The sun filtering through the glass of the enormous windows was warm on Loki's skin, gentle and caressing, and the air in the room was pleasantly chill. Stark had set the temperature on the panel next to the door lower after Loki complained, in a fit of delirious verbosity, that it's too hot for him.

Loki sighed and ran his hand over his forehead. It still felt warm, but not burning up as it did… Was it two days ago or three? The details of that time were mostly lost to Loki, with the fever burning out any conscious thoughts out of his mind before it fully formed. The numbing drug had done the rest.

The mortal medicine felt different lately, buzzing pleasantly in his veins and nudging him into sleep and Loki had obeyed it gladly, slipping into a dreamless, restful slumber, the first time since he fell from ho… Asgard. It wasn't the only thing that felt different.

Loki meticulously pieced together a coherent version of events. The mortals had visited, more times than he could muster the mental capacity to count, bringing treats or trying to entertain him with inane – and rather one-sided, since talking seemed like too much of a chore to him – conversations. The mortal healer was the most frequent visitor. Or the doctor, rather, as he referred to himself. The All-Speak still tried to translate it as healer, but Loki knew there was a difference between the two. Or Bruce, as the mortal wanted Loki to address him. He should try to remember that one, especially after the fiasco with Stark…

Bruce had been to his room often, bringing medicine and kind words and polite smiles, but Loki could see the lingering sadness behind them, evident even when he was barely aware of the world around himself. Loki had talked to him, he remembered, talked too much about too many things, leaving himself exposed and open to exploitation in a moment of the ultimate weakness, yet the man had stayed at his side and the friendly attitude didn't waver. Was it because the monster under the mortal's own skin made him feel such an affinity to broken creatures?

Agent Romanoff had been there too, fulfilling her duty as Loki's watchdog. She didn't stay for long, her gaze dashing away from his face each time he tried to meet her eyes, which – in itself – felt like a hopeless endeavor. He was almost certain he tried asking her to end his torment, but that didn't seem to work, because he was still alive.

Or maybe he had just dreamed it. Oh, that would be a mercy, indeed.

Stark had been around as well, which was the biggest surprise of them all.

He was here now too, dozing off in the chair he dragged from under the window and placed next to Loki's bed.

The light was shining through the man's shirt, bringing a new wave of memories.

There was an electronic device – one of those humans used to get their news and messages – lying abandoned on the floor. It must've slipped down from Stark's lap when he had fallen asleep. Loki felt an illogical urge to pick it up and go through it, to get a peek at the mortal's mind perhaps. He didn't. It would be inappropriate. It would be an invasion of privacy and Loki couldn't bring himself to it, not when the energy the human shared with Loki was buzzing in his veins, easing his pains and mending the lingering damage.

Stark saved his life – or at least prolonged it – and whether he himself realized that or not, Loki knew how generous of a gift it was.

Loki couldn't begin to guess the man's motivations, so he stopped trying. Maybe there was some ulterior motive behind the act, maybe there was not, and it wasn't in Loki's right to judge that, not anymore. The debt was there no matter what and it was only Stark's whim whether he decided to use it against Loki or not.

Still, the man's presence didn't unnerve Loki as much as he would expect it to. There was a strange kind of comfort in it even.

That was also a new thing.

Back on Sanctuary, he had craved those rare moments of solitude. They had been his respite, the brief periods with no new torments, no new commands, no questions he knew no answers for. Of course, it still involved being locked in his tiny cell, without light or fresh air or any form of sustenance, more often than not, but Loki found that to be a worthy tradeoff.

He tried kicking the covers aside and his limbs obeyed him, even if not without protest. The shadow of the overbearing weakness that rendered them useless was still there, but its claws were filed down by the magic and rest.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sat up at the edge, and turned his attention to the tube running to his forearm. The container feeding it was empty, having run out sometime during his sleep, so he pulled the tube free. The needle remained in his vein, secured in place with a piece of white tape and he left it in. It was degrading, to have a fragment of a mortal apparatus attached to his body like that, but it was hardly the worst offense against his flesh he had suffered just in the last months. The doctor was using it to deliver the pain-relieving drug and that alone made it a sacrifice worth making, at least until he didn't need it anymore.

There was a glass of water on the nightstand and Loki reached for it, with both hands, to keep himself from spilling it all over himself, then brought it to his lips and gulped it down. It was gone way too soon, but Loki quickly realized reaching more didn't feel as unachievable as before.

He pushed himself up and the bedframe squeaked.

