Chapter 28:

He sways dangerously as he steps from the room, catching himself along the frame of the door, and silently he curses his own weakness.

The garment they have him dressed it gives no cover to his back, split open as it is. Loki reasons that it is likely designed thusly for easy removal, but that logic does nothing to lessen his frustration and, though he would admit it to no one, his vague humiliation at being so exposed. Just the thought of others having seen him so, having touched him and…

He pushes the thoughts from his mind viciously, feeling his face heat unpleasantly.

He needs to find Jane.

He needs to find Jane and Thor, and he wants to be taken out of this place now. He doesn't want to be here anymore.

He makes it some few feet down the hallway from his room, the bright, overhead lights hurting his eyes, before he encounters a human. Some woman dressed in a blue, short sleeved tunic and loose fitting pants of the same material it seems. Her face is turned down towards something in her hands, and she is writing along it using some sort of utensil.

Loki stops, eyeing her warily as she comes nearer, unaware, he can tell, of his presence.

It is as that thought passes through his mind, she looks up, and stops abruptly as her gaze falls upon him, eyes wide as saucers and mouth hung comically ajar.

"You…" she stammers, and Loki does nothing, staring back at her, holding himself rigid.

He has not yet encountered any of the human's which roam this space. Only Jane and Thor have been to see him, and he has preferred it that way.

He does not trust a single one of them even the smallest amount.

"You can't be out here." The woman seems to find her voice again.

Loki blinks, uncertain a moment of how to reply to that.

From what Jane and Thor had told him, he understood this to be a place of healing, not a prisoner's dungeon.

"Pardon?" He finally asks, voice still rough from all of the screaming.

"You can't…" the woman starts to repeat, then turns from him, looking behind her, her movements almost frantic.

Loki can see her hands shaking.

"I'm looking for a woman." Loki starts to explain, hoping that perhaps this mortal can assist him, if he could convey to her he means no harm. "She is…"

"SECURITY!" The woman suddenly screeches, seeming not to have heard him at all.

The loudness of her voice rings painfully along Loki's ears, and he flinches violently at it.

And then she's screaming again, louder this time even, and the pain throbs inside Loki's skull.

He falls back against the wall behind him, pressing a hand to his temple. His limbs shake, his knees feeling as though any moment they may give way, sick nausea turning through his insides.

"Please," he implores softly, doubtful the human can even hear him in her apparent panic. "I merely search for another mortal…"

His words are cut off by the sound of heavy boots striking against the floor, and seconds later, from around the left hand corner up ahead, several men dressed in black padded armor appear, moving towards them in a jog.

It does not escape Loki, that they carry in their hands those strange weapons which fire pointed containers of metal, and immediately, he tenses.

Their weapons cannot harm him. He knows, as he has been struck by them several times with no affect greater than mild bruising. But still, weapons indicate hostility, and he is in no condition to battle.

In the back of his mind, he thinks of Doom, and how he had somehow crafted tools able to slice open and tear apart his flesh. Able to render him helpless and weak as any human.

A fresh wave of nausea washes through him, his head suddenly spinning with dizziness.

He presses against the wall, willing himself to stay standing.

The men stop before him, cocking their weapons, pointing directly into his face.

The woman has scurried back, hands held to her mouth and eyes wide, as though she hadn't at all expected this result from her outburst.

"Back to your room." The man closest to him orders, voice clipped and angry.

These mortals are pathetic, Loki thinks disgustedly as his eyes train on the barrel of the weapon. He has made no move towards anything even remotely hostile, and though he is loath to admit it, he is certain one need only take a single look at him to realize he is in a deeply diminished state. And yet he can see the thick fear in all of their eyes, layered over by aggressive mistrust and dislike.

They want to attack him.

It would concern him little, if his magic were not still so utterly depleted, and were his strength full.

As it is, he feels barely strong enough to keep himself on his own feet, and he has little magic to spare for anything beyond healing his own, still lingering wounds.

He swallows painfully against the dryness in his throat, straightening to his full height. He towers over the mortals, and he sees them take a step back.

He would smirk at it, only he sees too their grips tighten along their weapons, fingers pressing threateningly against the triggers.

"I search for a mortal woman." He tries diplomatically, hoping his voice sounds as benign as he is attempting to make it. "She is called Jane Foster. And my brother, Thor. I am certain…"

"Are you soft in the head, freak show?" The man interrupts him harshly. "I said get back in your room! You aren't allowed out here."

Loki pauses, stiffening.

He knows not the meaning of the words this mortal has just spouted off at him, only it is clear by his tone they were meant as insult.

