A/N: Hello! This is my first Matantei Loki Ragnarok fic. Please, be gentle with this first attempt—I've only seen the anime, and I never even seen the books . . . though I think I might go get them. . .

Disclaimer: Don't own Matantei Loki Ragnarok, and I'm not making any money off this!

Ratings: G

Genre: Angst/Tragedy

Warnings: Spoilers for episode 21 of the anime

Main Characters: Frey

Additional Notes: I doubt this will be shounen-ai, but who knows? There will probably be hints of it—I think FreyXHeim would be interesting.


"Wherever you are, I won't stop searching

Whatever it takes, I need to know

I'll find you somewhere

I'll keep on trying until my dying day

I just need to know whatever has happened

The truth will free my soul"—Within Temptation, "Somewhere," Silent Force

The room was dark, the entire house was. Frey had taken up Heimdall's usual seat on the windowsill, his grey-blue eyes turned to the rain-filled sky. He'd been there for hours, and it showed. There were bags beneath his eyes and he was slumped against the wall, his forehead pressed to the glass, exuding such an air of being entirely lost. It was cold but Frey paid it no heed; he hadn't cared about much lately. It had been two days since he had last seen Heimdall, and he feared the worst. He closed his eyes. The last time he had seen the god of tactics, Heimdall had looked so set, so determined—Frey was well aware that Heimdall didn't always know when to quit, or how to quit while he was ahead. With Heimdall, it was always all or nothing. To tell the truth, Frey was afraid that one day it would be his downfall, that damned attitude of his—and that frightened him.

Frey was simple, as far as gods go. All he truly needed, or believed to be important, was to have friends and family—loved ones—near. Frey could have been the poorest wretch in the middle of a desert, but as long as he wasn't alone, he would be content. He may have found his beloved little sister, but now. . .now it seemed as though he had lost his closest companion. Frey wasn't sure if he could take the pain again. Odin knew, it had nearly destroyed him when Freya had been banished—and to lose someone else. . .to be alone again. . .

He hadn't left the house. As much as he missed Heimdall, he was afraid to find out the truth. All the "what-ifs" and unknowns were wreaking havoc on his mind—Frey wasn't sure if he wanted to know. Frey could easily remember Heimdall's last words to him—"Play time's over. I'm going to settle things with Loki. See you." That had been two days ago—and Frey was certain that a fight would not take that long. He knew all he would need to confirm the victor, would be to see Loki—and so he dared not go out, for fear of shattering his ignorance. As long as he did not know, he could pretend—and as long as he could pretend, he would not hurt. At least, in theory.

Heimdall. . . Where are you? Frey had never known the other god to take so long and suddenly he feared that Heimdall needed him. "Heimdall. . ." What if he's injured? What if he's hurt and can't get help? He swallowed, shuddering. I have to find him. With that thought, Frey got to his feet and left, willing to risk the illusion for his friend.

He had no idea where to look, he soon realized after about an hour. He bit his lip and continued on, determined to find the god of tactics (though Frey preferred to think of him as the god of dawn). The park was first, as Frey was well aware that, for all his gruffness and silence, Heimdall truly appreciated beauty. The next place was the zoo—the bird exhibit. Frey was becoming more and more desperate the longer he searched—he'd tried everywhere he could think of and he hadn't found a single sign of the god. He had passed Thor at one point, and the look the other god gave him had chilled him to the bone, the look of pity that hinted at the truth Frey didn't want to face. He'd run from those dark brown eyes full of sorrow, his throat constricting, choking on his own breath. He hadn't stopped running until he was sufficiently lost in the outskirts of the city.

Then he had found him. Not Heimdall—Loki. He had found Loki. The trickster god was standing on the river bank, his emerald eyes turned to the swirling water. Frey was frozen, his blue-grey eyes wide and fearful. Loki. . .

"You won't find him, Frey." Loki's voice drifted toward him and reached him somehow through his haze; Loki turn to glance at him over his shoulder. "Heimdall is—"

Frey squeezed his eyes shut, clapping his hands over his ears. "No! I don't believe you!"

Loki sighed. "Frey. . . You felt it, didn't you? When he died? Thor did, and Fenrir, and Yamino, too. You must have."

There were tears in his eyes now and Frey wasn't sure how they'd gotten there. He swallowed. "I don't believe you. Heimdall. . . Heimdall will be back—he's not gone!" Loki didn't answer, instead looking away. Frey felt as though he'd been hit and his breath just wouldn't come. "He's not dead."

Loki closed his eyes, recognizing Frey's delusions and wishing, if only a little, that he could do the same. Loki knew, without a doubt, that no one would correct Frey, and that the stubborn god would have to come to terms eventually—but for now, he knew Frey would pretend, carry on the sad farce of cold meals for empty seats and scoldings for the air until it was downright painful. The trickster god turned and reached out for the taller god and pulled the shaking body to his own, smaller frame. He could feel the tears and bit his lip, feeling his own tears. He closed his eyes, lost.


A/N: Err. . . Not my best, but I thought I'd give it a shot. Please, review!