DAY 3
Mortals are fragile. His mother taught him that. Loki looks down at his hostage with almost scientific curiosity. She looks pale- well, paler than she was before. Her full lips are chapped and pale, leaving her looking washed out. Her skin is porcelain, and he can see her blue veins so easily through the paper-thin flesh under her white tshirt. Tentatively, he reaches out and runs his finger down her arm. Soft, too, but lacking the warmth he usually sees in humans.
She looks positively worn out, her head resting against the wall, her legs drawn up, making herself as small as possible as her mouth hangs open, her face slack and gormless.
Before he knows what he is doing, he grabs one of the throws from his bedroom and drapes it around her pitiful form. She wakes at this disturbance, and mutters something before nodding off again.
He frowns. He is torn between acting as the gentleman he has been raised as (before he has to threaten Thor and hurt her) and being downright unbearable. Truthfully, he forgets how mortals work biologically. They are similar, but require so much more care. The last human lover he had was centuries ago, and he shudders to remember how he laid with something so inferior to himself.
Darcy mutters in her sleep, between the odd snore. Things like, "yeah, whatever" or (his personal favourite) "get that taco away from me". She is oddly endearing, and he admires her spirit and the boldness she possesses- however, Loki has never kidnapped a more annoying subject.
He finds this out when she finally wakes at midday. She clicks her neck and stretches, almost whimpering at the lack of strength in her muscles and the constant ache in her back, her stomach now painful.
"Loki?" She doesn't have to fake her rough voice now. "Loki? I could do with some water. Some food?"
Nothing answers her, and the door to his bedroom remains shut.
"Loki. Please!" She hates begging, but the ache in her stomach is unbearable. "I swear to God I'm not just doing this to piss you off."
Still no answer.
"Fuck you, Loki! Any longer and you won't have a fucking live hostage."
At this, Loki's door slams open and he stomps over to her, throwing her some bread and bottled water that he's conjured out of thin air.
"Here." His voice is angry, but Darcy is surprised to hear uncertainty in his tone.
She tries to reach for the bread, and fails, hissing when her wrists strain against the handcuffs. Loki sighs heavily and picks up the bottled water, opening it for her. She reaches out, but he puts the bottle to her lips, crouching down next to her.
As she drinks he struggles for words, and they come out softer than he expects. "I forget the fragility of mortals. The constant need for sustenance."
She stops drinking, and he manages to pour water down her front, soaking her top. He glances down briefly, seeing the outline of her bra through her thin t-shirt. He looks away quickly and covers her with the blanket he draped round her shoulders before. She pretends not to notice the blush on his face- she doesn't need something else to worry about.
"Yeah I'm fucking fragile alright." She scowls at him. "Pass me the bread." Darcy watches the god with a confused scowl as he picks up the bread and tears it to pieces. He tilts his head. "Please." She adds.
He offers it out to her, but she shakes her head.
"Don't baby me. I'm perfectly fine to eat by myself."
Loki raises his eyebrows. "Your wrists are hurt from your fruitless attempts at escape. When it comes to sending you to my brother in small bags, I will let you ruin yourself. Ergo, I can feed you, or you can starve."
"Really?" Darcy really wants to choose the latter just to spite him, but instead she nods tiredly. She feels half her remaining pride disappear, but as soon as she tastes the first food in days, she forgets to be embarrassed at her apparent lack of pride.
She's tempted to try and bite his fingers, but realises that would just really piss him off. She is too tired to be in a fighting mood, and she takes the bread as he offers it in bitesize pieces, staring defiantly at him.