Anger bubbles up, hot and rapid in his chest, and he fights to press it down.

And then memories churn, cruel and unrelenting through his mind. The echoes of children's voices, of their laughter, names and words they tossed his way, and he standing apart.

Standing alone.

Always, always, standing alone.

Children's voices bleeding to those of men and woman, only by then he would not cry, only speak back, words a hundred times, a thousand times more cutting, more clever. Until it became a dread thing, to engage Loki Silvertongue in verbal sparring of any kind.

Then, he had not even the company of his bullies.

Slowly, the god breathes through his nose, hands clenching at his sides. Silently, he reasons with himself that to engage this mortal in any manner aggressive would ultimately be only to his own detriment.

He thinks of Thor, and of Jane.

He thinks of their disappointed faces, and he feels his throat constrict.

Already he has disappointed everyone who matters.

And so he bites back the words sitting upon his tongue, words which he knows would reduce this ridiculous man to a blubbering mess of tears, and slowly he straightens himself, unclenching his fists and relaxing his shoulders.

He begins to raise his hands in a manner meant to placate.

It is a mistake.

The man takes it as a threat, and in a moment, he brings the butt of his weapon around in an arc.

Loki sees the blow coming. He sees it clearly, knowing the man's intention before he even begins the initial motion.

It is only, Loki's body is now pathetically diminished. Where he would always be capable of avoiding or blocking an attack of this like, he now finds himself unable to respond to the command in his head, and an instant later, the hard crush of wood and metal smashes against his temple.

The inside of his skull reverberates like a rung bell, pain lancing through his brain like a hot iron.

For a moment, he cannot see, his vision going black.

And then his knees give way from under him, and he collapses to the floor in a broken heap.

The man with the weapon is standing over him now, Loki can see his booted feet.

His head is spinning, anguish exploding behind his eyes, vision now spotted with white, floating haloes. Sluggishly, the god tries pushing himself to his hands and knees, and is rewarded with a blunt crack of the weapons butt, now to the back of his skull, and again, Loki collapses, his face to the floor.

Dimly, he is aware of a high pitched scream somewhere from around him, and other voices, all lapping over each other. But they are unintelligible to him. He can't make out any words.

For a terrifying moment, he forgets where he is.

And then the voices around him erupt into shouts, and above them all, there comes the voice of a woman, commanding and filled with fury.

"What the hell is going on here?!" She asks. "You! Stand down."

"Excuse me Sir, but he started to…"

"You attacked him unprovoked Agent." The woman cuts him off. "I said stand down. Now."

There comes no further protests, the sound of feet shuffling away filling Loki's ears.

And then there is suddenly someone crouched down beside him, and he feels the light press of a hand upon his shoulder.

"Loki," she says. "hey, Loki…"

He feels fingers sifting through the hair along the back of his head, prodding but gentle.

"Are you okay? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Her voice is beginning now to clear, though only just. Still he does not recognize its owner, and knows only that she is addressing him. He knows not what else she says.

He shakes his head, trying to rid it of the way it spins, and gradually, the last few moments come back to him.

"Thor…" he mutters, his voice strangely slurred.

The woman's hand moves to the back of his neck. It is almost uncomfortably warm against his skin, and he struggles not to flinch at it.

"You should stay down right now." She says. "Those were a brutal couple of hits you took."

It is suddenly the woman's voice registers in his mind, and he recognizes it as the Black Widows. Agent Romanov.

For a moment, humiliation threatens to drown him, and overwhelming mortification at being seen by her like this.

She is too sharp of mind, too like him for him to be at all comfortable with it.

Again, he tries to push himself up, and again, he feels the press of her hand at his neck, and then along his back. Not hard. She couldn't hold him down even in his current state, either way. But her message is apparent.

"Hey." She says firmly. "Stay down. Just until your head clears. Anyone else would've been out cold and left with a severe concussion from those shots."

"… I am nn… not anyone else." He grinds out.

"Obviously." Romanov says, and Loki can almost hear the amusement in her voice.

"Thor, I need…" he starts, trying to lift his head. A fresh wave of dizziness hits him, hard, and he lets his forehead sink back to the ground, a thin groan slipping past his lips.

"Easy." Romanov instructs. "You're looking for your brother?"

"Yes." Loki answers, voice low. "And Ms. Foster…"

He hates even exposing that much information, but he finds himself even more desperately than before wanting to escape this place.

His mind reels. He can feel the eyes upon him now, watching him. Judging him. And he thinks of earlier, his encounter with the All-Father, and there is suddenly a feeling of such despairing helplessness which takes hold of him then, and he has to fight not to let his face crumple under its pressure.

