This idea was borrowed from audreyii-fic's "Jane and Loki Drabbles" prompt 26. The first few things that Loki utters are directly from that drabble… I've bold faced them…the rest is mine.
Thank you, Miss fic, for your wonderful stories and for planting this seed.
And YES…I've started updating "When Loki Met Jane," but my muse is sad, and I needed angst. And I will, as soon as I become light again, post the next chapter.
Title borrowed from William Blake's "The Tyger"
The truth. It hurts.
And stings like a bite whose venom is seeping through pores in passionless dance.
The advance of time means but little…her breath is her only sign that things are progressing beyond that place where she left herself.
The aether, its poignant prose solid in her body, now left her bereft of girth or substance. And the pain of the loss is unlike anything she has experienced.
Even more than Thor's abandonment.
And her mind must reconcile these truths.
The truths of her tangible self frail and it being apt to yield to foreign delight. For though it was horrifying, the aether was intense, and in some ways, comforting.
It made her forget.
It protected her.
It made her forget.
It gave her marginal pleasure when all else was black.
It made her forget.
Forget that she hated Thor and his neglect.
Warm…steady…pulsing pleasure.
And all she can think of now is to regain that sensation.
Protection. Pulsing. Steady. And warm.
"It hurts, I know," came a voice beside her.
Who was that person?
She knew that face…
"You held the power of the universe; and now you're so unbearably empty."
And a slight scowl, a small sneer…
"There are other ways. Trust me. I will give you what you need."
And understanding washed over her, and she felt relief for the first time in what seemed like years.
"You will?" she breathed, barely a whisper. She rolled onto her side and played with the pillow's case in mad distraction coupled with nervous frenzied subtle movement.
He nodded.
Jane swallowed, and felt the fuzzy muscle that was her tongue touch the roof of her mouth. "How?"
"Magic," and he smiled.
Her eyes narrowed at this.
She turned her back to him, slowly, deliberately, and with much pain. But she only wanted to stop looking at the man. Loki. What a liar.
"Jane Foster," he continued. "Look at me."
"No."
"You shall, or you shall continue to suffer."
"Why? Nothing can help me…" she choked. "Nothing but…it."
"There you are mistaken."
And Jane, with sudden strength and resolve, sat up, and looked at him. "Get out," she breathed. "Get the fuck out!" and she shrieked, and threw her pillow from her bed.
He took her arm, standing from his kneeling position. "Steady, Jane."
And the scream was deafening. The infirmary echoed its response to her agony.
Loki waved his hand over her face.
And Jane was subdued.
Grey filled her vision.
Her skin ceased its itch.
And she felt fatigued.
He guided her back onto the bed, and retrieving her pillow, placed her head on it.
He sighed as she drifted into uneasy somnolence.
This, he determined, would be difficult.
Something besides the physical addiction to the aether was inhibiting a full withdrawal.
He supposed that that would need to be seen to, and that his magic would help in bits and spurts.
He sighed, and left the infirmary.
And the sound of a clock ticking in obscure distance was the only noise to rival Jane's steady breath.
Onward and endless the colors did dance their song…and they entwined in a slow river of vacuity.
Her breath she heard, as though from a distance…and she saw her body standing alone by the shore.
Jane gathered her resolve.
She went over to where her other self stood.
"Why are you just standing there?" she asked.
And Jane the Lonely replied, "I'm waiting."
"For what?"
"For him," and she pointed to the opposing shore line.
There stood Loki, and his hands were slightly raised, green luminescence emanated from his fingertips…they coiled their route along the stream of liquid black…and made their way to Jane.
And then the light reached her…
And began its ascent up her form.
And Lonely Jane did toss her head back and sighed longingly, languish, and cooed her pleasure.
Jane watched with mild horror.
She looked at Loki.
He was looking at her now.
A devilish grin smeared across his face.
And with a hideous gasp she choked.
Choking, retching, she sat up from her bed in the infirmary.
Her gaze was insane, she was holding her head…
And a soft touch was felt on her arm.
She turned violently…Loki.
"What's going on?" she demanded.
"I am attempting allay your pain."
"I was asleep!"
"You were, Jane Foster, unconscious," he returned, and sat down.
She just noticed he had been standing above her.
"Why? Why are you doing this? I told you no."
"Sometimes, I think, it is better if we yield our sense of preservation to someone who may know better," and he sat back in the chair.
"You. You know better."
He nodded.
"Fuck you."
He cocked an eyebrow.
And tears began their gush down her face…and she held herself close…and she wept and rocked and wailed her anguish.
When she was spent…when nothing was left, she fell back into her bed.
"I need to get up," she announced.
"I think that's wise," and he stood and took her arm.
"Oh, now I'm wise. A minute ago I didn't know what was best for me."
"Well, let's say you are a quick study," and he helped Jane out bed.
She fell into him, unsteady…her legs felt liquified.
She grabbed onto his tunic…grasping for purchase….
He held her arms and lifted her slowly.
"Well, Jane. Shall I steady your legs for you?" he asked, looking down on her.
She cleared her throat. "Can you do that?"
He rolled his eyes and waved his hand. "Better?"
Yes…they were holding her once more. She nodded.
"Let's go," and Loki let her arms fall and began to walk away.
Jane stood for a moment.
Should she follow him?
She didn't trust him.
And perhaps that was why she followed….