A/N: It's been so long I've legit forgotten what weak-ass plot reason I had for Grim-Face to show up. But whatever man, you didn't come here for that shit, right? It's cool if I make it up again as I go...

...right?

CHAPTER 3

I have lost focus for a while, Loki and the men in uniform's discussion fading into a peripheral haze. I'm not sure how long I've been sitting here in silence, staring at the same point on the wooden floor. I wonder if I'm in shock. I take note of my cold, sweaty skin and the trembling of my limbs. I am – was – a doctor. And yet I can't figure out how to fix this.

The light in this cell seems too bright and my vision, the half of it I have left, is blurring around the edges. I note my shallow breathing and take a deep breath, the rush of air briefly restoring me before I sluggishly sink back into a daze. My focus slowly slides up to Loki and I frown to see the men in uniform presenting him with a strange device that looks a lot like a gauntlet from a dungeons and dragons cosplay. It would fit right in with Loki's choice of apparel, and he seems to be studying it quite intently through the glass.

"Very well," he says and I blink tiredly, wondering what horrible thing he could have agreed to. Grim-Face smiles like Loki has just brought Christmas early, and it's a disturbing sight on a grown man. What did Loki do? What did I miss?

"Thank you, My Lord. Unfortunately…" he trails off and gestures somewhat nervously to the nook behind Loki. "You understand of course…" he suggests diplomatically.

"Of course," Loki agrees cheerfully and turns around with an unsettling grin. His eyes fall on me as he approaches his smallest cage and he stops. I watch his face as his eyes flicker between the men outside and me. I thought I had gone numb, but fear starts to build once more in my belly the longer he frowns down at me. Finally, he outstretches a hand.

I flinch back, knocking the back of my head on a wooden shelf behind me. It's a few seconds before I register that his hand is held palm up, and he waits a moment for me to calm down. "You may want to come over here," he suggests in a soft, coaxing voice. My eyes widen.

I can't say a word, I simply shake my head in mute fear. He doesn't seem deterred, and his hand remains presented. "Perhaps it's just me, but I've noticed a certain hostility towards you from these men. Would you truly prefer their bullets to my company?" He says this with a tone of hurt that is completely ruined by the mocking smile that spreads over his face.

"To your magic," I respond hoarsely before thinking and I shudder with immediate regret. I hadn't meant to speak a word to him.

He sighs and rolls his eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you. Why would I waste the effort?"

The stress makes me snap, and I say somewhat hysterically, "You just tossed me into a bookshelf for shits and giggles, you lying psycho! Why don't you tell me?"

The world spins around me and darkness creeps into the edges of my vision as the words leave my mouth, beyond my control. I'm sure I've made a fatal mistake – and green mist is going to flow down my throat and scramble all of my organs – when he chuckles quietly and lowers his hand.

"Ah, that was just a bit of fun," he shrugs one shoulder and turns, moving towards the nook, "But have it your way."

Something about the way Loki just drops the issue and walks away makes me panic. What if he's telling the truth? What if he's actually the lesser evil? Those men do seem somewhat disgruntled by his behavior, as if his offer of protection is foiling their plans. What did I ever do to them?

"Wait!" I cry a moment before he steps over the threshold that would separate us. He stops and I scramble to my feet. "I…" I want to ask him to promise not to hurt me, but the words get lodged in my throat. It's not like I could trust a promise from him anyway. God of Lies and all that. He raises a single eyebrow at me, that derisive smile still in place.

I round the coffee table and approach him on shaky legs. I stop in front of him, terrified to move past him and present him with my back. We stand like that for a moment, like the most one sided Mexican standoff ever.

Then Loki obviously loses his patience, because his arm lurches out and his hand wraps around my upper arm like a steel band. I let out an undignified cry and instinctively try to pull away, but all that accomplishes is a shooting pain in my arm when his fingers tighten. An ordinary guy Loki's size could probably manhandle me without too much trouble, but those fingers were strong enough to tear through steel.

More than strong enough to tear through me.

But instead of ripping my arm off, which is literally the first and only thought consuming me, Loki drags me over the threshold of his nook and shoves me roughly into the corner. I half land on the cushioned surface running along the edge of the glass, where Loki usually reclines during my work hours. I'm starting to become fed up with crying, but the tears are completely out of my control. I press myself into the glass as Loki steps into the nook with me, clutching my arm protectively.

It hurts like a bitch where he grabbed me, but it's hardly a pressing concern compared to the total panic and claustrophobia that envelops me when the glass slides up, trapping me in the confined space with him. To think I felt trapped before – this is so much worse. I'm stuck within grabbing distance of an evil god - one who looks like he's lost his taste for my whimpering if I'm reading the look on his face right.

"Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic?" he asks with an unfriendly sneer. The megalomaniac that went after my planet in a misguided attempt to sort out his own personal drama thinks I'm being dramatic.

I'm a 130lb mortal girl stuck in a space the size of a cupboard with the 6ft4 mass murdering, magic-wielding demigod that inadvertently half-blinded and brain damaged me, and not minutes ago tricked me into thinking I was a dead woman for fun. Wretched and pathetic maybe, but no, I won't cop to dramatic. So, in my first and probably last display of pluck, I shake my head, pulling my knees up to my chest and trembling all the while. "No," I say tersely, watching his every twitch for signs of impending attack. Not that seeing it coming would help in the slightest.

Loki exhales sharply through his nose, making me flinch. He looks annoyed, and I realize that if I don't get my act together he might just decide to shut me up – and there are a variety of unpleasant methods to do so at his disposal.

God, looking into his eyes I realize I'm that girl. I'm the girl in the movie that's so busy freaking out the whole audience is routing for her to just die and get her pitiful, uninteresting display of terror off-screen. I'm the girl that gets eaten first. The one who goes up the stairs. Why do they always go up the stairs?

And why, oh why did I come work here? I very clearly don't have a death wish. Which means I'm just stupid. I need to live past this so I can spend the rest of my life hating myself.

Loki has turned away from me to watch Grim-Face and some of his men enter his cell. As they deposit the gauntlet on the coffee table, the annoyance quickly fades from his face. It's replaced by a look of anticipation that probably doesn't bode well for me or anyone else. It probably doesn't bode well for the planet at large. I feel like I'm bearing witness to a cataclysmic event when the men retreat from the cell, locking the outer glass in place and releasing Loki and I from the nook.

Loki doesn't waste any time, he strides over to the gauntlet and picks it up, turning it over in his hands. I follow him, feeling like the very least I could do for humanity is watch what the evil god that tried to conquer us all is doing with that suspicious-ass glove. Loki turns his head slightly at my hesitant approach and absentmindedly reaches down, grabbing the book he had been reading earlier.

He tosses it back to me and I catch it with only a slight fumble. "There, keep yourself busy and out of my way."

I stare down at the book in my hands, my mind going blank. I look at the title, see the letters without understanding them. They look like nothing to me, just frustrating pictures that once had meaning. The blankness is slowly overtaken by something else.

I'm shaking harder than I was before, but not from fear. My vision almost goes white with rage. It's like I have no control over my body or my actions. Before I know what I'm doing I've drawn my arm back and, with a howl of fury, thrown the book as hard as I possible can.

It connects solidly with the back of Loki's head.