"They're not here." Romanov tells him. "They checked into a hotel for the night, near here."

Loki's teeth clench, frustration threatening to overwhelm him.

"… A hotel?" He questions, trying, again, to sit up.

Romanov allows him this time, helping him as she takes him under the arms and eases him up.

"It's like a lodging." She explains. "A place to sleep."

That, Loki understands, and he lets himself fall back against the wall as his head continues to throb and spin.

His eyes slip shut.

He wonders if…

Thoughts of Thor sleeping with Jane in his arms flash through his mind, and he feels his heart clench painfully in abrupt jealousy. His fingers curl, and he tries to shove the feelings away.

"I suppose then I… I should go back and leave them be for the night." He says, seemingly more to himself than the Agent crouched in front of him.

There comes a moment of silence, seeming to stretch too long, and then the sound of Romanov shifting.

"I can take you there, if you want." She says, her voice hushed, nearly to a whisper, and Loki's eyes come open, staring back at her, uncertain.

He says nothing, and then she's reaching out, grasping hold of his wrist. She tugs gently.

"Come on." She says.

And Loki allows her to help him up. He struggles to his feet, still plagued by dizziness and his knees feeling weak.

She braces him as he finally makes it, her hand gripping his arm, the other along his shoulder.

"You okay?" She asks, and Loki stares down at her, brow furrowed.

He doesn't understand why she's being so… kindly towards him, and suspicion pulls discomfortingly at his gut.

"I'll take that as a no, then." Romanov says, staring back.

She keeps her fingers grasped round his arm, and turns towards the men still standing round.

"All of you, back to your posts." She commands.

There is only a brief moment of hesitation between them, looking to one another, before they begin to turn and take their leave.

The man who had hit Loki, though, makes it only half a step before Romanov reaches out and grasps him by his vest, pulling him back.

"You," she says, tone cold and hard. And there is very real fear then in the man's eyes. "I'll be having a discussion with you later."

That's all she says before she lets him go, and he scurries off in a hurry, disappearing round the corner with the rest of the Agents.

She turns to Loki then, nodding over her shoulder.

"Come on." She says. "Follow me."

She begins to walk, keeping her hold on him, and silently he complies, trailing slowly behind her.

She takes him through, what seems to him, a veritable maze of passageways. He still feels lightheaded and unsteady on his feet, and he finds himself unable to keep track of the way.

Finally, after long minutes of walking, when she ushers him into one of the moving metal boxes called an elevator, he can no longer hold his tongue.

"Where are you taking me?" He asks, voice rough as she presses one of the buttons arranged along some kind of panel.

"To the living quarters." She answers calmly, eyes fixed on the sliding metal doors. "We've got to get you some clothes before we can go anywhere."

Loki listens for the lie in her voice. He still cannot trust her, and he thinks if she were to make an attempt on his life, now would be the ideal time.

Only he can hear no such deception from her. Talented a liar as she is, Loki would be able to tell.

And so he remains silent, and a few moments later, the doors slide back open, and she has his arm again, and is leading him out onto a different level.

It is quieter down here, and they do not pass any people, as they did up above.

For whatever reason, Loki feels a sense of relief at it.

Finally, they come to a stop before an unremarkable metal door, and Loki watches as Romanov takes out a squared piece of plastic, swiping it over a protruding device along the door's frame. An instant later, there is a soft beep, a glowing red light turning green, and she pushes the door open.

"These are Clint's quarters." She says evenly as she steps past the threshold, and Loki stops.

"What?" He asks.

She turns and looks back at him, seeing the look of trepidation and confusion on his face.

"It's fine." She says.

He doesn't look convinced.

"He's not here." She says. "Even if he was, he'd understand."

"Would he?" Loki asks. "It would seem unlikely."

"He'd understand because it's me."

"Ah." Loki replies, raising his chin slightly. "Well then…"

She turns again, and steps farther into the room, Loki following this time, standing still near the entry as he watches her pull open another door, and begin to rummage through its contents.

Eventually, she turns, holding in her hands what looks to be a short-sleeved tunic, black, and a pair of trousers, also black.

"The pants are going to be short in the leg and a little big in the waist, I'm guessing." She says, looking him up and down. "It'll have to do for now."

She holds the clothes out to him, and he hesitates a moment before taking them.

"There's a bathroom over there where you can get changed." She points to another door across the space from them. "I'll be waiting for you out here."

He blinks at her.

And then he shakes his head.

