The doors are open and I'm not going to stop you.

Loki twisted and turned Stark's words in his head, trying to find the hidden meaning, the voiding clause, the catch in them, but there seemed to be none. It was either a truth, or a lie, not a cleverly worded trap.

There was one quick way to check. He could call the bluff right here and now.

His hand hovered over the window latch again and his fingertips brushed the bright, smooth metal lightly, before he forced the offending appendage away and back into his lap. As much as he could question the sincerity of Stark's assertions about his freedom, the rest of the mortal's words was self-evident.

No matter what the court chatter might've said, Loki was never vain. He was too keenly aware of his own flaws for that. Even before discovering the falsehood of his skin and the lie behind his parentage, he treated his body as a tool. One he kept as polished and sharp as he could, knowing the value of immaculate presentation and strength both. It wasn't sharp anymore. Starting with his time in the Void and in the Other's tender care, the last months – years – has worn him thin, wrung him dry, flayed skin from his flesh, ground his bones and spat him out, raw, brittle, broken, and useless. The mortal saw and spoke the truth, Loki had no chance to stand against those who wished him harm, he engrieved the whole realm with his actions and now only his former enemies' mercy stood between him and more torment.

Loki was aware that Stark's deal was a way to placate him, make him more manageable and cooperative without a need for coercion. Yet it was still unthinkably generous, and Loki would be a fool if he invalidated his end just by bending to inane cravings. There were many simple comforts he yearned for and could no longer have; this was just another one on a long list. He didn't need it. There was little he truly needed that he couldn't go without anymore.

The wall of the forest looked as it was set ablaze by the setting sun; the yellows and oranges turned even more intense and the dark, lush lawn was calling him tantalizingly. The grass hasn't been cut in some time – unlikely treatment in well-kept mortal dwellings – and Loki wondered how it would feel to walk on it. His toes curled involuntarily and, just for a heartbeat, the shaggy carpet transformed to thin, sharp blades of grass, cool from the dew that settled on the ground.

Despite his best efforts, his hand shot up once more.

How would the air taste like? Would it be anything like the evening air in Asgard, rich with salty moisture rising from the bay and the thick, flowery scent drifting from the royal gardens? Or something completely different? Midgard was so varied with its everchanging seasons and fickle weather. There always was something new to experience, the uncertainty of how each day might look like making it exciting and transient both, compared to the ever-unchanging surety of his… of Asgard.

He put his hand down again. Stark's offer was clean-cut and straight to the point; Loki gets a chance to heal and a place to hide as long as he stays put. And he had no other option but to accept. Not if he wanted to keep away from that dreary cell, or one just like it. So, he has to stay, at least until he recovers enough of his strength to push his plans into motion. Enough of his strength to even think of a plan.

It was harder now, in a way. The world inside the dungeon was dark and hopeless, but it was simple. To have a prospective of freedom dangled just in front of his nose – so close, yet still as far out of his reach as before – felt almost unbearable.

He could bear it. It was not a choice, not truly. He could take it and perhaps one day he could prove he followed Stark's simple rule, earning himself a shot at walking away, free.

His hand twitched in his lap and he forced it down.

Well, there were two further stipulations, one that made him want to laugh hysterically and one that sent shivers of dread down his spine.

Not attacking Midgard again was something Stark should expect without say. Not only Loki owed him – and Natasha – an unpayable debt, was no longer in any position to do so nor (ever) had any quantifiable interest in it, but the rule would also be too easy to enforce now, given Loki's hypothetical lack of accord. Across the multitude of Stark's estates, there must be no shortage of cages Loki could be locked into to never see the light of day again, if he ever steps out of line. And if Stark's high moral standards prevented him from imprisoning Loki by his own means, SHIELD would welcome him back with open arms. So, no, his opinion on the subject wouldn't change anytime soon.

