"All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth." – Friedrich Nietzsche

Chapter Twenty-One

The days passed slowly for Loki; they felt like never-ending nightmares with a strange, potent mixture of ennui and hysteria.

SHIELD had shuffled him eventually into a regrettably small room with only a cot, a chair bolted to the floor, and a toilet. Once a day several uniformed men escorted him to a room with a shower, where he stood under the flow of the lukewarm water, barely containing his rage.

He had never envisioned an imprisonment such as this. Nobody spoke to him. They fed him twice a day, bringing in brown, sealed bags with the letters MRE on them, their bold and black austerity only a preface to their unpalatable contents within. Soon he gave up consuming them altogether, leaving them pitched against the heavy steel door that separated him from the world beyond. Eventually they stopped bringing him more.

He still had his magic, though, and his patience was growing thin.

Most days he lay on the cot, eyes fixed to the gray tiles above him. He could not help but feel as if this punishment was sorely anticlimactic. He had expected grueling interrogations; torture, even. His mind danced sporadically at the idea of true torture - he rather thought that whatever SHIELD could have in store for him would never amount to what he had already endured in his lifetime.

Visions of the snake, fangs glinting indecently, its yellow and green skin shining in the dull sunset, flickered more than once through his memories. His body almost felt its venom again and shuddered in apprehension, before he blinked the thought away. Loki held his hands above him, tracing the lines of his fingers briefly before clenching them into fists. He felt the raw spark of magic inside the marrow of his very bones, and he wished for nothing more than something to unleash it on.

Without much thought at all, he directed it toward one of the several brown bags across the room. A muted pop sound fluttered through the small room, echoing off the metallic floor and ceiling. The packaged, unnatural food exploded, sending bits flying in every which way, some of it hitting Loki himself, causing him to jerk in annoyance.

His chest tightened as he sat up, surveying what he had done. He raised a hand to his face, wiping it roughly, regarding the brown, filmy liquid now on his fingers with distaste. With a brief thought and gesture, the mess was gone, stored into the secret place he hid most things. He would take care of it another day.

Unbidden, thoughts of Jane filled his head like many buzzing flies. Her laughter, her grace, her worry wavered across his mind and he grit his teeth in frustration. He had promised himself he would no longer think of her. It had been nearly two weeks, maybe three, since he had arrived to this place. Jane was not coming, and he could expect to never see her again.

But his logic battled incessantly with the other side of him; the side that recalled the feel of her arms around him, the sound of her voice carrying through the clearing on Álfheim. His heart ached strangely and terribly at the vast loneliness he was now faced with; a new kind that he had never known on Asgard, or even as he fell through the abyss. The world felt strange and new to him now, and he stood up suddenly, wishing strongly to rip Jane out of his mind, out of his very being, if he could. He remembered the dinner they had shared, the look of joy on her face as they discussed Svartalfheim and space wine and books. He had forgotten himself, that night.

And now, here, he had never been more aware of himself. He began to pace, his feet clawing their way around and around the small room, and he worked himself up into a vexatious frenzy. At least on Asgard as prisoner he had access to some comforts; here he was little more than a caged animal. And not for the first time since arriving to this dreadful place did he wonder how long it was until the true imprisonment began.

He stopped himself abruptly, alarmed at his own actions. He had allowed them to see his unease, to see his uncontrolled irritations. He knew without a doubt that this room was bugged, that he was most likely being monitored at all times. And he had quite possibly handed them exactly what they sought. He balled his hands into fists at his sides again, and forced himself back to the cot, laying down once more.

He lay like that for quite awhile, until the edges of sleep overwhelmed him, claiming him as its own.

()()()

Two days later, Loki found himself awoken by the increasingly familiar hunger pangs. He sat up, clutching his stomach, willing his own necessities to leave him alone for just this once. He eyed the collection of brown bags across the room, pushed up against the wall by the door from the daily treks to the shower room. Loki looked up toward the ceiling, his eyes glazed slightly, his mind shuffling through his options. As disgusting as the brown bags were, they provided sustenance, and that was what he needed.

