II
She couldn't sleep. That was nothing new.
At first, when she had been captured and thrown into a cell with all the others, given only a bare-boned cot with iron bars that cut into her ribs and shoulders as she tossed and turned, surrounded by the groans and muffled sobs of a dozen other prisoners like herself, doomed to execution, Jane had been lucky to close her raw, burning eyes for ten minutes every night. But the human animal adapts, no matter the horrible circumstances it finds itself in, and Jane was no different.
After a while, the sighs and nightmares of the other prisoners became a little bit comforting. She wasn't alone in her misery. None of them were.
Now she was alone. Loki had culled her from the others, spared her from execution, but Jane couldn't say that what he had in mind for her wouldn't be infinitely worse. And to this, she hadn't yet adapted. She couldn't sleep.
The bed she huddled on now was soft, plush, enveloping her in comfort like a friend's warm hug. Still, she shuddered with cold, cold that bloomed inside her as though her blood were crystallizing into ice within her frigid heart. If she stood up, paced the room, her feet wouldn't touch bare tile or raw concrete. No. Funny, how quickly Jane had forgotten the feel of carpet. She even had her own bathroom, with an actual tub long enough to hold her submerged in hot water. No more shared showers to make her blush in shame, for herself and for all the others humiliated by the rough hands of their captors.
Jane was comfortable now. And it burned her with bitter flame.
She couldn't sleep.
Throwing off the heavy duvet and the fleece throw, Jane curled up into her raised knees, pressing her forehead to the jutting bones there. She'd gained back some of the weight she'd lost, but it wasn't enough to put more than a few millimeters of flesh back onto her starved frame. Loki fed her, overfed her, and though he did it without comment Jane could feel his eyes lingering on her, weighing her, evaluating how she grew under his care.
It made her want to vomit. But she didn't stop taking what he gave. It felt so good, so good, to eat as much as she could, to sleep as long as she wanted, to forget—even if only for an instant, spinning her stories—the fear that surrounded her and invaded her and paralyzed her. She had been afraid for so long that, like the feel of carpet and a friend's hug and a beer after work, she had forgotten how it felt to be otherwise.
Slowly, Jane forced her tight muscles to relax, leaning back until she was lying flat on the bed. Yes, she was afraid, she told herself, but she was friends with the fear. She could manage it. She'd been managing it for this long. Like grief, like chronic pain, she could take her terror by the hand and guide it along with her. If she stopped trying to push it away, it wouldn't be her enemy any longer.
Lying there, muscles relaxed and empty, Jane breathed into the silence. Breathed deep and slow. Meditation had never been her strong suit; she didn't try to push her thoughts away. Rather, she dwelt in them, the bad and the good, playing out every scenario she imagined, both good and bad.
The bad. She was going to Asgard. There was no escape from that, no way to free herself that she could see. Once she left Earth...
No. She had to let that go. Once she left Earth, she would never get home again.
Her body shook with spasms of silent sobs. Her lips twisted and brow furrowed until her head tensed with pain.
Let it go, Jane. Let it go.
She relaxed again, finding her freedom in dismissing the insistent little voice within her that screamed about the possibility of escape. There was no chance. Let it go.
Okay. She was going to Asgard.
Why?
A nasty possibility drizzled into her brain. She was one of the many spoils of war, just another trophy taken by the victors. Taken to what end, though?
Then Jane realized that the bad—going to Asgard—wasn't the worst. The worst was to be taken to Asgard as Loki's—
But he hadn't. He hadn't. Loki could be many things—capricious, menacing, absolutely pants-shitting terrifying—but he wasn't...he hadn't...Jane didn't think...
It was a possibility. She didn't rate her attractiveness very highly, but she was a woman, completely under his control. He came to see her every day, purely to listen to what she had to say. And he was a psychopathic, world-conquering megalomaniac. It was a possibility. Hiding from it would do her no good.
But that was a hypothetical. She had to deal with what she knew. And what she knew was that she was valuable to Loki. He had done a lot to keep her compliant, to keep her stories coming, night after night. He had kept her healthy and, to what extent he would, had seen to her happiness. That was proof her value, surely?
And if she was valuable, that gave her some leverage, didn't it?
Jane had never asked him for anything. Never begged for a favor, never implied that her cot wasn't enough, or that she hated showering with a dozen eyes on her back, or that she walked the edge of hunger every day. He had known all that; why should she say it?
But now...now. If she asked for something, would he give it to her?
Her heart whispered that he would. Because she was important to him.
Her stomach revolted at the thought of pleading with him for a favor. But what would she gain from maintaining her pitiful pride? Nothing.
And if she sacrificed it, what would she gain?
Jane's eyes opened, staring unfocused at the vaulted, shadowy ceiling.
What did she want to gain?
Gingersnaps. He'd brought iced gingersnaps. They reminded her of Christmas. Of Girl Scout meetings in elementary school. Of after-school snacks. The taste of them was so familiar on her tongue, the gritty texture crunching between her teeth exactly the way she remembered.
She ate two. He watched her eat, sprawled lazily on the sofa opposite her, eyes heavy and indulgent.
She swallowed. "It's been a week, and you still haven't answered my question."
"What question is that?"