The other condition was the one that made Loki look towards the oncoming days with trepidation. He had little qualms with telling the mortal or any of his companions everything he knew about the Mad Titan, it was only to his best interest to share every detail if it could potentially aid the defeat of their common enemy, even if that meant revealing all the shameful circumstances of his submission. There wasn't much sense of shame left in him anyway.

The problem was that his knowledge was not only scarcer than he'd wish but also over two years outdated.

No, not two years. There was no point in using Æsir time measurements. He wasn't one and he was on Midgard now. And "one and a half" sounded marginally better than "more than two". It might be what softens the blow when Stark finally asks the important question and Loki tells him, truthfully, that he doesn't have the faintest idea what the Mad Titan might be up to nowadays. He was never privy to his plans; he knew only what he needed to know to be able to retrieve the Tesseract and deliver it to his…

Loki gritted his teeth against the metal to stop himself from following the line of thoughts. He was no one's servant.

Then why do you feel as trapped and helpless as you did back then? How is it any different? the relentless voice in his head asked and Loki couldn't answer with anything other than trite platitudes. I'm not in as much pain. No one demands me to kill and destroy in their name.

I can see the sky.

His hand flew towards the latch yet again and he forced it back down, where it belonged, then wrapped his fingers around his left wrist, to give them an illusion of a task. He was delighted to be rid of the constant pressure of the shackles and their clamoring weight, but his treacherous brain couldn't help tripping on the erroneous nakedness every time a rush of air or cloth or even his own fingers grazed the bare skin where the metal used to sit for so long.

Would he miss the damned gag the same way, were he ever free from its burden?

The spell sent a sharp warning down his throat at the notion, a quick reminder that Odin made sure it would never happen. Not until Thor finds him and drags him back to Asgard to finally face the outstanding justice. Perhaps not even then. It was too convenient to keep him silent, unable to voice excuses or objections to Odin's sentence, whether it was to be a leniency of a quick death or a condemnation to an eternity of darkness.

But perhaps…

Loki's hands curled into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms until they drew blood, until pain suppressed the urge to claw the metal off in a futile attempt to get free from it.

Even that didn't extinguish the small spark of hope. The same that took residence in his chest in the cell and only grew brighter after Stark's vehement assertion he would keep on working on removing Loki's bonds. Stark was but a mortal, he couldn't stand against Odin's magic and no amount of misguided self-confidence would change that. Even if simple logic could not convince Loki, the collective dismayed reaction to the scan should be enough of a hint. No, the gag was to stay.

But the leg irons were purely a mortal creation, so perhaps…

He shifted, pulling his knees closer to his chest and settling closer to the bed behind his back, just to feel the tug of the fetters again. He was still not used to how the shackles weighed him down or to the graceless hobble of his steps when he avoided putting too much pressure on the still raw welts on his ankles. The way the manacles always felt slightly warmer than his skin was familiar at least. So was the ever-present awareness of the dormant spell, burning at the back of his skull. He couldn't sense the magic itself, but the memory was enough to deter him from triggering it again.

He touched the shackle precariously, his fingers tracing its outer diameter for the first time. He didn't want to risk it earlier, lest the curse shared any similarities with Odin's magic and could be set off with the slightest touch with a wrong intent behind it. But by now he knew that neither thought nor indirect interference were able to rouse it and Stark's careless probing proved touching wouldn't do it either, leaving only brute force attempts and tampering with the spell itself as potential ways to activate it, other than its original intent. Perhaps not even that. Perhaps, as long as Loki doesn't get hurt, it would never bother him again.

Yes, as if that worked ever before…

It was very simple magic. It was rather obvious, in hindsight. Weaving intricacies into a spell required concentration, a high level of skill, and impeccable control of one's powers – and Loki should've known better than expect either from a scared child working under duress. The magic was crude and lacked finesse.

Still effective enough. Just like the rest of his captors' methods.

The surface of the shackle felt smoother than he anticipated, but not completely seamless either. There were hairline cracks running from one edge to the other, on both sides, adding credibility to Stark's claims that there yet might be a way to open it.