"Why are you helping me?" He at last asks. "Will you not find yourself in violation of your commanders wishes?"

Romanov shrugs, expression neutral.

"Probably." She admits. "But we didn't get you out of Doom's castle just so you could be locked up somewhere else, and Thor's made it clear to Director Fury to leave you alone. If he found out about the way you've been treated tonight, I'd be a lot more worried about him than my boss."

There is a feeling in Loki then which threatens to overcome him, and he forces his face into blankness at it. Something like the warmth of light.

He nods then, saying nothing, turning from the Agent, towards the washroom.

He can feel Romanov watching him as he passes into it, and softly he closes the door behind him.

There is a looking glass affixed to the wall, positioned over a wash basin, as most Midgardian washrooms seem to be arranged.

Loki goes to it, and he stares back at his own reflection.

He looks hideous.

Skin pale and face gaunt, hair scraggily and tangled and heavy with sweat. His eyes are bloodshot and beneath them the shadows are thick. There is a vague reddening around where that man had hit him along his left temple, and it stands out starkly against his colorless skin.

He pulls the single garment from his body and stares back at himself, his lips tightening into a thin line at the grotesque scar still visible, running in a pink and swollen line from above his sternum to the tip of his naval.

He is obscenely thin, he thinks. His ribs plainly apparent, his arms hanging limp and scrawny at his sides, his chest flat and weak.

He is a pathetic specimen of the Aesir.

He smiles with bitter irony at the thought.

He is an even more pathetic specimen of a race of giants.

It is no wonder, he thinks, that he was abandoned and left to die.

He too would be ashamed, if he were his son.

With a scowl, he banishes the thoughts, turning from the mirror in disgust, and quickly then, he pulls on the clothes given to him.

They are too small, the trousers hems coming to only half down his calves, though as the Widow predicted, they are loose in the waist. The shirt stretches too tightly across his shoulders and chest and, he thinks, as he regards himself once more in the looking glass, he looks even worse than before.

But it will have to do, for now.

It is better, he supposes, than walking about with his back so fully bare.

He fiddles a moment with the wash basin's faucet, and a moment later, cold water comes spraying out. He cups his hands beneath it and bends, splashing it across his face, pushing it back through his greasy hair. It gives him a sense of only mild relief, and he finds what he assumes are drying cloths in the cubbies beneath, using one to dry himself off.

Ready as he'll be, he knows he won't be impressing anyone tonight, he finally emerges from the washroom, and finds Romanov waiting for him, a pair of boots in her right hand, a rolled up ball of socks in her left.

She smiles wryly at him.

"You look good." She says, sarcasm thick in her voice.

"The dashing Prince come to sweep you from your feet!" He grins at her, too wide and toothy to be sincere.

She smirks back, then holds up the boots and socks.

"I don't think these'll fit you either." She says. "You're a big guy, and this is the largest size I could find in here. Size eleven. I'm guessing you're closer to a thirteen or fourteen."

Loki frowns.

He supposes, compared to most mortals, he would be considered "big", only his mind confuses at ever being told so, when he has spent millennia among those who's size would always dwarf his own. His height among the Aesir being less than average, to say nothing of his comparatively diminutive frame, where the other men of his people would boast of thick and defined musculature, Loki has always found himself thin and smooth, what muscle he has no more than adequate, and wholly opposite of impressive.

To be called scrawny and waifish is hardly, for him, an odd occurrence.

But those thoughts, too, he pushes from his mind, and he moves to take the offered things.

The boots are too small. Uncomfortably so. But he forces his feet into them. He has a passing thought to spell them larger, but it seems a ridiculous waste of his waning power.

When he stands from the chair he'd sat down on, he finds Romanov waiting by the door.

"Ready?" She asks.

He nods.

"Alright." She goes on. "Follow me."

She begins out of the room, and Loki follows.

"By what manner are we transporting ourselves?" He asks as they move down the corridor.

"Driving." She answers, not looking back.

They say nothing more to each other as they make it out into the cool night air, along a wide open space Loki remembers being called a parking lot. There are rows of the mortal's colorful metal carriages, and he follows the Widow as she heads towards one in particular, larger and higher up off the ground.

And with each step farther from the structure where they held him, he feels a weight lifting off his shoulders.

He thinks of Jane, and he dares to let himself hope she will be happy to see him.

/

AN: So guys, new chapter! I'm sorry for the delay! I've been kind of busy lately with all this other stuff, and fell behind here. But I hope you enjoyed it, and I'd love to hear your thoughts! We'll have more Jane and Thor in the next chapter! Thanks so much again to all my readers and reviewers!