Stark stirred in his chair and his eyes flew open.

Loki's mind brought forth a couple of juicy curses for him to utter, but he bit them down before they tumbled out. He'd been trying to stay as quiet as possible to avoid the confrontation for as long as possible.

"Hey," Stark croaked, then cleared his throat. "You're up!"

Loki pulled down the hem of the gown he was wearing. It wasn't even a proper robe, just an oversized, short-sleeved shirt, which reached barely below his buttocks, leaving Loki utterly exposed. Someone must've put it on him when he slept. He didn't remember it being done, which was a disturbing notion. "I am."

Stark sat up in his chair and eyed Loki with suspicion. "Are you sure you're well enough to walk around?"

"I'm just going to the bathroom, it's not a lengthy journey," Loki said. Would Stark try to deny him even that small amount of personal freedom? Would it be within his right to do so?

It would be, he decided. Not only he was a captive here – whether in this tower in particular or on this realm in general – but also Loki owed the man an unpayable debt now.

"If you say so," Stark said and shrugged. "By the way, I bought you some fresh clothes." He tipped his chin at the low table by the windows and some colorful bags and boxes there. "Or, more precisely, Jarvis did, so I'm not taking any blame if you don't like it. I suggested a leather and metal theme, but none of the chain stores seem to carry those, so you'll have to make do with Abercrombie and Fitch for now."

Loki trudged his way across the room, grabbing onto furniture for support as he went, not completely trusting his wobbly legs yet. He went through the packages, only partially paying attention to Stark's ramblings, which wasn't the wisest move for someone in his position. He couldn't find the capacity to care about that for now.

The clothes were inherently Midgardian in fashion, but Loki didn't expect anything else. He was on Midgard now and he was expected to fit in, so he might start getting used to it. There were a few shirts there, some trousers and a couple of pieces of underwear, and even a long coat with a hood, which was an uplifting discovery. The mortals wore these kinds of garments outside, so it might mean Loki would be allowed out, at one point or another.

It all looked like it would fit, more or less. That was the positive side of Midgardian fashion, the soft fabrics they used made it so the clothes didn't require such a custom fit and could be produced in bulk, which was probably a necessity with the sheer number of mortals populating the planet.

"Thank you, Stark," he said. "Would you mind if I cleaned myself up and changed now?"

Stark chuckled and shook his head. "Knock yourself up, Princess."

There was both a shower and a tub in the bathroom and Loki decided on a bath this time. Stark didn't try to allot him any time limit and it would be a waste if Loki didn't use the full length of the leash available to him. There were very few small comforts he was still allowed to indulge in lately, and Loki was dedicated to exploiting every opportunity.

There was a basket of toiletries that was delivered in the meantime and Loki went through the contents as he was waiting for the tub to fill. Most of it was some Midgardian cosmetics with labels that made little sense even with the translations the All-Speak provided, but – as he noted with no small delight – there was a hairbrush, a razor, and an electric device that might be a Midgardian tool used to clean one's teeth. Or maybe he was dead wrong, and it served some completely different purpose, but Loki decided he was going to use it as such anyway.

He spent a long while in the bath, dividing his time between idly wondering how the mortals were getting the water so high up into their buildings and keeping it hot in their pipes, all without magic, and trying out various concoctions from the basket. He found out he liked the one in a small, pink bottle the most. It produced a copious amount of foam and left a pleasant fruity scent on his skin and hair, even after he washed it out.

After he was done with ablutions, he took time to shave. He could never grow a proper beard, not as Thor could, but it was still growing and he had been using simple magic to deal with it in the past. He didn't want to do it right now though, there was no point in wasting even the sliver of the energy for that, not when his body needed it to heal. He made do with a razor. Then he brushed his teeth and hair and put on some of the new clothes, picking a soft, loose shirt that was a bit like the under-armor tunics he was used to wearing, just shorter, and trousers sewn of soft fabric that were held in place not by a belt, but by a lace tied around the waist. Both looked comfortable enough to wear to bed, and Loki knew that was where he was heading in the immediate future. The fit wasn't perfect, just like he suspected, but it wasn't all that bad. Definitely better than with the garments SHIELD provided him with or the shirt he just took off.

Then he stood in front of the wide, gold-framed mirror and studied his reflection.

The marks on his face – the cuts in the corners of his mouth left by the gag and the welts on his temples and neck from the bands they used to keep him in place on the rack – were almost gone. The gashes on his forearms and legs were deeper and created with much more expediency, but those too were fading and would completely disappear in a couple of days.

