It wasn't the first time Max had awoken to pain, and it probably wouldn't be the last, nor was it the worst. Her eyelashes fluttered as she drifted back to the conscious realm, her face numb. When her eyes finally opened, she found herself face-down on the ice and snow, her skin so cold that she could feel the ache in her teeth. Her frantic movements to get to a seated position only made things worse as her stiff limbs screamed, her potentially fractured wrist burning with every movement. Holding back a whimper, she forced herself up carefully, cautiously, and took a moment to take in her surroundings.

She'd fallen, but not into the black abyss Loki had warned her about. Instead, she was in a trap of some kind: a tunnel burrowed under the ice with bars over the exit, ones that, when she tried, zapped her hand with enough electrical charge to send her tumbling back down the incline. At the bottom, she sat in almost darkness—in the distance, fire flickered. There was nowhere to go but in. No one with her to make the decision for her: sit or move on.

For some time she sat, nursing her various aches and pains and open wounds. Her head had left a bloody pool of red on the ice, and while it was extremely sensitive to the touch, it didn't seem to be oozing fluid anymore. Not wanting to expose it to the elements, Max drew her hood up, hoping to conserve all the body heat she could by keeping it contained. While the wrist she'd landed on was all but useless, it wasn't broken. No swelling either, which threw out her fractured theory. Just very, very, very sore.

No Loki. No Loki anywhere. Swallowing down a sob, Max leaned forward and pushed herself up with her good hand, standing on shaky legs for the first time in hours. It had gone dark outside, the light grey sky taken over by an intimidating dark blue. The winds howled outside her icy prison, suggesting a storm, and snow pelted the bars with more precision now—hail instead of fluffy white flakes. Max grimaced at the sight. There was the very real possibility of freezing to death if she waited there too long.

There was no alternative.

Her only option was to go inward.

She moved with her good hand on the wall, fingertips always touching as she inched along the icy floor. As she'd thought, torches sat embedded in the walls at even intervals, their flame showing no indication that it was melting the ice. Briefly, she tried to wrench the first one off its post, but when she wore herself down with the effort, Max gave up and continued onward.

She only stopped when she reached an impressive gap in the floor. Much like the world above, her prison had holes in the ground too, and she suspected these ones wouldn't take her into a deeper dungeon. No, as she peered over the edge, gripping the wall as best she could, she saw nothing but pure blackness below.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," she hissed, then began inching slowly and steadily along the outer perimeter of the hole. There was maybe a half foot of space for her to walk along, and she did so without drawing a breath. By the time the end was near, she all but threw herself onto the ground, scrambling away from the edge and drawing in deep, gasping breaths.

Only she fell silent again when something slithered along below. Too terrified to move, she watched in horror as a massive reptilian creature crawled along the underside of her tunnel, passing over the hole and pausing only to let its beady eye roam. Maybe it saw her, maybe it didn't, but it moved on all the same. She stayed in place for a long time after, tears clinging to her lashes as her body shook, until finally the last whispers of its claws in the ice had faded.

While at first it seemed the tunnel was endless, it did, eventually, come to an end. Max studied it before she approached it, the door to her prison cell. It was impossibly tall, no doubt to accommodate her frost giant captors, its bars made of metal that were probably as thick as she was. Biting down on her lower lip, she moved forward only a step at a time, pausing and listening, always scanning for eyes that might be watching her from the shadows.

She'd never fit through the gap between the bars, and the metal carried an electric charge on par with the doorway at the other side. With a yelp, Max withdrew her hands, sucking on the fried skin as she glowered at the barrier. Outside was another dimly lit tunnel, and the incoherent sounds she heard, like gasping or groaning, weren't encouraging. The ceiling had swollen and expanded upward for the first ten feet of her tunnel, then shrunk down to only slightly above her head. It must have been a punishment for bigger creatures; you can stand comfortably in a small space, or try to squish through the rest of the tunnel system to freedom. Only there was no freedom at the other side—just more electrified bars waiting to mock you.