No, it was unreasonable to hold onto false hope. You won't be able to stall for long enough. Stark will soon know how lackluster the knowledge Loki has to offer about the Mad Titan is. And what interest would the man have in further wasting his time and resources on Loki? Just freeing him from his prison and allowing him a safe corner to curl into and lick his wounds was a kindness Loki did nothing to deserve and could do little to repay. There was no praise nor fame for Stark to be earned from helping a Jötunn changeling, not from his own kin, nor– even more so – from the people of Asgard. In the eyes of mortals, he was but a criminal suffering a rightful punishment for the atrocities he committed against their realm. And, in Æsir eyes, there was no fate too cruel for the likes of Loki, considering his actions and true nature alike.

Stark had to act directly against his superiors and Midgardian laws just to get Loki where he was. Natasha's gift of persuasion must've played no small role, but in the end, Stark did so from his own good will and that must run out, sooner or later. Loki was worthless as a source of information and, without his magic, he couldn't even be considered a useful ally, even assuming Stark would allow such alliance to happen despite plain distrust. No, there was nothing the mortal or his combatants could gain from relieving Loki of the burden of his bonds and leaving him restrained like he was only made him all that easier to control.

Avoiding Stark's inquiry – as tempting as it could sound – wasn't feasible in the long run. Natasha's assessment was on point, the man was smart, could connect facts at an alarming rate and knew exactly what questions to ask to narrow the field and get to the bottom of any subject he wanted explored. Once upon a time, Loki would find such traits highly entertaining in a conversation partner, but, in this situation, it only fueled his insecurity. The moment the proper interrogation starts there will be little Loki could do to escape his scrutiny without appearing unforthcoming or downright uncooperative and that wasn't something that would get him into human's good graces.

So far, Stark was only testing the waters. This morning he has bombarded Loki with a volley of questions and not a single query has even nudged the big, important one. No, he asked about simple, fundamental things. About Asgard, about the Nine, about rules of space travel, about magic, about the All-Tongue and how it worked. Loki was more than eager to answer to the best of his comprehension, hoping that keeping the mortal interested would divert his attention for a little while longer. And, if Loki was to be honest with himself, just for the distraction it offered to his buzzing thoughts as well, even if he couldn't quite keep the anxiety at being the centerpiece of attention from brewing at the back of his mind. His old self enjoyed those moments tremendously, particularly since – more often than not – it meant stealing the publicity from Thor for a brief while, but it was just another piece of himself he could no longer recognize.

Sure, Loki could extrapolate and divulge in speculations, upsell his usefulness to squirm his way out. Lie, too; he could still do that after all, even without his voice, and his promise to Natasha didn't extend to Stark. But that would be just that. A way out, but not forward. Lies rarely earned him any favor, no matter how beautiful picture he painted. And Loki didn't need more enemies, nor did he need more animosity than he already garnered. Not to mention that any action based on wrong presumptions could further diminish the already quite impossible chances of ever defeating the Mad Titan. Midgardians needed all the headway they could get, as they couldn't count on Asgard's – and thus the rest of the Nine's – assistance when they are attacked again. And Stark's assumption was on point, they will be. Thanos will try to reach for whatever it was that he was trying to find on Midgard again, as soon as he finds a way to move his armies without the Tesseract. He will want his scepter back, too, it holds too much power to be left unclaimed. And it was still on Earth, perhaps still in his captors' hands, because Loki got no chance to tell Thor it should be taken to Asgard along with the cube. Not that it mattered, Thor would read it as an attempt to meddle and disregard the plea anyway.

Well, that was one thing Loki could tell the mortal about. It was at least a valid, potentially helpful information, although it probably wouldn't buy him much time, even if humans haven't already figured that out on their own.

Loki sighed. He was the one to bring the scepter to Midgard in the first place and – once its owner comes to collect it – it would be just another violation to add to the long list of his offenses.