It was a welcome change of pace, to look like a person again.

Bruce was there when Loki decided he could dally no longer and slunk back into the room.

"Tony told me you woke up," he said, just as Loki crossed the threshold and a wave of cool, refreshing air hit his face. The temperature in the bathroom was set higher and the steam in the air didn't help. "I thought you might want some breakfast."

There was a tray with those weird, square-shaped pieces of bread the mortals seemed to like, some boiled eggs, an assortment of chopped vegetables – ever since the Widow forced that confession out of him, none of the meals they had brought him contained meat – and a glass of juice. Loki's stomach grumbled at the notion. It was almost startling, how quickly he got used to regular meals again, his body now demanding sustenance in even intervals. That would only make it harder when…

He sat back down on the bed. The linens were changed when he was in the bathroom and the smell of fresh laundry called him invitingly.

"Thank you," he said.

Bruce smiled at him and Loki avoided his eyes the best he could without it becoming too evident. The expression of a troubled concern on the man's face looked genuine and Loki didn't want to watch too closely, afraid he would see a crack in it. It was hard to believe in the man's motivations after Loki told him – in a stroke of terminal foolishness fueled by the feeble state of his body and mind – about his heritage. He somehow managed to stop himself before he blurted out the name, so there was still a faint hope the mortals didn't put it together yet, but he didn't count on that too much. There were enough hints out there for them to figure it out on their own, if not now, then in time.

There was no love lost between Midgard and Jötunheimr. Even if human memory didn't reach that far back, there ought to be records of the Jötnar aggression – enough for the mortals to take the same hatred to Loki's kind as the Æsir. Perhaps even a deeper one, as the Frost Giants' campaign against the realm had done quite some damage before Odin stopped it, while the common folk of Asgard, those who weren't sent to fight the wars, knew of the vile nature of the Jötnar just from legends and second-hand tales.

"Are you sure you don't want to lie back down?" Bruce asked, frowning.

Loki could feel the exhaustion creeping up his legs and the slight tremble of his hands. Even the short trip to the bathroom expended his meager resources, but the thought of food was too alluring to succumb to that without a fight.

"You can still have your breakfast in bed," Tony suggested, noticing the glare Loki bestowed the tray with. "I do it all the time. Well, I did, until Pep got angry about the crumbs one time too many."

Loki wasn't sure who this Pep person was and what would they care about the state of Stark's bed, but it didn't seem important enough to warrant him asking about it. He nodded curtly.

Bruce retrieved the pillow from the other side of the bed, fluffed it, and stacked it on top of the other one, allowing Loki to rest in the reclined position and still be able to tend to his meal.

Tony chuckled at the satisfied moan Loki belatedly realized he didn't hold back. The medicine was wearing off and with it, his ability to hold on to the control of his reactions, the mysterious sickness rearing its head again. The sickness – as Loki had been informed – stemming from the weakness of his mind, not his body, a notion that churned in his gut and burned at the back of his head with ferocious intensity. He had always been the weakest one in Thor's group, always the one to fall ill first and the last one to recover, too easy to wound and too quick to bruise. But that were the physical attributes, and he had always considered his mind his best asset. Knowing it was failing him now too meant he had nothing left. Nothing to make him worth, not even his title as the second prince of Asgard, that ship had sailed long months ago, but even this tentative position among the mortals.

Bruce set the tray over his legs and removed the plastic lid from the bowl of greens. "Bon Appétit!" he exclaimed and the All-Speak stumbled on the phrase, detecting a difference between its original meaning and intended use.

He would have to learn the mortal's language if he were to spend more time among them, he realized. The All-Speak was a useful tool, but he would make a pathetic liar if he couldn't twist the words exactly how he wanted them.

Let's leave it for some other time, he thought, biting into his food, that he could now bring to his lips by himself. That too, was a welcome change.

"How is he?" Natasha asked when Bruce returned to the common area. She used the commotion to make a quick run to her flat to gather some stuff. It looked like she would be staying in Stark's tower for a while.

"Better, I think. The energy transfer thing Tony definitely helped, although I don't feel competent to say how exactly. Loki seems much more coherent than yesterday and he even got up on his own."

"Did he ask about me?"

"No."

She should be relieved, she knew. Loki, delirious from fever, asking her to let him die with unhindered despair in his eyes shouldn't be something she should wish he remembered. Yet, there was that slight pang of regret that he didn't.