Oh man… Right in the feels… If you haven't guessed by now, Loki's been here for about a week, maybe more. Am I moving too fast? I hope not. Anyways, prepare yourself for the feels. o.o

7. The day had dawned cold and gray. The mountains were shrouded in mist when Nala started her coffee brewing. It had become a secret game with her to catch Loki asleep. Did gods sleep? She didn't know, but was determined to find out. Each morning had her waking up earlier and earlier, trying to catch the Asgardian in a state of rest. So far, she had no such luck, though this morning there was something different. There were slight gray circles under his emerald eyes and there was a stiffness about his movements that suggested little, if any sleep the night before. She was beginning to wonder if he *did* sleep at all. Did gods feel the effects of deprived rest?

"Morning." she said cheerfully, stirring cream into her coffee with one hand and rubbing the gritty sand out of the corner of her eyes with the other. Loki nodded, acknowledging her comment but not elaborating her customary morning greeting. Nala returned to her coffee, taking a test sip, rolling the taste in her mouth before deciding it was satisfactory and swallowing another mouthful.

"What is that?" Loki asked suddenly, indicating the beverage.

"Coffee. Jesus, what sad, sad world do you come from where you don't even have coffee." Nala shook her head in mock distress. Loki scowled.

"Is it good?" he asked further. It hadn't escaped his noticed that Nala was decidedly more energetic in the mornings when she drank her strange black beverage. Nala smirked and handed him her cup, which he took gingerly and took a small sip. Like Nala, he swirled the taste around in his mouth before making judgements about flavor. He grimaced, like he swallowed a lemon.

"Too bitter." he handed her back the mug and leaned on the counter. Nala chuckled slightly.

"It's more of an acquired taste." she said, looking at him over the rim of her mug.

The day passed in a more or less monotonous routine, beginning with breakfast; toast and coffee, loaded with cream and sugar. This was eaten in silence, with Loki glaring out the window, wondering if his punishment would ever end. This was followed by leading the horses out to pasture. Nala finally trusted Loki enough to allow him to lead the horses out by himself while she prepared the straw and fetched the wheelbarrow from the shed. Loki, the horse, tugged at his leadline, rolling his eyes and prancing nervously as he was brought to a secluded pasture. Once turned loose, he galloped to the far end, bucking. Louise nibbled Loki's sleeve and waited by the gate for Simon, who plodded out of the barn heavy-headedly and, once turned out, walked a few steps before rolling twice and getting up to much placidly at the grass.

Mucking out was done quicker with every passing day as Loki got better, and each day brought a fresh wave of anger and bitterness. Loki grew more and more frustrated. He got especially irritable when Nala commented on the speed at which he completed his job to the point where he snapped at her.

"I am a price! The rightful ruler of a kingdom to which you could never even hope to dream of! Stop patronizing me mortal!" He shouted, resentment dripping from the words and fury etched in the lines on his face. Nala cocked her head and studied him in more depth. Sharp cheekbones, sharper than before? Hollowed out from lack of sleep and nutrition. Green eyes vibrant, because the surrounding skin was cast in an unhealthy pallor? She hadn't gotten the chance to examine his face for any length before.

Though she knew the cause of his irritability, it didn't irk her any less that he wasn't showing the slightest trace of repentance for his crimes. Nala hoped that having him here might install some sense of empathy, but he certainly wasn't gaining any new awareness of the feelings of others. Perhaps try a different approach? Nala turned away, unwilling to stoke his temper further, and Loki angrily stabbed at a bale of straw, pitching it into Simon's stall with gusto.

At dinner, Loki merely prodded his pizza with a pale finger before declaring it unfit for a price and stomping out. He frequently did this, complaining that Midgardian food was below his standards. No wonder he looked worse for wear.

Nala finished his slice herself as she sat on the chair furthest from the silently brooding Loki, unwilling to breach the silence. He had seemed especially cross today and prodding at his skeletons in the closet was looking like a less appealing concept than before. She went to bed early, not bothering to excuse herself with the customary good night. Loki was too absorbed in his own wrath to pay much attention, his head resting on wrist propped against the arm of the couch. This was how he usually spent the nights, shadows of past tortures swimming in his vision every time he closed his eyes.

Nala worried about Loki, despite his evident displeasure at being anywhere in her vicinity. He never seemed to eat in her presence and she wondered if he even slept. He was becoming not only lax in his work, but his usually sarcastic, witty attitude had dwindled to mere impatience and irritability. And in spite of the subsequent headaches their sparring matches left her with, they added color and life to a day otherwise clouded with negative emotions. Even with her preoccupied thoughts, Nala quickly fell asleep. She had long since ceased worrying about Loki's antics; if he had wanted to kill her, he would have already.

Loki, on the other hand, was far from falling asleep. Every night the demons of his past plagued him in whatever dreams he allowed his nerve-wracked body would allow him to have. He woke up more often than not drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, the covers tangled under his body, his hair in disarray. But tonight was different.

His unpleasant thoughts of the future, while not brutally horrid considering where he was could've been much worse, manifested into the nightmares that scared him more than those the chitauri inflicted on him. Thor hunting him down, destroying the farm, killing Nala, who surfaced frequently, often in various states of pain or decomposition, and throughout it all, his father loomed like an ominous black cloud of anger and regret. The feelings hurt him worse than when his nerves were set on fire, his skin torn from his flesh, burned black, frozen, charred, burned again, and healed for pain anew.

Loki crashed to the floor, unaware of his surroundings, thrashing in the cocoon of damp sheets like a hooked fish, mumbling incoherently through eyes blurred by tears. Suddenly a light bloomed in his dark visions, a soothing voice, a comforting caress, a familiar body against his, and his mind sunk into deep, grateful, restful sleep.

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