She didn't know what to do. Between the two of them, Brunnhilde was the emotional wreck. Thor was always so… put together. He was the one who had healthy coping skills (basically anything other than alcohol and straight up denial).

She thought he was doing okay. But after that outburst from earlier… he very clearly was not.

He had always the emotionally stable one, and she had been the one who stormed off when things got too touchy. She supposed it could have been worse. He could've caused an actual storm.

Something she'd been told had happened on numerous occasions when he was younger and had less control over his powers. Causing turbulent storms that reflected the inner turmoil he was in.

He always seemed so put together. But she could clearly see he was breaking right now.

She didn't know what to do.

She knew she needed to do something. And she hated that it was all left to her. But everyone else seemed too afraid to approach the god of thunder for fear of him lashing out when he was in crisis and mourning.

The whole hall leading to his bedroom door that had been slammed shut was cleared out, almost as if he really was attracting rain clouds that people had enough sense to move far away from. So they wouldn't get caught up in the storm.

Brunnhilde knew if she didn't do it then no one else would. And she hated that it was all left to her. Didn't they know that she had spent the last several centuries avoiding feelings of any kind? She wasn't equipped to handle this kind of problem. He needed someone who was good at comforting, not someone who spent most of their life trying to numb the pain with alcohol and failing miserably at that. She was the worst person to talk to him right now. But apparently something about being a king and a god of thunder made him seem a little unapproachable to people better suited to talking than she (literally anyone was better suited). If she didn't do it no one else would.

So yes, that was what found her pacing up and down the deserted hall outside his bedroom, still coming up with absolutely nothing for a plan- coming up empty. She couldn't do this. She had to. She knew she had to.

Not out of some sense of duty as a valkyrie to the king of Asgard. But as… comrades, and- and friends. He had helped her get out of the lowest rut she'd been stuck in for so long- she was only out of that right now because of him. Don't get her wrong, she was still plenty low. But not as low as she had been, as she used to be.

She was at the highest point she could remember being for far too long, all thanks to him. And he helped her stay at this point, even on days where she felt like sinking deeper than she'd ever been before.

Thor helped her stay afloat.

The least she could do was return the favor. Or at least try. However shitty it ended up being, she could at least try to repay him.

"Your majesty?" She called out, knocking on the door.

No answer.

She took a deep breath, pretty much just psyching herself out, and pushed it open.

Thor was sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over and just hanging his head as he stared blankly at the floor.

She could see his shoulders move with every breath he took, and each one looked like it was a defeat.

Her eyes were drawn to a small pool of blood on the floor, collected right below his hand that was still covered in blood, the one that he cut when his grip broke the glass he was holding in front of everyone before storming off. All the blood had probably dried by now. She felt a tug of guilt, knowing that while she was outside pacing and panicking, he was in here, watching his blood drip to the floor.

Valkyrie eased the door shut behind her. He was aware of her presence, but he didn't look up, or even acknowledge her. She knew why. She didn't mind.

Without a word she went to the cabinet that she knew should hold several emergency supplies and pulled out the med kit.

She was quiet as she walked over to him, and silent as she laid the med kit on the bed beside him and popped it open. She just sat on the ground next to his knee (on the other side of the dried blood pool), knowing it would be more comfortable for her to be seated on the floor for this.

"I'm going to take care of your hand," she informed him quietly, before touching him.

Thor didn't respond or even acknowledge her statement.

But when she took hold of his wrist so very gently, and pulled his injured hand closer to her, he didn't fight her on it. He didn't seem to have any fight left in him.

If Brunnhilde was intent on dressing his wound, he'd let her. He didn't have any will to do anything else but go along with it. More than anything, the expression on his face was numb.

She tore open one of the wet cloths, taking hold of his hand, and gently wiped away the dried blood on his skin. She was soft and thorough, careful not to press too hard as she cleaned the red stains from his hand with the utmost care. Almost like when she polished the dragonfang.

She was so concentrated.

He looked at her for the first time since she came in, watched as she diligently scrubbed the blood away, her eyes focused on her work.

Neither of them say anything. It was a heavy silence that spoke volumes.

Then Brunnhilde grabbed a bottle from the kit and poured liquid over his cut.

"Ah, damn, that stings," Thor hissed, immediately trying to pull his hand away out of pure reflex, but she had a firmer hold on him than he expected. She kept his hand there.

"What is that?"

"Disinfectant," Valkyrie answered noncommittally. And he was just dumbfounded.

"Oh come on! You know that wasn't going to get infected!" He whined like a child, and she was secretly glad to see his expression more animated again. Because come on, they were Asgardian. He'd never so much as got an infection from a rusted sword covered in stranger's blood, much less shards of glass from a half full flagon on ale. "This'll be healed by tomorrow morning, and that was just completely physically unnecessary. Are you just trying to hurt me? You didn't have to pour sting-y stuff all over my wounds," he pouted and tried to glower at her, but he wasn't very good at it.

