A/N: Post Avengers - Loki is kept on earth. Not Dark World-Compliant.

Chapter 1

It's incredible the kind of hospitality S.H.I.E.L.D will offer a mass murderer if there's even the slightest chance his cooperation might be useful at some point in the future. I mean, I guess it could also be that his dad is a space warlord or whatever, but something tells me that family relationship runs a bit too sour to warrant a cell that would probably fit in seamlessly in an expensive hotel. The kind of hotel with good looking prostitutes and no crack pipe stains on the floor.

Unlike my place. Which is a dump, even for someone earning minimum wage. The guy responsible for the destruction of my previous home – with me inside it, of all the luck – gets lacquered wooden floors, a plush shag carpet rug, a king sized bed with green and gold sheets that look suspiciously like satin, a veritable library against two walls...

And me. The guards let him know that it's time as I enter the long corridor leading to his cell, pushing the trolley-cart with all my supplies along as I go. I'm dressed in loose fitting blue scrubs, a sad reminder of my old life. But they're comfortable and warm and made to handle stains anyway. I've pulled my hair into a ponytail high on my head, ensuring that no strands fall into my face. My hair has gotten darker over the past year, more mousy brown than honey blonde now. My curls have gone limp, my skin pale and kind of sickly. I blame the air down here. It's stale and cold.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflective glass of his cell as I approach and immediately avert my eyes from the sight. I used to think I was pretty. I used to wear sexy makeup and dress to get noticed. Now all I see is that unsettling white eye and the dark circles that make me look tired and old.

I peer up and watch as Loki obligingly steps into a small nook built off of his cell. Immediately, a pane of indestructible glass slides up and locks him in place. He's dressed in his standard leather getup – which I washed two days ago. He watches me with a cold, indifferent smile as his cell is opened to the outside world and I push myself and my cart inside. The cell seals shut behind me, and I waste no time getting to work. I always start by making his bed.

I've been doing this for almost a year now, and I don't think we've ever had a real conversation. I'm alright with that, to be honest. He's a murderer and the man responsible for the destruction of my life. He's the reason I'm blind in one eye. He's the reason I'm stuck on my hands and knees every second day, washing his floor and doing his laundry. He's the reason why, at twenty six years old, I was forced to leave behind a budding medical career and start scrubbing toilettes.

And I'm not nearly as good at conversation as I used to be anyway. I suspect I may come across as slightly bitter.

I don't even think he has any idea what kind of impact he's had on my life. He's a prince, the kind of guy who's used to 'servants' cleaning up after him. I probably don't even register as a person. Which is great for me, because I've witnessed the kind of treatment that people who register get. He's already landed eight men in hospital, two of whom died within a week. Sometimes they open his nook before they've finished closing the cell. It was barely even a fraction of an inch, but I've never seen anything happen so fast – his magic is green and poisonous and it can fly down a man's throat and mutilate his organs from the inside.

He did that to someone standing right next to me. A guard who, to be honest, I wasn't that fond of to begin with. He was always rude, and handled me kind of roughly. But he certainly didn't deserve that. I heard that he's going to survive, but he'll never regain his bladder control. Since then no one has come to escort me to and from Loki's cell. They tell me they have everything perfectly in hand from the control room, should anything go wrong.

That wasn't the first time he's hurt someone, but certainly the first time he's come so close to hurting me. I don't know how he picks his victims – but I wouldn't be surprised if he sticks with an old reliable, like eenie-meenie-miney-mo…

In which case, I was one lucky tiger. I struggled long and hard with the decision not to flee the country, go under the grid and hope that S.H.I.E.L.D didn't bother wasting the resources necessary to track me down and silence me. They've been generous, giving me this job, but I doubt that I'd be allowed to live if I left. I simply know too much about secret alien gods who are supposed to be on another planet.

For the most part, Loki ignores me completely. The first few days he watched me, as if I was an interesting bug crawling over the wall. He made some ugly comments I don't care to remember – something about being glad that a mortal finally knew her place.