Fleetingly, Max tried to dig her way around, but the ice was unyielding. Sure, the soft layer of snow was easy enough to shuffle aside, but the ice was there to stay. Huffing, she kicked at it, her skin flecked with sweat from her effort, a wave of nausea rolling over her. With a hand on her stomach, she settled into the shadows as best she could, sinking to the ground in silence. Her new strength was useless. Her new body was tired and beaten. She hadn't acquired any Asgardian brilliance.

So there she sat, taking deep breaths and waiting for the sickly feeling in her gut to pass, for the warm perspiration to go.

Because, really, what the hell was there to do?

"When we last made deals with Loki of Asgard, things ended rather… poorly."

Loki bit the insides of his cheeks as the frost giants around him murmured and grunted to one another in agreement. He stood before a whole council of them in the depths of Jotunheim's ice caves, having handed himself over willingly to be taken prisoner not long ago. There were a few escape routes, a few probabilities that would keep him from becoming a permanent resident of the frosty realm, but for now, he pretended not to know of—or even dare look at—a single one of them. Instead, he kept his face earnest and humble as best he could manage in the presence of them.

Them. Hundreds of them huddled together to listen to the proceedings in the offshoots and tunnels above, peering down like they were at a theatre performance of sorts. For it was, after all, a performance, and Loki was the key player today. The grunts, idiots of their own idiotic race, sat watching with bright red eyes, waiting for the moment when their selected group of moronic leaders gave the signal to tear Loki apart.

They sat before him on high stone chairs, carved with markings so ancient they were foreign even to Loki's learned mind. Six in total—apparently Jotunheim's residents had left the monarchy behind with the death of Laufey. Good riddance. Loki's hands tightened to fists at the smirks and sneers. Laufey's boy. Surely none of them knew. His father wouldn't have shared such a shameful secret with any. To them, he was still Loki of Asgard, and if he could help it, that was the way it would remain.

"Ah, but you see, when you last met with me, I was full of youthful ambitions," he countered, his voice echoing through the cavern. "I had plans. Games to play. Today, you are in control, for you have something in your possession I desperately desire."

Murmurs still, but they ceased when the largest of the council raised his hand. Scarred and bulky, it was clear this one held more sway over the voices in the clan than any other. Brutes, all of them.

"The prisoner?" he asked, and when Loki nodded, the creature broke out into a twisted grin. "Ah, yes, the Asgardian female. Her price is high."

"It is one that I am willing to pay."

"With your life?"

"With yours, actually."

The hall erupted in animalistic growls, a chorus of ignorant voices desperate for blood. He waited, patient and silent, with his hands clasped behind his back. Torchlight danced wildly now, so blown about by all the hot air. The six whispered to one another for a few moments, though the large one who'd spoken last simply watched Loki, still grinning so vilely that it took every ounce of self-control not to wipe it from that smug face.

For beneath Loki's cool veneer, panic rose. Max had been the prisoner of the clan for hours now, perhaps a full day. She would no doubt be cold and hungry—terrified and alone. He had no desire to see her suffer thusly. One day she would understand that her suffering was for the greater good, just as Loki had come to realize that all his past woes were for a greater purpose.

"Do you mean to fight one of us?" the scarred one asked, head cocked to the side. "Do you mean to fight me?"

"No, of course not." Because that would be a losing battle, but not for Loki. "I have no intention of bringing violence into our bargain. I come to you with an opportunity."

"Speak plainer, trickster," another seated giant groaned. The rustle of weaponry above caught his attention, and Loki glanced upward, surveying the gathered frost giants for a long moment. He turned back to the council when he heard, "Or we'll have that foul tongue removed."

"I offer you a chance to start anew," he insisted, hands splayed out now as a gesture of good will. "Jotunheim is dead. It was dead long before Laufey, and it will be dead long after I've gone. What I offer you is a chance to live as you once did in a realm that isn't…dead."

There were no murmurs this time, no grunting and cursing and hissing from the crowd. He'd caught their attention, as he knew he would.

"There is a door," Loki continued, "that leads to Midgard—"

"A door Odin All-father sealed shut some time ago," one of the giants snapped, which made Loki grin. "Learn your stories better, young one."