As he made his way toward the pile, he reflected briefly that this was what Odin must have felt like, alone in the dark, cold on the floor in the dungeons. Loki shuddered momentarily, refusing to compare this to that. This was Loki's own choice; Odin deserved what had befallen him.

But you deserve this, too, that nasty voice in the back of his mind whispered. He ignored it, pulling one of the bags toward him at random, reading that what was held within should be roast beef and vegetables. He opened it up, laying the smaller bags before him, and then opening the main pouch open, not bothering to fiddle with the heating contraption that came with these bags. With only a thought, the food was warm on its own.

Using the plastic spoon provided, he began to eat, doing what he could to ignore the obvious chemicals laced within the meal. He would never understand why the mortals insisted on putting so many poisons in their food, as if an entire culture collectively decided they would do what they could to shorten their already short lifespans. He chewed mechanically, doing his best to ignore the flavor of this meal.

It was there that they found him, the guards that had opened his door too prematurely for it to be his daily shower time. They huddled around him, weapons held, their intent obvious. Loki dropped his meal, standing to face them.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, his voice almost cracking from disuse. A ghost of a smile flickered about his face. He knew they would not answer. Instead, one of the men stepped forward, and bound Loki's hands behind his back.

They led him out of his cell, down the dimly lit hall, toward the elevator. Loki's mind began to race, wondering if it was finally time for his real punishment to begin. He imagined that first they would interrogate him, to shorten their efforts; once the interrogation proved fruitless they would begin their torture. He wondered if he would see Thor this day.

Instead of the elevator taking him further down, as he expected, they went up. Once it stopped and the doors slid open, the hall beyond was brightly lit and even had windows. They ushered him along, and he stole glances toward the windows, taking in the view of the city. New York. Some buildings still damaged, from his time here before.

It was no concern of his that the mortals prolonged repairing their structures. He felt a strange rush of victory at the sight. That so many small actions had led to this. A future he had shaped, on this small, dirty realm. The mortals thought to control him now, their grip on his arms tight and focused as they led him along. But he was so much more than what they saw.

At the end of the hall, they stopped in front of a door, one of the men opening it, leading Loki inside. It was another room with similar lighting and finishing as his cell; the only furniture was a metal table and chairs. They sat him down in one, leaving his hands bound behind him, and all but two of the guards left. The remaining men stood next to Loki, one on each side, their hands gripping their weapons like it was all they knew to do.

Loki's smirk came naturally as he regarded the stretch of black glass before him. He knew that beyond someone sat, watching him, calculating what he could be thinking. He flexed his fists, knowing without a doubt that he could easily break the bonds. He felt his own innate magic flowing throughout him, and he almost willed it to come, but he heard the door open once again, and turned his head lazily to see who it was.

Nick Fury strode in, carrying a briefcase and several stacks of folders and papers. There was a strange, stark silence as Loki regarded him. He was much the same as he remembered him being, in his militaristic black leather and eyepatch. He swallowed, working his face not to reveal too much of his distaste yet. That Nick Fury always reminded him slightly of Odin made no difference now.

Fury eyed him, no real emotion visible on his face. His lips, painted into a permanent frown, parted after a time and he dropped the stack in his hands onto the table.

"Loki. Of Asgard. We meet again."

His voice echoed strangely in the metal room, and Loki relaxed his shoulders minutely.

"So it would seem."

Fury raised an eyebrow at that, and grabbed one of the folders and opened it up, the silence stretching into several long moments.

"My men tell me that you strolled into Puente Antiguo with Dr. Foster as if you were just dropping by for a visit," he said at long last. His words were biting, his expression still unreadable. "They also tell me that Dr. Foster was under the impression you had come here with the intention of surrendering yourself to us."

