Chapter Text
The hot summer sun beat down on the desert, waves of heat reverberating off the sands and stifling the air. Two figures could be seen coming over a far off sand dune, the air too blurry to see who they were. Not that the cacti minded. Or the animal bones. Though the vulture was sufficiently run off. Apart from that, no one was around for miles to care that this desert had visitors for the first time in what seemed forever. Or that they looked very odd, for travelers.
Actually, they looked downright strange all-together.
Loki watched as Sylvie pulled her hood further over her face. Sunglasses peeked out from inside the covering, and glinted slightly with the far-off, bright sun.
A sun that did not feel nearly so far-off as it should. Loki unbuttoned the cuffs of his TVA issued dress shirt, and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. His breaths were already coming heavy, and any relief from the heat he could gain would be very much appreciated. Sweat collected on his brow and the back of his neck as the sun beat down on him, and it was all he could do to not slow down, as his head demanded. He was suddenly grateful that his shirt was white and his pants a light color, and not the black and dark green Sylvie was cloaked in.
“Y’know,” He started, tucking his sleeves in so they stayed put. “I don’t know how you're doing that. It must be stifling. You sure you don’t want to lose the cloak, at least?”
“No.” She responded sharply.
“No? Why not? You’re going to suffocate in there.” Sylvie gave a long suffering sigh. She tilted her head, pressing forward and letting out an angry grunt, looking as though she was trying to curb her anger.
“Because I don’t want to roast to death in that bloody sun, as I'm sure you're no doubt accomplishing. I'd rather not live the rest of my life as a burnt crisp, thank you very much.” She came to a stop and cast a glance over his body, as if searching for the aforementioned scorch marks.
He came to a stop with her, and followed her gaze to his newly uncovered forearms. He didn’t see anything. He turned them over, checking the other side. Still nothing. His brow furrowed. What was she so worried about?
“I don’t see anything.” He stated trepidatiously, looking back up at Sylvie. He couldn’t make out her expression, due to those damned shades, but her mouth formed into a thin line.
“Mmm.” She hummed in agreement, still looking at his forearms as if they might catch on fire if she turned away. He crossed them. It’s not like he minded being admired, but he could do without the foreboding. And it would be helpful if she would look AT him, so she could explain exactly what she meant?!
It had the desired effect. Her eyes moved with him, then she sighed and looked up, meeting his frowning gaze.
“Are you finished?” He asked, slightly irritated. She tilted her head to the side in thought, and from her mischievous smile, Loki could guess that her eyes were sparkling behind those glasses. And trouble was on its way.
“Mmmm,...no, I don’t think I quite am.” Dropping her teasing tone, she said more seriously, “Y’know, you really should pull your sleeves back down, though.”
Not being able to resist, he teased her.
“Ready to see them gone so soon?”
“No,” she sighed, mock wistfully, “But they are quite distracting, and if you keep them bare like that, you're going to get sunburnt. Or worse. That’s why I’m wearing all the layers?” She spread her arms, raising her eyebrows to indicate her attire.
“Oh, that’s why.”
“What, did you think it was a fashion statement?”
“Honestly, I didn’t know what it was.”
“It’s for practicality, genius.” She hissed, her stance defensive. “I’ll have you know that all Bedouin wear protective coverings to shield their bodies from the heat and sun, so they don’t get stuff like heat stroke or dehydration. And so they can avoid the uncomfortable side effects of being sunburnt.” She seethed. He blinked at her. Admittedly, he was a little worried; that all sounded pretty bad. But he’d lived through many an Asgardian summer and never once had he experienced one of these abnormalities. Surely a Midgardian heat wave that even its inhabitants could cope with could not compare, and he would be just fine, like he always was.
But she wasn’t finished.
“And seeing as we’re Frost Giants, a lovely fact that I sincerely hope you haven’t forgotten,” she said scathingly, her eyes narrowed as she watched for any signs of remembrance or indifference. The former was true this time, and he paled, his eyes widening in shock and dread. Watching him, her expression changed to the tight-lipped ‘I expected as much, but boy why do you have to be such an idiot’ look. “We need as much protection as we can get. For them, it might be unpleasant; for us, it could be deadly.”
How much paler could he become? He had to admit, he hadn’t thought of this, and in retrospect, he had to kick himself. Why didn’t he think of this!? 'A thousand years of thinking you're someething else leaves you prone to forget these kinds of things' his head supplied for him. And now he could very well die because of it. Great. He didn’t think Frigga and Odin meant for this to happen when they kept his heritage from him, he thought as he pulled his sleeves back down. Then again, he hadn’t seen himself in a desert, with a variant of himself, searching for a…a…..a what was it again? Why was cohesive thought so hard right now? His head was swimming, and he felt like he was by turns floating and wading through hot water. His vision spun a little, and he discreetly shook his head to clear it. Sylvie didn’t notice, as she was still in the middle of her tirade about heat, its effects on them, and the stupidity of men. Chiefly, him.
