.4.

Sleep came eventually. Surprisingly, there were no dreams. Unsurprisingly, her sleep was fitful. She awoke as the first of the sun's light crept into bedroom. She'd forgotten to close the blinds. The sun's early morning presence as it slowly encompassed her bedroom was ominously hesitant. Jane lay in bed for a long while before rising, thinking about all that had transpired in the last 24 hours. When it became clear that thinking wasn't going to fix anything, she sighed and rolled out of bed.

Still clothed as she was from the day before, she left her room carefully, quietly. She paused on the threshold. The door to the guest bedroom directly across from hers was open just as she'd left it the night before. She hesitated before stepping across the hall. Had Loki left? Was he elsewhere in the house, lurking?

Mustering courage, she stuck her head into the other bedroom. Loki was there, lying on his side with his back to the door. Jane watched him for a long moment, trying to discern if he was actually slumbering. His ribs rose and fell in what she perceived as a sleeper's deep rhythm, however, and so she quietly backed out.

The living room and kitchen were flooded with sunlight as the windows in the east wall were large and the curtains open. Jane padded across the laminate floor, heading for the stove. The fire was nearly dead. She added some kindling, waited patiently while they caught, and then added the last three pieces of wood remaining in the woodbox. Once the fire had grown to a healthy size she closed it in.

From there she moved to the entryway. Outside, her morning chores awaited: cutting wood, shovelling snow if needed, and walking down the driveway to check the mailbox. She suited up with practiced ease, donning insulated pants over those she already wore, two jackets, two pairs of gloves, a scarf and a fur-lined hat. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, wondering if it wise to leave Loki unattended in her house. The fact was she really had no choice. Loki was here. She'd chosen to grant him shelter. And the world kept on turning.

.x.

She made herself a simple breakfast after returning from outdoors. It was simple, two pieces of toast slathered with honey and sprinkled with cinnamon. As she ate at the small circular table in the corner of her kitchen she skimmed her mail for anything of interest, keeping one eye out for Loki's appearance. When she'd finished she cleaned her dishes, putting everything away, before heading down the hall again to grab a change of clothes and then a shower.

Clean, fed, and awake, Jane pondered what to do next. She needed to make a grocery run into Woodrill; she would have had to have done so soon anyways, but the fact that Loki was now here increased the need. In town she could grab him some clothing, too. He couldn't keep wearing his original garb and she didn't want him wearing Erik's robe. However, she didn't relish the idea of taking him to town with her. She wanted as little to do with him as possible though it seemed the chances of that were slim to none while they were inhabiting the same house.

She waited around for him to rise, occupying herself by reading the local newspaper front to back while seated on the couch in the living room. She'd turned the TV on for background noise, keeping it low. Finally, after glancing at the digital clock on the front of the satellite receiver and finding that it was nearly noon, she set the paper down, steeled herself, and went to wake up her unwelcome guest.

He'd turned in his sleep and was now on his side facing the door. He was sleeping still. Jane hesitated, wavering between the desire to rouse him and the desire to passionately not care. She was still fighting with indecision when she noticed his eyes were actually open as mere slits.

"You're awake?"

"So it would seem."

His voice was low and hoarse. He shifted into a sitting position, passing a hand over his face, brushing back the stray, ink black strands of his hair that had fallen forward. Something about his movements seemed off. They were slow, sluggish, as though everything about his body was unfamiliar still. Which, she supposed, was entirely understandable given what had happened to him.

"Are you alright?"

"... I am not entirely certain."

Jane frowned. That didn't sound normal for Loki. She crossed the room and hesitated only for a moment before reaching out and placing the back of her hand against his forehead. As she suspected, it was hotter than it should be. This close she could see that his face was flushed as well.

"I cannot tell illness from inherent mortal frailty. There is a persistent fog in my head. There is a burgeoning ache between my eyes. And I cannot swallow without pain. All of these afflictions conspired to keep me awake for much of the night." He listed off his symptoms in a voice that could have been plaintive if not for the undertone of disdain and arrogance.