A small bird landed on the porch, disturbing the procession of his thoughts. Fascinated, Loki crooked his head and observed his little visitor. Its feathers were light gray, almost white, bare two splotches of black on the top of the head and under the beak. Dark, beady eye regarded Loki – or maybe just its own reflection on the glass – for a few heartbeats, then it scooted over to worry at a bunch of dried berries hanging from a dead pot plant. The wings flapped and the bird flew away, proudly carrying its catch – a single red berry – in its beak.

Loki followed the path it circled on the sky until he could no longer make it out, pressure building up in his chest and behind his eyes. His breath caught and his throat tightened around the metal. The walls moved closer, and he gasped for air, unable to fill his lungs, like all the oxygen was pumped out of the room, leaving him to gulp like a fish out of water.

He staggered to his feet and swayed, the world wavered and tilted at an angle. He grabbed the edge of the mattress to steady himself, his lungs burning, corners of his vision growing dark and blurry.

His shaking hand reached for the latch and he turned it, then he curled his fingers around the handle to slide…

There was a bang and the room door flung open behind him, knocking him out of the stupor. He pulled the trespassing hand away, took a quick step back from the window and twisted fingers into clothes, panting.

Was Stark here only to reprimand him or to try to take him down to the cell for breaking the rules already? Would putting up a fight make it better or worse?

"You were supposed to be in bed, space boy." Loki spun around. It was Natasha. The wave of relief almost made him stumble again.

She studied him for a moment then shook her head with a disappointed grunt, but it was clear she wasn't truly annoyed. "I brought you something," she said. She was carrying a white box in one hand and balancing a wooden tray with three bottles of differently colored liquids in the other. "Hell, it smells like a hospital in here."

She tossed the box onto the bed, placed the tray on the side table, then went to the window and slid it open, as far as it would go, until the whole pane disappeared behind the curtain. "Ahh, that's better."

The air that rushed in smelled of decaying leaves and recent rain and the hint of chill in it carried a promise of frost in the morning and Loki just stood there, stunned.

The smile on Natasha's lips slowly died down. "Something's wrong?"

Loki shook his head, unable to will his hands to move.

"Don't bullshit me. Do I need to ask Jarvis to play me a recording?"

He shook his head again. [I got distracted,] he managed. [I'm fine, now.]

She still watched him closely, her eyebrows knit with worry. "Want to go for a stroll?"

Did she not understand the rules of the deal he struck with Stark? [I'm not supposed to leave.]

She sighed. "Tony asked you not to wander off the property, not to stay inside your room all the time. He owns like five hundred acres of land around the house and it's all secured with anti-drone turrets, motion sensors and signal scramblers. I know, I checked. Twice. The joys of being a billionaire, I guess," she said with a small chuckle. "Come on, no one'll see us."

Loki had trouble processing her words. He could go outside. Stand on the grass under an open sky. Breathe. He stayed, frozen in place, the perspective suddenly too overwhelming.

She stepped outside and extended an inviting hand. "I know you're still tired, but a small walk will help you sleep better. So, what do you say? Just a few steps? Onto the porch, at least?"

He took one tentative step forward, then another, over the threshold. Boards creaked softly under his weight and the chain rattled on the uneven, weathered wood. He took her hand and she pulled him along, away from the safe confines of Stark's guestroom, down the four stone steps and onto the yard.

The soft, soggy mulch squelched under his feet and grass tickled his ankles and his legs buckled; he stumbled and collapsed to his knees; his hands splayed in front of him. He sat down on his haunches.

The grass was still wet from the rain. His hands were trembling slightly when he folded them in his lap.

Tears came stinging again and he fought them; he couldn't show vulnerability, he couldn't let his captors see how weak and broken he was for there would be no mercy…

Natasha's hand found its way onto his shoulder and rested at the nape of his neck, its comforting weight and warmth anchoring him, bringing his spiraling mind back to the ground safely.