Fury crossed his arms then, abandoning the pursuit of his papers. The leather of his coat crinkled, and Loki let himself smile slightly, his eyes flicking to the black glass beyond Fury.

"Is my dear brother yonder, I wonder?" he asked aloud, his voice low.

Fury turned his head briefly, then back to face Loki. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"It would be your own stupidity if he's not. You should know by now that he is the only thing that could possibly stop me." Loki's veiled threats caused the men beside him to shuffle slightly; Fury's eyes darted to them and they ceased immediately.

"We both know that that's not true," he said then, his own smile breaking free as he inclined his head slightly. "I saw the aftermath of what Banner did to you."

At the mention of the green monster, Loki's face contorted slightly, just enough for Fury to notice.

"Now that we have that out of the way, let's get down to business. Why are you here?"

A heartbeat passed before Loki replied, "I think Dr. Foster already told you."

If his words surprised Fury, he didn't show it. He uncrossed his arms, dropping his hands to touch the pages on the table again. He picked up one of the papers, holding it up to his face.

"Dr Foster seems to believe that you aren't quite the monster you paint yourself to be."

Another heartbeat, maybe two, passed. Loki struggled to hold Fury's gaze; his mouth parted, his brow creasing in confusion.

"Now, would you care to explain why she would say such a thing?"

Fury's face was cool calculation. Loki knew that expression well; he often wore it himself. He knew not what the purpose of this interview was, but he knew that if he did not tread carefully it could have disastrous consequences. He wondered fleetingly if Jane was beyond the glass, watching him, invisible. His brain mildly panicked at the thought.

"I could not begin to understand the thought process of a mortal," Loki said slowly, devoid of emotion. He could sense the danger, though, lurking in the room. Fury put the paper down, leaning forward on the table.

"I know what happened up there," he said then, quietly. Like a secret he wished to share only between the two of them.

"And what is that?"

"Is it not obvious? You - the god of mischief, or whatever - fell in love with her. A mortal."

Loki's face split into a malicious grin. He sat up in his seat, his guards once more tittering next to him. He felt the magic again, coursing through him, that thing that always longed for release, that thing that made him whole. He also leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Fury's.

"You're a fool."

Fury laughed then, an insincere sound that grated Loki's ears. He sat back in his chair, waiting for him to finish, to deliver the next move.

"If I'm a fool, then you are even less than that. You see, there is no situation in which you win here. I have everything you want. I have the recording from your arrest. I have the words that came straight out of Dr. Foster's mouth. And now I have you here, and you are not leaving until you give me what I want."

Loki's mind was buzzing with confusion and irritation; he almost unleashed his magic but Fury's words distracted him.

"What is it that you want?" he asked despite himself, curious to hear, suddenly understanding why he was in this room in this fashion. Fury meant to soften him, to gain something from him.

"I want your magic."

There was a very pregnant silence following Fury's declaration. He stood straight and still, his eyes boring into Loki's.

And then, Loki laughed, loudly and wildly.

"You would dare to presume you could have my magic? It is not something I have the power to even give. And even if it were, I would never allow it to become befouled by your ignorance and mortality." He spat the last word as if it were a bitter, tangible thing in his mouth, and his vision blurred with rage.

"You misunderstand me," Fury's voice split through the haze of anger. "I require your assistance, your magical assistance. We are trying to build an Einstein-Rosen Bridge…a Bifrost…and we are failing."

Loki's eyes widened. He had known that SHIELD was attempting to do this, but assumed that with his capture had given up. He narrowed his eyes, regarding Fury warily.

"And what would you suggest to do with this Bifrost?"

Fury was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching Loki's, his mouth set into a resolute grimace.

"You, Thor, Malekith. We are not alone, living our lives on this planet blindly unaware, anymore. We need the power to defend ourselves; the technology to send forces elsewhere. Another intergalactic war would cripple us."