Goddamnit. Loki, the god of mischief, an immortal from another realm, had caught the common cold. At least she hoped it was just a cold. If it was anything worse…

She took her hand away. He shifted his position, leaning his head against the headboard and smiling up at her with lazy insolence. He still wore Erik's robe, which bothered her a great deal. She forced herself to remember that it would have been worse if he'd gone to bed naked. Either way, she was disconcertingly aware of the fact that the robe had parted, confronting her with same view of his chest as she'd been exposed to the evening before.

As though aware of her annoyance and thoroughly enjoying it—both, she suspected, being true—he spoke. "Will I live, nursemaid?"

She blew a breath out slowly, considering what to do next. Being as Loki was newly mortal, did his body lack the immunities that most other humans had? Was this just a run-of-the-mill virus or was it worse? She had no way of knowing the answers, not without taking him to a doctor. That in itself presented another difficulty. Once he was beyond the walls of this house, in public, there was always the chance that someone would recognize him from what he'd done in New York—even in a place as remote as this. She stared down at him with a slight scowl while she debated what to do.

"Your extended silence is not exactly reassuring."

"You'll be fine," she snapped, irritation surging at his words. His smile grew wider in response. Shaking her head, she turned and left the room. She returned a few minutes later after having rummaged through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, carrying a mostly full bottle of Nyquil.

"What precisely is that?" He asked as she took off the cap and poured out an adult dose.

"You'll feel better." She carefully held the small cap out to him. "It'll make you sleep."

With one eyebrow raised, he took it from her. "Sedating me? A rather ineffectual fix, is it not?"

She graced him with a wide, insincere smile. "You don't need to take it. If you want to suffer, that's fine by me."

He laughed, a soft, tired exhale. "I'm sure it is." Keeping his eyes on her, he downed the contents, his face contorting as the taste flooded his mouth.

"That," he rasped, handing the cap back, "was horrid."

Jane's only reply was another vindictive smile.

He settled down onto the bed again, resting his head on the pillows and pulling the blankets back over his body. "And while I slumber, unaware and helpless, what will you be doing?"

"Trying very hard," she said over her shoulder as she left the room, "to convince myself not to smother you."

.x.

It didn't take long for the Nyquil to work its particular brand of magic. Jane checked on Loki fifteen minutes later. He slept on his back, his head facing the door. She scrutinized him for a long minute, a frown furrowing her brow. It seemed somewhat cliché, the thoughts she was thinking in that moment: that he looked completely and utterly at peace, innocent somehow of everything she knew he'd done and was capable of. In repose Loki was just a man, not some god-turned-mortal, not a criminal exiled from another realm for his crimes. As she watched, he inhaled deeply, his head rolling to the other side.

Her frown deepened. He wasn't innocent. He wasn't a man. Repeating those thoughts over and over in a protective mantra, she left the room.

.x.

Knowing Loki slept and would likely sleep for some hours yet, Jane felt safe in leaving him alone in her house. She drove into Woodrill. The roads were clear; she'd seen evidence that the grader had been by her house when she'd walked to get the mail that morning, and the highways themselves had been freshly salted and plowed. The day was absolutely clear, not a trace of a cloud in the sky, and the sun's reflection off the snow was so bright as to be painful. Jane donned the pair of sunglasses that hung on the passenger side sun visor so that she could drive in peace.

Traffic in and around Woodrill was heavier than expected for a smaller community, but Jane knew that a majority of it stemmed from the flurry of oilfield activity taking place locally. Most of the vehicles she encountered on the highway were directly related to the oilfield: tanker trucks, field trucks, and large convoys of huge trucks moving pieces of rig equipment. Jane was used to the traffic by now and had learned to drive cautiously. When first she'd moved to the area, every drive had been a white-knuckle one.