“And considering we’re only in Death Valley, only the hottest place on Earth, where there aren’t even any desert-dwellers because it’s just too hot, EXCUSE ME for wanting to stay ALIVE!” With that, she wrapped her cloak further around herself, and marched off, moving in the direction he assumed they were supposed to be going. He stood there for a moment, stunned and still slightly shell-shocked, then recalled himself and ran to catch up with her, ignoring the way his head swam as he did so. Apparently movement set it off, though he couldn’t do much about that right now.
His first instinct was to pacify, and so, to calm her and himself, he said, in his most soothing tone:
“Look,” He paused, sucking a breath in through his teeth, his face screwing up. Then he sighed, shaking his head, and let it out. “I was wrong. Your absurd and seemingly idiotic fashion choice was actually pretty smart. And your knowledge of Midgardian culture and terrain is…marginally impressive.” She looked sideways back at him, her lips pursed and looking like she was grudgingly listening.
He sniffed, straightening his posture. “I, however, have survived the hottest of Asgard’s summers, without the slightest hint of any of the ailments you have mentioned, and should be just fine.” He didn’t even try to keep the hint of pride out of his voice. He’d be just fine. Yes, he’d be just fine…
“Asgard had a lot of nice streams and trees, shady areas and places to cool down, didn’t it?”
He gulped. Yes, it did. And he had made quite good use of them. After all, he wasn’t stupid enough to stay out in the hot sun for too long. At least, he wasn’t stupid enough back then.
“And I’m guessing you usually wore layers?”
Silence stretched between them, an understanding underlying it clearly reached.
“Can you summon a cloak?” Sylvie asked him, still not looking at him. Her tone seemed more mild, but Loki thought he could detect an undercurrent of worry.
This was serious.
He swallowed, then lifted his hand, his fingers poised as if to grab the air and twist. As he envisioned a cloak for himself, he focused his magic on creating it and twisted his hand, and thus his own magic.
Nothing happened.
Well, perhaps it is unfair to say nothing. Green, spark-like bursts of magic fizzled above his hand, sputtering out of existence almost as soon as they came.
That was unexpected. He frowned, confusion evident on his face. This had never happened before, as far as he could recall. What did it even mean?
He tilted his head, studying his hand, or more rightly, the air above it, trying to make sense of what had just occurred. This wasn’t–.....How–?....What in the–...?
He straightened his head, his brow furrowed further. Why was it that no matter how hard he tried to focus, his thoughts remained strangely muddled? He couldn’t connect one broken train of thought to another!
Momentarily giving up, he chanced a glance at Sylvie….
….and froze.
Sylvie was standing right where she had been before, but she was staring at his hand– no, again, the area above his hand – and she wore an expression of horror.
Loki blinked at her. She didn’t move. He blinked again.
Should he be worried?
She turned her horrified gaze slowly from his hand to his face, meeting his eyes. He felt that overdue fear start to settle in.
“Sylvie?” His words sounded slightly slurred. How odd. He felt fine (except for the creeping dread), if a little achy.
She was still staring at him, a hand half-raised to her still gaping mouth. When she spoke, she answered him, though.
“I’ve only ever had this happen once, on Teria 4, during the volcanic eruption of 2040.” Her voice was distant, and she seemed to be somewhere far away.
“Sylvie? Had ‘what’ happen?” He was growing frantic, leaning towards desperate. For what, though, he wasn’t entirely sure. He just needed to know.
Sylvie blinked a few times behind her glasses, seeming to come back to the present. Then she shook herself and took a deep breath, holding her hands out in a steadying manner. After a moment, her posture straightened, and she was all business.
“Alright, we need to get you to a safehouse, somewhere where it's cool, and dark, and where there’s plenty of water.” She stepped towards him, her hands out as if to grab him, and he jolted back.
“Sylvie, what are you talking about? What’s happening to me?” His hands were held out in front of him, trying to ward her off. She looked irritated, and slightly confused.
“Loki, we don’t have time for this! We have to get you out of here!” She made to grab him again, but he took another step back. Confusion was winning out on Sylvie’s features, now.
“Sylvie, what is going on?!” His voice had been steadily growing louder and more panicky, and now he was practically pleading with her to just tell him! Truth be told, she was scaring him, and he needed to know what this was so he could try to find some semblance of calm in this situation. Rationalize it.
She stopped, seeming to understand his internal dilemma and need.
“Heat stroke. Loki, you have heat stroke.”