eyes. She utters the same sparse sentences of swear words, over and over. John Watson and Simon Tam, calmer but still so urgent, desperately working.

And there she is. Limp on the examination table, her skin pale and clammy under the fluorescent light. Her chest heavy and dark with blood, staining her skin around her shoulders and neck. No. He steps forward. And then it’s there, there it is. He catches it, a last ragged breath, a gurgle of blood in her lungs. Her mouth opens and closes, as if she were taking another breath but there’s no sound, no breath drawn. Her face relaxes, void of all expression and eyes gaze upwards, unseeing, beneath half-closed eyes. A single moment, there and gone.

Everything slows, grinding to a halt. Reluctantly, John and Simon step back. Mack vomits into a trash can, stumbling back and sinking to the floor. Hael’s reaction, most visceral of all, rings in Loki’s ears.

Time passes, people come and go. They find a sheet to cover her with, gently close her eyes. Mack goes to find the bottom of a bottle, Hael rocks himself, uttering words and grief-stricken. He leaves only others come to usher him out of the room to speak to him, kissing her forehead before he goes. Jonathan steps into the room, sits down beside her and falls motionless and silent. Loki stands like stone, watching the warmth seep out of her.

He feels the light in his chest go out.

 ***