"Odin is half the man he was since the death of his wife." He hated to use Frigga's memory for such a desperate task, but he knew that she would understand—eventually. "His magic is weak. Mine is strong. I can open the gate to you. Midgard has grown soft in the modern era. Warfare is contained to a few particular regions. You could lay waste to their armies in days. It is ripe for the taking."

"Then why did you not take it?" the scarred one sneered, and this time the hall filled with laughter. "We have heard the tales of Loki, wielder of the great scepter, brought back in chains after his disastrous bid for Midgard."

"My army was wanting," Loki hissed, taking a step forward. "They were undisciplined. Weak. Unable to survive in the realm's air without their base. You are different. You have tasted Midgard and its plentiful fields centuries ago. Claim it now… in exchange for her."

The laughter faded, and Loki watched the council whisper to one another. This time even the scarred one looked away, his thick brow furrowed as discussions erupted.

"You mean to give us a whole realm for the return of your female?"

"No," Loki said curtly. "I merely offer to open the door. What you do with that passage, with that realm, is wholly in your hands."

The discussions lasted much longer this time, the cavern swelling with the voices of the onlookers too. Loki began to pace, envisioning each of his escape routes over and over again, hoping they would be second nature should he need to flee.

"We will consider your offer, Loki of Asgard," the scarred one announced. A bead of sweat rolled down Loki's temple; the effort it took to hide this, all of this, from Heimdall was taxing to say the least.

"I believe it is a more than fair trade."

"That is for us to decide. Remove him from this hall."

Loki braced himself as two sets of footsteps pounded toward him, as two pairs of giant hands roughly grasped him, biding his time. Patience. All would go as he planned.

After all, he had already foreseen it in the witch's mind. Every passing moment here was but a formality.

Footsteps thundered down the hall, and Max shrank in place, creeping into the darkness. She'd been visited twice by frost giants since being captured, and she did not want to relive the experience. There'd been a lot of taunting—a lot of words said that she assumed were Asgardian slurs they must have thought she'd be familiar with. She'd said nothing, nothing to provoke them and nothing to stop them. Instead she crouched in the darkness as best she could, wishing for nothing more than to melt back into the ice and disappear.

This time, however, the footsteps sounded different. The frost giants moved with a slow, purposeful gait, which, honestly, didn't surprise her. Given their size, conserving energy for what mattered—probably hunting—was of the utmost importance. They spoke slowly too, unless it was to one another. But no, these footfalls sounded like someone was running.

Someone a lot smaller than the frost giants. Sitting straighter, she listened, her gaze scanning the bars of her icy prison. She'd lost the sensation in her toes a little while earlier, and her fingertips were starting to feel the icy sting of Jotunheim's bitter winter. In fact, she'd been sitting there for so long that she couldn't be sure she hadn't turned to ice—standing up seemed next to impossible.

"Max?"

But certainly not out of the question. She drew in a shaky breath at the sound of Loki's voice, nothing more than a heated whisper, and used the wall to push herself up. Her nausea had faded, leaving in its place an irritable hunger that she was keen on satisfying.

On Earth.

Probably with a Big Mac.

Or six.

"Loki!" She flew to the bars, careful not to touch the electrified metal. The footfalls drew nearer, and suddenly he was there, so real and visceral and clear that she found herself desperate to push through the gaps and drag him in for a hug. The moment he saw her his face lit up with an array of emotions, relief and happiness and fear flashing across his face in equal measures. He all but threw himself forward, reaching through the space between to her face. She stepped forward, his hand pleasantly warm as it cupped her cheek.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice trembling, and when she nodded, he blinked furiously, as if fending off tears. "Good. I'm so sorry."

"Where were you?" she whispered as she placed her hand over his, careful not to get too close. "This giant just appeared at our c-camp, and I tried to call for you, but—"

"I know. I went to scout ahead." His face wrinkled in a brief show of pain, his fingers digging into her. "I saw you fall. I couldn't get the bars off from the other end, so I had to try an alternate route."

He yanked his hand back so suddenly that she stumbled forward with it, and when he instructed her to get out of the way, she did as she was told.