The town of Woodrill was firmly in the grips of winter. Even though it was a few weeks away, Christmas decorations of silver, gold, red and green hung from every light post. As she drove through town she took note of the signs and displays all directed to the holiday season. An unsettling wave of homesickness overtook her; she'd never spent a Christmas alone. She'd always had her mother, Erik, or Darcy to share the holiday with. This year it would be much, much different. Jane squared her jaw, forcing down that thought and the way it made her feel. She'd come here to be safe and to keep those close to her safe. Nothing else mattered.

.x.

She made only a couple stops. First she'd gone to Wal-Mart in order to see about finding something suitable for Loki to wear that wasn't as outlandish as what he'd arrived in. There wasn't a lot in the way of clothing stores in Woodrill and Wal-Mart was convenient and cheap. Within, she grabbed casual men's wear, amusing herself by thinking of Loki's inevitable distaste when he laid eyes on her purchases. She guessed his size—he wasn't a big man but he was lean and tall. Socks she bought in bulk. Confronted by the quandary of boxers, briefs, or boxer-briefs she paused and scowled as she surveyed the wall-mounted merchandise. Eventually she chose the last.

After Wal-Mart she headed for Mark's, a store which offered regular clothing but also had a large inventory of outdoor gear. Loki couldn't spend his entire exile living in her house; he'd have to go outside at some point. With that thought in mind she asked one of the store clerks, a tall and lean young man who blushed endearingly as Jane spoke, to try on winter coats. She chose one that was warm, practical, and affordable. When it came time to buy boots, she grabbed the kind that seemed to be the universal Canadian preference—felt-lined, knee-high, rubber footed—in three different sizes. Explaining to the clerk that she had an unexpected guest and wasn't aware of his shoe size, she managed to persuade him into agreeing to let her return the pairs that didn't fit for a full refund. Before she left Mark's she grabbed man's gloves, one pair thin and the other thick and insulated. The final checkout price made her wince, but she'd expected it. Outdoor winter gear was not cheap regardless of where you shopped.

Her last stop in Woodrill was for groceries. She tried to be more discerning here. Loki didn't seem like the type who'd enjoy living on frozen dinners. She wasn't, either, truth be told. She'd never been much of a cook until she'd moved here. Living this far from fast food chains, delivery, and takeout had prompted her to learn. Her grocery bill was nearly equal to what she'd paid for the clothing but she had enough to last for a few weeks, or so she hoped. After loading everything into her truck, she made one last stop before leaving town.

Before moving, she'd only heard references once or twice to Canadians and their love of Tim Horton's, a coffee-and-donut chain. After moving, she'd been driven by simple curiosity to sample their wares. After tasting her first mint chocolate iced cappuccino, she'd willingly been converted to the ranks of "Timmy's" fans. It had become ritual to grab such a beverage—an iced capp—every time she came into town.

She left Woodrill feeling oddly more settled than she had in the past two days. She'd finally come to terms—she hoped—with the situation with Loki. She couldn't do anything but try to adapt and she knew from experience that she could adapt well if she absolutely had to. It seemed intolerable and in many ways it was, but she could do it. She knew that, at the end of Loki's exile, she'd be seeing Thor again. She still wasn't sure how she felt about that or felt about him, for that matter, but she was ready for it to happen. New Jane needed to deal with the remnants of the life that had driven her here. She needed to come to terms with and move on past everything that had happened. Once she could, old Jane and new Jane could finally be reconciled. And that was something she wanted very badly.

.x.

Loki was still sleeping when she got home. She checked in on him first before she set about unpacking everything she'd purchased. The men's clothing she carried quietly into the guest bedroom, setting it on the dresser in plain sight where it couldn't be missed. Loki didn't stir as she moved about, lying on his side facing away from the door.

It was nearing dinner time and Jane was hungry—her iced capp hadn't really done anything for her appetite. She opened the fridge to consider its new contents, pondering what to make. She wanted something warm and filling. She'd become familiar with a number of recipes since moving, some of which she could now make entirely from memory. It was one such recipe she opted for now, and having reached her decision, began pulling what she needed from the pantry and the fridge.