But pretty soon I proved myself to be mercifully uninteresting, and he now carries a book with him into his nook and spends my visits immersed in its pages.

Every now and then he gives me instructions. Let's me know he spilled wine – expensive wine, probably – on the corner of a sheet, or that the rug is getting dusty in that corner. I have no idea why he can't just clean up after himself with magic, and I'd sooner go toe to toe with an angry snake than ask him.

I'm busy smoothing down his sheets when I hear an unmistakeable sound – glass sliding down. I turn, a frown on my face. I'm not even near done yet, why are they opening up already?

I freeze as I witness the panel of glass that leads outside – still sealed shut.

Oh god no.

I look over my shoulder and meet his eyes. For a moment I catch him looking as surprised as I am. He blinks at me, and then fluidly closes the book in his hand with a snap that makes me jump, and instinctively step back. His eyes narrow and a smile slowly spreads across his face.

"Well," he says, stepping cautiously out of his nook, folding his hands and his book behind his back, "This is an interesting development."

"P-please," I choke out in a hoarse whisper, feeling tears flood to my eyes. I'm not sure what I'm asking for exactly. Please don't hurt me…don't kill me…Please let me go…

All I can see is that guard, screaming in agony as Loki's magic runs down his throat. He had done that off the cuff, with no time to give it much thought. But there's nothing but time now and I'm completely at his mercy – or lack thereof.

My shaking hands are clutching his comforter to my stomach as I back away, trying to put as much space between us as possible. The green and gold fabric slides away from his bed and trails over the floor, but I can't bring myself to let it go.

He raises his eyebrows at me, as if intrigued by my display of absolute terror. I can feel a panic attack coming, and it's all I can do to keep up my loud, shuddering breaths. My chest heaves around the effort.

He steps forward and sets his book gently on his coffee table, keeping his eyes on me from beneath his refined brow as he leans down. I find myself stumbling backwards gracelessly at the movement. My back hits his bookshelf and I inch myself towards the furthest corner. I'm trapped and there's nowhere left to run. My legs slowly give out at the thought and I sink to the floor, hugging his comforter to my chest like a small child. I blink and the first tears fall.

I don't want to die. It's a startling realization, and not one that relieves me.

Loki's smile has dropped away, and he's watching me with a slight frown. He opens his mouth to speak, but a sound cuts him off and he turns to stare out down the long corridor leading away from this place. I follow his gaze, blinking away my blurred vision with miserable confusion.

Gunfire? We're being attacked?

Completely distracted from the pathetic little heap that is me, Loki turns and approaches the glass wall of his cell. I can see his face reflected in the glass, and he has that horrible smile back in place. He looks like he's waiting, but for what I have no idea. My head is still swimming with fear, but my heart has slowed. I'm running out of adrenaline and all I feel is bone-deep exhaustion. I hug my knees and close my eyes, unable to stop the rest of the tears that begin to fall as I realize just how screwed I am.

One of the things I heard from the guards when they assumed I wasn't listening was what would happen if Loki ever got his hands on a hostage. That person would be used in whatever way he considered necessary to gain his freedom. They had discussed torture, death, even rape.

But there is no way my life could ever be worth his freedom. Surely he knows that? Surely he doesn't think Fury will let him out because he threatens the cleaning lady?

When I open my eyes, Loki is watching me through our reflection, and his smile seems tight and threatening. I immediately look away, wishing I could make myself even smaller. If I hadn't already been victim to his cruelty through his alien army, and if I hadn't already seen his magic hurt another person…I might never have realized what a twisted, psychotic individual I was staring at. He has dimples. And Disney eyebrows that make his face far too expressive. He's all sharp angles, but somehow his face still seems soft.

It's not fair that he gets to look like an angel when he's worse than the devil.

A/N: I really shouldn't be writing this given my other obligations, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone. Let me know what you think :)