"There's more to healing than what's just physically necessary," Val replied calmly, and the weight behind her words shut him up.

It's a process, she thought, but didn't say. She had a feeling he already knew.

It was something he'd noticed before. That Brunnhilde seemed more capable giving touch, and more comfortable receiving touch, when it was to treat battle wounds. It's not a reaction he's unfamiliar with. Every touch being treated as a hostile threat.

Thor himself had been lucky enough to not have experiences that lead to that reaction becoming his own, but he had seen it in many others. In many friends.

The only time Brunnhilde didn't react violently or at least threateningly to someone touching her was when her battle wounds were being treated, and she was most liberal with her touches when treating others injuries. He thought that maybe it was an instinct left over from her valkyrie days.

That battle then comrades touch equals safety, when daily routine then friend's touch equals danger.

He's pretty sure she's keenly aware of it herself. That it's the reason she barges in and disinfects and wraps minor cuts that will be completely healed in 24 hours.

He's not enough to presume she's touch starved, but he imagines the Brunnhilde who was used to people touching her without baring harm must seem to her like another person who lived lifetimes ago.

And, as she started to wrap his hand in clean cut cloth, he was secretly glad she was touching him too. He found himself savoring these moments every time they came. Brunnhilde was now more free with her smiles, and her laughter, but her touch was still something she reserved. And he found himself craving it more and more.

He wasn't enough of an idiot to purposely get hurt in battle just so moments like these could happen more often, but he would be lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind that maybe being a little more reckless wouldn't be such a bad thing. Of course he would never do it. Like he said, he wasn't that much of an idiot. But he was lovesick enough of a fool to consider it.

Clearly of the two, he seemed to be the touch starved one. Or really, more like Brunnhilde starved.

And he found himself savoring every moment of these interactions when they came to pass.

He thought there might be something there for her too. But even if there was, it's obviously not something she's ready to pursue.

She'd just started opening up to him (only when she was drunk) and was still in mourning of her partner whose death she had spent centuries trying to block out. Only for the wound to remain fresh now that it's been reopened 2,000 or so years later.

Val said it was nice to talk about her, to say her name out loud again, even if she had to get sufficiently wasted before she could even begin to speak on such painful memories.

And Thor listened. He smiled at the bittersweet memories, he laughed at the funny stories she still had of her friends, and he was there to have a pain fill his chest and a thickness in his throat when she described all the misery that haunted her.

He always wanted to take her hand, tell her she was the strongest person he had ever met at those times. But he didn't. He stayed in silence. And listened. Because it was her time to talk.

Brunnhilde took her time wrapping the cloth around his hand, often abandoning it like she had forgotten what she had been in the middle of doing before returning to the task, maybe making it stretch on forever.

"Damn it, I'm no good at this," she cursed in what seemed to be frustration. Even though her wrapping skills were excellent, her fingers were still digging into the roll of cloth in her hand like she was angry at herself for failing something.

"You're doing fine," Thor reassured her, turning his hand slightly, looking over the job so far. "This is great."

"No, not that," she sighed, hanging her head in defeat. "I'm supposed to be… helping. I'm not good at this whole not selfish thing. Or talking. Or- or feelings, and emotions and all that crap. You're supposed to be talking to someone who's good at talking, so you can actually feel better, and instead you're stuck with me, and I'm shit at this. I'm not helping. I don't know how to do this right. I don't know how to do this at all. I'm sorry." The words spill strangled out of her throat, and she couldn't do anything about it. If regret were an ocean, she'd be drowning in it right about now. Her stomach was twisted into knots, and she realized she'd give just about anything to know how to do this right. Instead of her stomach being filled with lead that's threatening to pull her under, sink or swim.

"This has helped more than you know," he told her gently, meaning every word of it.

"Really?" Val looked up at him, her eyes far more vulnerable and filled with emotion than he had expected.

Thor gave her a soft smile, nodding his head. She looked relieved for a moment, truly and utterly relieved, before she had the sense to feel embarrassed, suddenly dipping her head down and studying his hand in an attempt to hide her face.

"Good," she said gruffly, sounding like she was trying to remain all professional.

And he couldn't help himself. Thor laughed.

At first he was worried that maybe she was going to kill him, but then he saw some weight leave her shoulders, and noticed the spark in her eye betraying her amusement. Something lifted from her that had been so heavy before. Some weight left her after hearing him laugh. And that thought has butterflies storming in his stomach all over again.

He had a sneaking suspicion that the reason she's left his hand half unwrapped is to give her an excuse to keep holding his hand. He wasn't inclined to comment on it, fearing that she would finish her now forgotten job if mentioned.