.x.

In her opinion, she'd perfected beef stew. The finished product was, in a word, hearty. Thick chunks of beef—cooked to tenderness and nearly falling apart—were mixed with hunks of red potatoes, onions, carrots, mushrooms, and peas in a heavy base seasoned with beef and chicken stock. Her kitchen had been flooded by the wonderful smell, redolent of bay leaves, meat, and vegetables. Her hunger had steadily increased as she'd worked and for the final two hours it took for the stew to cook she went into her office and did some work in order to try and take her mind off food.

When it was finally ready, she gave herself a generous portion in a bowl and slid into a chair at the kitchen table. She'd just taken the first mouthful when Loki rounded the corner and entered the room.

He looked, in a word, dazed. He was running a hand through the dark mass of his hair which sleep had mussed into disarray. He had the flushed cheeks and glassy eyes of someone in the grips of a bad head cold. She suspected he was still feeling some of the effects of the Nyquil dose as well. He'd donned some of the clothes she'd left him—dark jeans, navy zip-up hooded sweater, socks—all of which seemed to more or less fit.

"Feeling better?" She asked as he blinked several times as though to clear his head of the fog.

"I feel," he said in a voice that was husky from sleep and illness, "less than alive. Sub-human."

"It'll pass. There's food there, if you're hungry."

"Jane Foster is not my cook. I was made aware of this."

"Sometimes exceptions are made," she said before taking another mouthful of food.

"Indeed." He drifted closer to the large pot on the stove, reaching out and lifting the lid to peer at what was inside. "This smells ... palatable."

"Bowls are in the cupboard next to the fridge," she said, indicating with her empty spoon. "Utensils in the drawer to your left. If you're certain you want to eat, that is."

He half-turned to face her. "Why would I not?"

"There's always the risk of poison."

A reluctant smile flickered about his lips. "I shall have to take my chances. I have not eaten since ..."

He trailed off and Jane knew exactly where his thoughts had gone. To forestall a lapse into one of his nastier moods, she went on talking, "Everything fits okay? The clothes?"

He began moving, grabbing himself a bowl and a spoon as she had directed him too. "Yes. Though I question your taste."

"Nowhere nearby to buy tailored suits." Her reply was lightly and completely unapologetic.

"That is regrettable. Wearing these I feel somewhat less than—"

"Arrogant? Overbearing? Villainous?"

Full bowl in hand, he moved to the table and took the chair opposite her own. "—less than myself," he finished, ignoring her interruption completely.

He began to eat as well and for a time they were both silent. Jane pondered, as she chewed, savored, and swallowed every mouthful of her dinner, at the almost-but-not-quite air of companionship that had unexpectedly manifested itself between them. She suspected a great deal of it had to do with his being sick. It had dulled the edge of his intrinsic cruelty, dampened his instinct to insult in all the subtlest of ways. Or perhaps, she was forced to realize, this was just another game. Thor had emphasized the nature of Loki as a trickster. What better way to inflict the most grievous hurts than to attack when all defenses were down?

But Jane was not a fool. Not anymore. And she was going to make a point of being on guard at all times to avoid stumbling directly into any verbal traps he had devised.

She finished her meal before he finished his. She stood, carrying her dishes to the counter where a sink full of dishwater waited. She moved the pot of stew to a back burner; it needed to cool before she could put it away. Leaving Loki to his meal, she stepped down into the living room in order to check on the fire but was intercepted by the ringing of the phone.

The cordless receiver lay on the end table next to the couch. She grabbed it, thumbing the button. "Hello?"

"Jane," said a male voice, and for a moment she grappled with confusion, not recognizing it. A moment later recognition clicked and she found herself smiling warmly.

"Bruce!"

