Hey Folks! LOOK! MY 100th FIC! PARRRTAAYYY! ^.^
Here is some more Lokiness from me: because truly we cannot get enough of him. Can we? No. No we cannot. ;)
This fic will be a multichap and follows "Defeat"; however, it is not entirely necessary to read aforementioned fic to understand this!
Of course, you all may be confused anyway. I'm doing some new things with this one and it may be puzzling for awhile. Please be patient, all will come together in time!
Also: Please note that I'm still battling it out with school and may be slow to update sometimes!
And of course: I own not a thing. Not even a single strand of golden Thunder God hair. It's sad. I like his hair...
Enjoy and see endnotes please!
Jotun Occupation: Day 25
The chill hit his head immediately; he felt it, but he did not shiver. He was weaker now, it was true. But he was also more disciplined. Those days of months past, lying in the wretched cold of the medical facility had taught him something about himself. When he was weak, he lost magic. He lost his power. And he lost his resistance to the elements.
Now he had no magic at all. Left with nothing but his born abilities, he had no choice but to hone them as best he could. Now the cold was of nothing to him. Even now, as it seeped into the skin he exposed more and more, he felt nothing but the lightest change in temperature.
He was like them now.
One of them.
The vibrating machine in his hand sent waves of energy down his arm as he ran it across his head again. The cold licked at him and he blinked impassively at his reflection.
The dim light in the room did nothing to help him see what he was doing. For all he knew, his efforts could be likened to that of a child.
He shrugged at himself and ran the ridged edge over his scalp again.
And again.
And again.
The guards stood frozen around him as he writhed, his jaw locked and his eyes blurring with tears he refused to shed. He would not scream. He would not…
Thor could be heard beside him, questioning bellows echoing in his ears.
Loki blinked hard against the pain and spat onto the golden floor of Odin's Hall.
The Allfather was judging him, punishing him, and although Loki knew to expect it, he still could not help but feel the intense loathing that boiled in his chest.
Or was it the pain that was boiling?
He could not tell a difference.
His magic was being stripped; all he had learned and all he had mastered, even that which could be called 'natural' to him being pulled from his body and mind with the force of a wildfire. Loki looked upward from his place upon the shining floor. Thor stared down at him with that same damnable look of pity and Loki wanted to curse him aloud.
He could not find his voice.
The pain was too much.
For just a moment, he looked into Thor's eyes and saw something else. A look of understanding and empathy that made Loki grow still even as the pain grew more intense.
Thor himself must have felt this too, as he flew backward into the gateway of the Bifrost on his way to Midgaard. He must have felt this searing agony as his armor shattered from his body and he fell into the wormhole, shooting across the stars and falling farther and farther down to land in the desert sands of Earth.
For just a moment, Loki looked at Thor and felt no pain.
He ran a hand across the bare skin.
His scalp was not without the lightest prickle, evidence that the machine had only done so much. Still, it was effective enough.
Long locks of black hair curled around his feet. Some of it lay in the porcelain sink in front of him. Tiny remnants sat upon his bare shoulders.
Loki stepped back and looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes running along the expanse of naked skin and watching it turn a light blue. His gaze flicked to his face and saw the dark lines form on his head.
He blinked.
And the skin faded back to a pale white.
A hand landed at the waistband of his undergarment, and he considered it for a moment before deciding to leave it on.
Even they had some level of modesty with such things…
His teeth bore at the face of Odin Allfather.
The great King of Asgaard, the Lord of the Realm Eternal, the all-knowing and the ever-wise….
His father and teacher.
His judge and executioner.
He was ready. Ready to take whatever else the golden King had to throw at him. Ready to scream in rage and spit upon the Allfather's gleaming boots as he did so.
He was ready to die, if it came to such.
Thor pulled him backward and half-supported his now limp and exhausted body as he was dragged across the Hall.
Loki blinked back new tears.
They were tears of fury.
And only that.
He was still staring at his reflection when a noise echoed to his ears.
He looked up and saw the dim lights flicker out.
The room was cast into a gray haze and Loki blinked as his eyes adjusted.
A figure came to stand in the doorway behind him, footsteps so quiet that he barely heard the approach.
The man was always good at stealth tactics; Loki supposed it was one of the agent's few qualities he found admirable.
Although, if he were honest with himself, this man had treated him more fairly than many of the others. Loki knew that in truth he should be grateful. If any of them deserved his camaraderie, it should be this one…
But he was still a SHIELD agent.
And that fact alone made Loki sick.
Clint Barton's shadowy form lingered in the doorway and Loki knew the question was coming…
It was months later and he was not surprised that it was Frigga that Odin had sent to retrieve him.
The comfort and isolation of his personal Hall was interrupted but Loki had expected it.
He knew what they were waiting for.
He knew what was to come.
And so he found it not surprising, not surprising in the least, when Thor led him to the spot in the fields near the mountains where the Midgaard Bridge would open for them. In the distance he could see the edge of their own Bifrost, still hanging in shattered silence from the edge of the realm. It would not be repaired for many years. He knew this. They all knew it.
Thor's explanation of Odin's judgment was not much of a surprise either. The Allfather believed it only fair that the mortals of Earth incarcerate him (or even execute him, should they see fit) for his crimes against their world. Asgaard's punishment had been applied. He was mortal. Weak. The one thing he loved had been taken from him.
His power was no more.
And so it was Earth's turn now…
Loki could not find it in his heart to really care what the humans chose to do with him.
He met the dark eyes of Clint Barton in the deep shadows of the SHIELD washroom.
And although he could see the man's alert gaze, confusion giving way to suspicion and finally to a blink of understanding, Loki knew the human's own eyesight could not penetrate the darkness enough to see his own emotions.
If, in fact, he had any to show…
Barton's voice was clipped and gruff, the sound of a tired and beaten man—and not just physically.
"Loki….what are you doing?"
He almost wanted to smirk at the archer.
Clint Barton was no fool.
He knew what was to transpire and he knew that he would do nothing to prevent it.
Loki could see it in his eyes.
He ran a hand across the rough shaven scalp of his head and started forward, brushing past him as he exited the room into the pervasive darkness of the halls.
"What does it look like? I'm saving the world."
Some EndNotes!
I would like to thank Selenite once again for supplying prompts, helping me to gather my thoughts with my own confusing stuffs, and being, all around, pretty damn awesome.
I would also like to thank Anonymous003 for listening to me babble about fic-ideas and taking it all in stride. You rock, Sophie Mei!
And of course, to every single person who reads this junk: I humbly thank you from all sides of my heart-not just the bottom. ^.^
Please review my friends, they make me smile! :D