"Don't touch them," Max said hastily, but Loki's hands were already on one of the bars. Much to her surprise, he didn't jitter and jolt with electric shock. Instead, her lover closed his eyes, brow furrowed, and seconds later the metal was nothing more than a pile of dust at his feet.

"Come—"

She was in his arms before he could even get the word out, squishing between the remaining bars and throwing her arms around his neck. They held one another there in the darkness, shaking and nuzzling and murmuring declarations of bittersweet love.

"You're frozen," he muttered, adjusting her coat and hood and rubbing his hands up and down her body.

"Why didn't you get shocked?" Her eyes swept over his face, concerned that he'd just been silent through the pain. Nodding down the hall, Loki shot her a small grin.

"Shut off their main power source," he told her. He then brought her hands together and held them to his mouth, blowing hot air across them until her fingertips started to feel again.

"And the guards?"

"Taken care of."

"But what about—"

"Do you doubt me?" he asked, the question coming so suddenly that her breath caught in her throat. Did she doubt him? How could she? Loki was all she had here. Loki was the only one fighting for her to get home. Swallowing hard, Max shook her head.

"Of course not."

"I surrendered myself to gain access to their underground keep," he explained, again readjusting her hood so that it covered more of her chilled features. "Once inside, I gave my captors the slip and made my way to you. I am known to many as a trickster, my sweet. It wasn't difficult to outsmart them."

It seemed almost too easy, but she wasn't about to question it. Besides, they weren't out of the woods yet. Standing in the torchlight, there seemed to be an endless hallway on either side of her, neither direction more promising than the other. It had been hours since she felt a fresh breeze or seen the clouded sky, and the thought of navigating the under-ice tunnel system of front giants, with their ceilings at least twenty or so feet high, was daunting.

"We must hurry," Loki murmured, kissing her cheek once, twice, and lingering the third time. When he pulled back, Max wrapped both of her hands around one of his, determined to pay him back one day for everything he'd done for her. If she hadn't come to Asgard, his life might have been at least semi-normal. He might have been sitting in his room today, enjoying a good book by the fire. Instead, he was in a fucking frost giant dungeon on high alert.

"Thank you," she whispered, squeezing his hand. He gripped back with equal pressure, then pulled her to the right.

Only to pause a few feet away from another prison cell, as if listening. Whatever was on the other side of the bars sounded neither human, Asgardian, or frost giant, and when a pair of scaly black hands pushed slowly around the thick metal, Max gasped.

"No. No. This way," Loki insisted, dragging her in the opposite direction. Above, the ceiling started to rumble, and again the thunder touched her, making the whole hall shake. Fighting back her tears, her exhaustion, her hunger, Max forged on, knowing that in the end, Loki wouldn't lead her astray.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

OH LOKI. Have we all forgotten that he's shit at making good decisions? Like I said in another note, he's grown, but probably not in the direction he should have. There isn't much else for me to say about this chapter. It was this one and the previous one that had sparked my muse for this whole story, and while they haven't been written as I would have thought, I'm still happy.

I didn't want to bog down this chapter in particular with lots of description and play-by-play moments of Loki being taken captive and walking through the halls—I felt this was more of an action-y type chapter that ought to be quick and to the point.

Last weekend I plotted out the remaining chapters in detail, and there are 41 chapters including the epilogue. So. We're pretty much at the middle of the story by now, and things don't get any less shit-hitting-the-fan from here. I also spend a lot of my time driving to and from work mentally plotting out things for the next story in the series, and my feels are all over the place. Hopefully you guys will stick around for that one too.

So, story of my life: starting a new job this weekend. The deli life just wasn't for me, and I'm going to start working at an archery tag that has just opened up. I'm literally the least athletic person ever, but the pay is amaaaaazing, so I fought damn hard for the spot.

I'd hoped to get this out earlier, and maybe a second update this month, but I'm not sure if that will happen. I'm working feverishly on my own books now that I have the freelance time off from stuff. My man is headed home for like a month and a half (allll of the major winter holidays I shall be alone—sarcastic "woot" + finger twirl), so I feel like I'll have more time to write. Living with someone seriously hinders your routine.

K BYE GUYS. I'll try to update ASAP. PROMISE. MUCH MUCH PROMISES.