"When do we leave?"
"You're very eager," his smile widened, an uncommon tell in a man so practiced at lying.
She ought to have played along, even sarcastically. He enjoyed her sarcasm, the way you might enjoy a kitten catching your hand with its tiny claws at play. "I'm not," her voice was harsh and flat, "You know I'm not. I just want to know. I hate being in the dark like this."
"'In the dark'," he mulled her words over, tasting them, "Yes, very poetic. You search the vast darkness for illumination; of course you hate ignorance. Very well. By next week, my sister will have completely eliminated resistance in China, and then our work will be done. Thor will assume control of the planet, and we will be free to go."
Her head reeled. "Next week," she repeated, "Oh."
"Hmm. She ought to have finished sooner, but Hela enjoys the fear she brings rather more than the victory," at Jane's puzzled look, he translated, "She plays with her food."
"Plays with people's lives, you mean," she snapped, hand shaking as she lifted her cup of tea. The world spinning down to its final days, and she was sitting there, drinking tea and eating cookies. For a moment, all her best-laid plans flew out of her mind. She saw herself leaping over the table between them, smashing at him with her little fists. Her fingers would break against his iron skin, of course, but she might—might—just irritate him enough to put an end to her.
That at least would be an honorable death. More honorable than what she was about to do, anyway.
Loki shrugged, her irritation not irking him at all. "Hela's pleasures are her own to indulge. Perhaps you would find them more palatable than Thor's."
"If she tortures her victims, I don't want to know what he does to them," she muttered.
"Thor is a man who demands adoration from all. Especially those he conquers. He would have torn your head from your shoulders for the disrespect you just showed me," at Jane's shudder, he grinned, "Be glad I find it charming."
Her stomach twisted again. She swallowed.
"I am glad," she said, and it was the truth. He would have spotted her lie in an instant. "You've been...kind to me."
Her compliment, frail as it was, hit him like a blow. His smile shattered. "Don't put too much faith in that, Jane. My kindness," he spat the word, "is for my own benefit. Not yours."
"Fine," her breath came quick and shallow. Despite her mistake she pressed on. "For yourself then. I still get the benefit."
He laughed. "I never thought you mercenary! But you should aim for more from my largess than a warm bed in a quiet room. You could learn something from Thor's favored mortals."
"No, thanks. If we're leaving Earth, what do I need to take from it? But I will ask for a favor."
"Ask, then."
"We're leaving Earth," her fingers knotted tight, pale skin twisting painfully against her knuckles, "and I know that I'll never see it again."
He didn't contradict her. His head tilted. "You continue to impress me, Jane. You never begged, or cried...I thought your reserve the result of self-delusion."
She shook her head. "Self-delusion only works when you still believe the worst isn't possible. I know it is. I don't lie to myself."
"Of course you do. We all do. If we didn't, life would be insupportable. But if we stop to argue this point, my curiosity will go unsatisfied. What it is you want from me?"
"I want to say goodbye to some people before I go," she said, trying to keep desperation from her voice, trying not to let him see that his refusal would snap her in two, "And I want your guarantee that, after I'm gone, that they'll be okay. That they'll be protected."
His face was a mask without crack or flaw. "Which people?"
"Erik Selvig—"
"Selvig is dead," he cut her off, "He was part of your research team. When he was captured, he was executed as you should have been."
She didn't flinch even though his words stabbed her. "Fine. Darcy Lewis."
"Who is Darcy Lewis?"
"She was my intern when I was working in New Mexico on independent grants. She's not a scientist—she never really understood my research—but she was a good friend. Before—before," you assholes blew up the world, she doesn't say, "She was living in London with her boyfriend."
"Darcy Lewis," Loki said, "Who else?"
"I don't suppose I could see anyone from SHIELD?"
"Those that aren't dead will be once I find them," his tone had no lightness, no give.
Jane's throat was dry. "No," she whispered, "Just Darcy."
He hadn't agreed yet. He was just sitting there, staring at her. Blank. And suddenly, Jane realized; her control, her restraint...it wasn't what he wanted. She was projecting an illusion of strength and it wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want a strong woman, no matter what he might say. Her strength didn't flatter him. No.
He wanted her cowed, and weak, and begging. He wanted her to unravel.
So, fingers trembling, she leaned across the table and put her cold hands on his knee, touch tentative and pleading. She let her tears glisten in her eyes, so they would catch the light, so he would see. And at last, she let fear shake her voice like wind rattling dry bones as she said:
"Please, Loki. I just want to say goodbye. Please...let me say goodbye."
He didn't reply. But neither did he move away. And when the tears spilled down her cheeks, he leaned forward and caught one on the tip of his finger, smoothing his hand over her cheek.
Hi everyone! So, earlier in January, I got an itch to write some more Lokane, but didn't have a ready idea. So I put a poll on Tumblr to ask you guys what you wanted. Actually, this story tied with Trickster for a continuation, but since I know where I want this story to go more than that one, I decided to continue this. Now, having broken more promises than I wanted to in updating my other Lokane stories, I'm not going to make any more, but I am hoping for two or three chapters a month.
As always, your feedback is the thing most likely to keep me near the computer, so please let me know what you think and what you'd like to see from this story!