Loki envisioned it momentarily. The bottom of the Yggdrasil, the very roots of the world's tree, sending forces to invade Álfheim, Vanaheim, Asgard. He knew the history of this realm was a bloodied one; its peoples constantly grappling over one plot of land or another, battling over which version of a book held all the answers to their struggles. The very thing he sought to control, to end, with his reign.

"No."

Fury did not miss a beat; Loki rather thought he was most likely anticipating his answer.

"If you assist us, I will allow you to see Dr. Foster again. She has been asking for you. And when we're finished with it, you can go home."

Loki wanted to laugh, to shatter the glass beyond Fury, to destroy the metal, to show him that he was not the one imprisoned here. That he could leave whenever he wished. That he was only here because he allowed it.

The urge to tell Fury that he had no home did not escape him, either.

But the thought of Jane stopped him from falling completely over the edge, the promise of hearing her voice once more wickedly tempting. He studied Fury, weighing his options. If he escaped this facility, he would likely never see Jane again without great risk to himself.

Finally, Loki nodded, a slight movement of his head, but Fury saw it.

"I will do as you ask, under one condition," he said softly.

"Which is?"

"I wish to see Jane as soon as possible. Before I begin assisting you."

Fury pretended to mull it over, his hands putting the papers and folders back together, stacking them neatly.

"I think that could be arranged," he said finally, without even a hint of a smile crossing his features, his victory clearly contained and not even relished.

Loki realized that this entire time he did not understand Fury at all. He was not dealing with a hot-headed military leader, yet something much more dangerous and virulent. He dropped Fury's gaze, and as he left the room, closing the door softly behind him, Loki knew without a doubt that he would not be helping Fury with his project at all. He would never in any version of himself give that sort of power to someone that so obviously desired it to reign terror across the Nine.

After Loki met with Jane, one last time, he would leave this place and never return. He could find a portal on this realm, he knew there were some. He could go into hiding, he could disappear for a hundred years or so, until this was all forgotten.

His earlier sense of guilt and desperation had vanished. Loki knew now that coming here was folly; he should have never thought for even a moment that SHIELD would have held some twisted sense of retribution.

The guards gestured for Loki to stand, and he did. They led him out into the hall again, the rest of the pack joining them and leading him back to his cell.

Loki let them, for now. He would bide his time until Fury delivered on his promise to bring Jane to him.

He could wait that long.

()()()

And Loki did not have long to wait. The very next day, the door of his cell opened, and he looked from his spot on his cot. The armored men gestured for him to stand, and they bound his hands once more.

He wondered savagely if the mortals truly thought that these ineffectual means of restraining him actually worked. If it wouldn't have been so counter productive, he would have broken his bonds right there, to show them how pitiful their attempts truly were. But yet he allowed them to lead him on, his heart dancing strangely in his chest.

They led him toward the elevator again, going up once more, but not as far as last time. He knew when the doors opened that they were still underground as there were no windows lining the hall.

Walking along almost the entire length of it, his apprehension grew stronger. His own self-doubts began to flicker endlessly through his mind. Jane had been asking for him; she had wanted to see him. But what if it was to tell him that she, now in the arms of Thor, had realized her own stupidity? That she had realized after all that Loki was nothing more than the monster she had originally thought? He could easily see her look of disgust, sliding so effortlessly in place where her look of joy had once been.

Where her look of pain and anguish had been, too.

The men stopped at the door, the door that held Jane beyond it. Loki berated himself, wondering where this childish lack of confidence came from. If she was here to say those things to him…then so be it.

There was a chance that she was here to say something else, entirely.

The door opened, and Loki went inside, expecting to see Jane's small form, her brown hair, her knowing eyes. Instead he saw something else, someone else, a familiar figure cut through his vision, through his chest.

He was looking at the one person he had most feared to see, and the thunderous look consuming Thor's features was very striking indeed.

So...an honest to goodness cliffhanger. Let me hear your thoughts. What is going to happen? Do you think it will be positive, negative, or a mixture of both? Thanks for reading, reviewing, and following, once again! :)