"Is it- it's the deaths of those you cared about weighing on you lately, isn't it?" Valkyrie tried to ask the question with care, but ended up flinching at how crumbled and awkward it came out.

Thor sighed, closing his eyes, exhaling like it could all leave him in a single breath, giving up and giving in.

"I'm not handling it well," he admitted, staring at his half bandaged hand that was cradled between hers.

"I spent centuries black out drunk and selling stragglers as slaves to the grandmaster for the contest, so surely you deserve some of the same latitude," she offered with a self deprecating smile.

Thor chuckled at that, shaking his head. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he stopped himself before any words came out, biting his lip instead. She noticed his hesitation.

"What?" She prompted, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. He closed his eyes, lets the motion soothe him for a moment.

"I don't… I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"Any of this," Thor chuckled weakly, an edge of desperation and hysteria creeping into his voice. It was ridiculous he ever thought he'd be able to do this. How could he? It really was laughable. Or pathetic. "I don't know how to… how to keep going. You are the best survivor I know, and I have no clue how you do it. I don't… I don't know how to survive, how to keep going, make sure everyone else keeps going too. I don't know how I'm supposed to lead when I've never been so lost myself," he said, the words just pouring out of him. Everything that's been keeping him up at night, the thoughts that he tried to convince himself were on lockdown, when really they were just building up inside his head.

"I don't know if I'll be able to keep everything going some days," he said with a forced huff of a laugh that sounded just as strained as his voice. "We're just wandering now, no end in sight, and people keep looking to me for the next step to take, and I don't know how to tell them that I have no clue what the hell I'm doing. We're just a ship of wandering refugees, and I don't know how to keep all these people alive. Keep them safe. How am I supposed to make sure these people survive when I am this close to falling off the edge myself?" He asked, holding up his fingers a centimeter apart, to show just how precariously close he is to falling.

"I just… don't know. I don't know what's going to happen, and I don't know what to do. I'd give anything to just be able to stop and be still for a moment, but we keep going, because we have to, we have to keep going on to nowhere, and I don't know how. And I always feel so lost."

Brunnhilde didn't have an immediate response for that- instead remaining silent since she had no clue what to say. The anguish written on his face was more than she could handle. She wished she knew what to say, and could give him words of comfort, but she didn't exactly have a clue of what she's doing either.

"You are not alone," she finally settled on when she was brave enough to speak. Her voice was gravely serious, and Thor lifted his head to look at her, while her eyes fixated on his hand in hers. "You are not alone. That is the worst thing about surviving. Doing it alone. Instead of moving, you become stuck in one place. Until someone comes to drag you out of it, gives you a chance to move forward again," her frown pulled, twisting at the words that she knew were far too accurate when it came to him and her.

"But you will never be stuck," she told him with a renewed conviction. "Because you are surrounded by people, your people, who won't let you face this alone. Even though you don't know where you're going, you're at least moving forward. And that is… really something. It really is. Much more than you give yourself credit for. Maintaining that forward motion is not something most would be able to accomplish. I didn't. And I didn't have anyone behind me that I was pulling along too. All these people, they would be stopped and stuck if not for you carrying them forward. I can't even imagine how hard a burden that must be to bear. I don't know how you keep going, but every day I am amazed that you do. And that you keep smiling. I am sincerely grateful for that," she confessed, because honestly, his goofy smiles after saying something ridiculous or tripping over himself were the best part of most of her days. "And I'd just like to remind you that while you may feel lost right now, you are not lost alone. We are lost with you. I am lost with you," Brunnhilde said, swallowing the painful lump in her throat. "There are worse fates to suffer. Being stuck and alone is not something I would wish on anyone. So we keep walking. And if you stumble, and fall off the edge, someone will be there to catch you and drag you back up to your feet again. You are not alone, Thor. You're not alone."

When she finished speaking, she slowly started to wrap his hand again, or, at least finish what she had left unwrapped. It didn't take long. She had dragged out the task of dressing the wounds on his hand to over half an hour. It took her less than a minute til she was done when she was truly trying to finish. She cut the cloth from the spool once his hand was sufficiently bandaged, slipping the end under part of the wrap and tucking it in to secure it.

"Brunnhilde," he murmured, not sure what else to say other than that. Truth be told, he wasn't sure he remembered anything other than her name in that moment.

She clenched her jaw as she stared at the floor, every inch of her tense, and eyes steely like she was warring with herself at something in her mind. Then the battle came to an end it seemed, a resolve in her expression that wasn't there before.

Still staring at the ground a few feet away from them she took his hand, brought it to her lips, and placed a soft kiss over the dressing she'd just finished.

"Good night, your majesty," she said before getting up and walking away, without ever looking back at him.

He watched her leave his room, watched the door shut behind her. He didn't try to stop her. He wasn't certain if he could even breathe after that.

Oh yeah, he's definitely one lovesick fool.