He cocked up his head to look at her, at the sad smile pulling the corners of her mouth up, at the small, fretted wrinkle on her forehead, into her watchful eyes meeting his gaze, like she could see all the way through his false skin and into his mind. Like always, no matter how much he hurt her or how low he fell, defeated by the invisible hand of Odin's justice, his memories or his own traitorous body, there was no contempt nor scorn in them. Only the inexplicable, warm glow of acceptance.

Her fingers kneaded a lump of tense muscle on his shoulder. Loki allowed himself to relax, lean into the slow, soothing motion, little by little.

"It's okay," she said, her voice suddenly rough and uneven, "you're safe here. You're safe with me."

I know, Loki wanted to answer, but only furled his fingers without moving his hand from his lap. A tear rolled down his cheek. His eyelids fluttered close. More tears followed. He was not safe, he would never be, but it was a small lie he was willing to believe, if just for this brief moment.

Tony spent ten minutes on staring at his own reflection in the darkened monitor, then another fifteen as fruitlessly searching for Bruce's hidden box of inappropriate wonders that he sincerely hoped would include Xanax. Or at least some pot.

Then he got to work.

He went through the data Jarvis gathered during their excursion in Sokovia and quickly realized that, despite the quantity, there were not many things of use here. Data recovery wasn't the main objective, so what he got was basically files that Jarvis cached on the drive while accessing the systems looking for Loki. There was practically no research data, just hours upon hours of surveillance recordings Tony wanted to avoid looking at as long as he could.

"Jarvis, why didn't we grab all the files concerning Loki from Sokovia?" he asked idly, while browsing through the folders.

"We did, sir."

That put Tony on a pause. "But there's just a bunch of blood tests, nothing more. No other research reports." Bruce already went through the results and posited they were experimenting to optimize the formula with the lowest amount of nutrition that would still keep Loki alive, without giving him any chance to recover.

It was a miracle they didn't get a Hulk episode just out of that.

"There was nothing more, sir. If they conveyed any other research, none of it was stored locally."

It might mean one of two things and Tony couldn't decide which one was more disturbing in the long run: either the research was conveyed by yet some other party and they'd never have any idea where and when it might pop up or they just… didn't. They just locked Loki in a hole for a year and tortured him because it was a good sport.

"Is there anything in the video files you think I should watch?" he asked and really hoped the answer would be a solid 'no'.

No such luck.

"There's a video that shows an experiment they conveyed. There's no report on it anywhere in the files, but some results are visible on the monitors in the frame."

"What kind of experiment?"

"I'm not exactly sure, sir."

Tony let out an exasperated breath. "Bring it on, Jay."

It was a high-quality recording, and it showed the scene in excruciating detail; an amalgam of two camera angles, one on each corner of the cell, the same he found Loki in. The basic setup was also familiar: the table in the center of the cell, with Loki strapped down to it. But there were more people around, and some equipment, something that looked like an EEG machine on one side, with contact pads on Loki's forehead and temples, and a portable power supply on the other, with wires running to the electrodes on Loki's uncovered chest. The EEG display was visible in the frame.

Two men and a woman in white lab coats swarmed around the cell. Tony refused to call them 'scientists', even inside his own head, there was nothing scientific about what they were doing.

Goon one turned on the current. Loki's spine arched and he tossed his head back, his body twisted in convulsion. Tony skipped ahead. Once, then twice, then just moved the bar two minutes ahead and only then the circuit has been turned off.

I'll have to watch it again, Tony thought with dismay. He wasn't paying attention to the display.

Goon two approached Loki and tried placing the cuff of a blood pressure monitor on his arm but couldn't quite get it done with Loki's hand trapped flat on the table. He disappeared out of the frame and showed up on the other feed, fiddling with the control panel, then returned and removed the metal band. The moment it was off, Loki's hand flew up, clocking the goon in the chin. Tony inwardly congratulated him on the aim and spatial awareness – he still had the blindfold on. Goon two staggered and goon one turned the current back on.

Tony skipped forward again.

