Darcy hesitated, one hand raised to knock. She'd heard the yelling and panicking downstairs, and Loki's door was just slightly ajar, which didn't bode well, but she really seriously needed Kleenexes, and she was pretty sure that Mr. I'm-an-Immortal-God didn't get the common cold. C'mon, Darce, at least if he kills you it'll probably be sort of quick. I mean, it's not like he can torture you with the entire Avengers upstairs…hopefully. Shoving the possibility of him being able to control time, magically soundproof a room or otherwise manage to make torture an option, she rapped gently on the door. No reply from within came, and the door slowly swung a little further.
"Loki? Hey, Lokes – you in here?" she called warily, stepping a cautious foot over the threshold, though her body was still mostly protected by the door.
She really wasn't sure how much protection a plain wooden door offered against an evil sorcerer, but hey, it was better than nothing, right? Tiptoeing across the room towards the door to the bathroom – the apartments in Stark-cum-Avengers Tower all had pretty much the same layout – she grew increasingly relieved at Loki's apparent nonpresence, until she actually made it to the bathroom and froze.
Of course, her first thought was the entirely irrational wonder at where the mirror was – she knew for a fact that, back when Jane still used these rooms instead of Thor's, there had been a plain white-framed mirror over the sink. And then – oh hey, there's a busted up demi-god bleeding over the sink and sort of looking like he can't breathe! Whaddayaknow.
She froze, then, because damn, Loki looked like shit. And he definitely didn't look like the skinny bookworm Thor had described - sure, he wasn't jacked like Thor, but he was definitely ripped in his own, lean way. But back to the looking like shit. His whole back, most of it anyway, was covered in a rough, scratchy abrasion like he'd rubbed up too hard against a brick wall (cue all sorts of inappropriate thoughts running through her head with that one), and she could see a hint of bruising along his arm and cheek.
"Don't worry, Miss Lewis," he abruptly murmured, "I've no intention to harm you."
And that, for all the venom and evility in his tone, was scarily reassuring.
"Yeah, I kind of figured that. What'd you do - take on the Hulk?" she snorted.
Loki's back stiffened, and she could see enough of his face to note the tightening of his jaw and thin lips. He straightened slowly, cracking some of the scabs on his back from which red began to reluctantly trudge, and turned to face her. That, she decided, was freaky - especially with the way green was burning in his eyes like the fire he'd conjure up in a battle. If Darcy Lewis was a wise woman, she would have fled at this point. She did not.
"Why are you here?" he demanded coldly, all civility gone.
Oh, right. She wasn't actually here to check out and taunt beat up, sort-of sexy supervillains. Oops.
"Uh, you have Kleenexes?" she asked.
For the briefest moment, she felt a flush of victory at Loki's blank face before he stepped to the side and opened the bottom of the sink with the tips of his fingers. She paused just a second before crouching, grabbing the unopened tissue box, and standing in record time. That something hadn't cracked into the back of her head and killed her was definitely counted as a victory. That her life had gotten to the point where not getting killed while getting a Kleenex box counted as a victory was not.
"Okay, thanks," she called over her shoulder while hurrying from the room. There was no reason to press her luck.
Outside his door, she leaned back against the wall to take a deep breath and had her face immediately assaulted by the world's most violent sneeze. Of course.
"Well, 'least I've got you," she muttered, ripping open the cardboard box and liberating the 'ultra plush' white tissues.
It was time for hot cocoa, a snuggly blanket and 'The Notebook.'