The goon lady approached Loki and jabbed something that looked a lot like an icepick between the plates of the gag.

Tony understood what they were trying to do. They were comparing Loki's brain states, depending on the source of pain. "Jarvis, cut the EEG results from both runs and overlay them on one another."

Jarvis did and Tony stared at the diagrams. They were virtually the same. It meant that the spell just emulated the physical sensation and sent the signals directly to the parietal lobe, skipping the rest of the nervous system. Loki basically told them that already and Tony – completely baselessly – assumed it was a mental shortcut.

This he could use. If he finds the right frequency it transmits on, it could be blocked. The spell would still trigger, but Loki wouldn't feel it. It wasn't a complete solution, but it was a progress.

"Jay, bring on the results from SHIELD and compare the ranges."

"Already on it, sir."

"Is the CNC bay free?"

"Mr. Banner has a queued project but didn't progress with it since you've arrived."

"Stash it and clean the chamber. And tell Bruce to come down, I'm going to need his input."

They stayed out on the porch. Natasha brought a jacket, a blanket and a chair to sit on. Loki stayed on the wooden floor. He could see more of the sky that way. The sun has set, and the clouds cleared completely, leaving them with a full view of the stars.

Loki used to think the Midgardian night sky looked unimpressive. There were always too many lights around and the sky wasn't black, just faded gray.

Not here.

"Did you know you have a star named after you? And an island?"

Loki tore his eyes from the sky and looked up at her.

"That reminds me," she said and untangled herself from the blanket. "I have stuff for you."

She went inside and brought the tray and the box.

[What is it?]

She smiled. "And I thought I'm the impatient one. Those here are juices that Banner procured from some fruits I cannot even name. Super healthy and should go well into an empty stomach, so he wanted me to encourage you to drink it. I'm not going to, but I will still leave it, so try it, if you want. Orange is the best one if you ask me. Not actually made of oranges though."

She put the tray on the floor by the door. "And here's a gift. I'd say from me, but Stark paid for it, so it's technically from him. Well, I don't think he even had to pay, his company makes those, he probably has a whole vault full of them somewhere. One of those that cartoon characters swim in."

Loki took the box from her hands and nodded politely, although – as much as he understood the words – they refused to come together into a coherent whole.

"Come on, open it."

He turned the box around, but there was no indication of what it might contain, only a logo, the same he was forced to wear on his chest, like a mark of ownership.

"That's the nice thing with minimal packaging these days," she joked. "It keeps you guessing."

He peeled the wrap and took the lid off then stared at the device inside.

"It's a mobile phone."

Loki understood the concept and recognized the function right away, but it didn't explain why Natasha wanted him to have it. [Aren't they used to… talk to one another?]

She scoffed. "It's like one of a thousand ways you can use it. You can text, check the internet, watch videos…" She paused, noticing his confused glare. "I'll show you, okay?"

[Why are you giving it to me?]

"I need to go away for a while. We can exchange messages or use video chat while I'm gone and you feel like you want to… talk to me, or something. I also have something for you to watch."

[Where are you going?]

"Back to Europe. Stark dug up some lead on some other base in the archives and I'm going to check it out. He suspects that's where they are keeping the scepter and that might be crucial."

[Who?]

"Hydra fucks, who else?"

[Hydra?]

"Uhm, the people who… held you?"

[Wasn't that SHIELD?]

A plate flew through the kitchen and smashed on the pillar.

"Can you stop destroying my stuff?" Stark said, very unenthusiastically, and sat down at the kitchen table.

"I need to vent. I find it more palatable than punching people."

"Is it something in particular or just… this?" he made a broad gesture with his hands.

"Loki was convinced, up until maybe fifteen minutes ago, that what happened to him was a completely lawful procedure carried out by the US government. Fury came to see him to gloat just before they took him from Ohio, so Loki just assumed it was within his right to…" She stopped and rubbed her face in exasperation.

"You know what? Give me one of those plates."