She immediately heard the sound of Loki turning in his chair. Belatedly, she remembered that Loki was all too familiar with Bruce Banner's alter ego, which meant that he was likely familiar with the man himself. Jane began heading to her office, glancing into the kitchen. Loki was twisted around in his seat, focused on her with laser intensity. She knew what he was thinking—Bruce was a part of the Avengers, part of S.H.I.E.L.D. … would she surrender Loki to them?

"I'm ... doing well. Better than well, actually," she said as she walked, replying to Bruce's question. As she walked down the hall to the office, she allowed herself a small smile. Let Loki wonder. Let him fret. It was nice for once to have the upper hand.

.x.

"How are you really?"

"I'm fine, Bruce. I promise." She tried hard to convey a sense of normalcy in her words. Even though she'd only known him for a short time, it hadn't taken long to realize that Bruce was a highly, deeply perceptive person.

"You sound ... strained."

"Do I?" Jane worked on controlling her tone until it was calm, conversational. "I've been feeling under the weather a little."

Concern sharpened Bruce's tone. "Anything serious?"

"A head cold. I'm recovering. The common cold is a lot more common in the frozen north."

He laughed. "I can imagine. How did you settle in? Still missing home?"

"Sometimes," she admitted, thinking back to the wave of bittersweet nostalgia that had battered her earlier in the day as she'd been driving through town. "For the most part, I'm okay with it. This is starting to feel like home now."

They bantered this way, chatter between friends. He asked her about her research and any advances she'd made. She responded in kind by asking about his. Bruce had called her every now and then after she'd first moved here to check in. It was beyond reassuring to know he cared that much despite that they were relatively new to each other as friends. He was the only one from her old life she still talked to. Darcy wasn't permitted to know where Jane had gone or to know any of her contact info—S.H.I.E.L.D considered her a risk in regards to a security leak. Jane needed to remain hidden and anonymous in order to stay out of danger. Darcy, reluctantly, had agreed to all stipulations. The day Jane had left she'd cried hard, hugging her friend tightly. Jane had cried too, and returned the embrace just as tightly.

As they talked, the homesickness she'd experienced before returned; not a longing for a particular place, but for the people she'd been close to. She missed Darcy. She missed Erik too, so much that the thought of him physically hurt. She missed Bruce and the long hours they'd spent visiting while she was in the hospital. In some ways, she missed her old life.

But in other ways, the ways crucial to her survival, she didn't.

Jane and Bruce talked for almost an hour. When she returned the phone to its stand in the living room, Loki was seated on the couch, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, reading the local newspaper. "Don't worry," she said sweetly as he glanced up at her, "I didn't turn you in."

Eyes narrowing, he turned his attention back to the newspaper.

After ensuring the stove was full of wood, Jane headed back to her office. She was well-fed and feeling surprisingly upbeat after her talk with Bruce. It seemed like a good time to be productive.

.x.

She'd drifted off at some point. Her eyes had been burning and she'd taken a break from reading words and graphs and numbers on the screen, leaning her head back against her chair. And then she'd made the mistake of closing her eyes.

A shadow was what woke her, something blocking out the light from overhead. Startled, her eyes snapped open and she gasped. Loki was there.

"What are you—"

She tried to stand. His hands on the arms of her chair stopped her from doing so. He looked the same as he had earlier, dazed and out of focus. She waited for him to say something, heart pounding from being startled awake.

When he did speak, it wasn't at all what she had expected. "What have you been working on, secluded away in this little room?"

Jane blinked. Her alarm began to recede. That he was feeling very unlike himself was apparent. She almost felt sorry for him—newly mortal, exiled, and now suffering from illness. He turned to look at her laptop screen where she'd been working on explaining her theories by way of numerous and extensive calculations.

"Loki ..." His face was still flushed and his eyes had a faraway look to them. He's still feverish, she realized with a frown. He returned his gaze to her face, eyebrows raised as he waited to hear the rest of what she had to say.

Instead, she reached up and laid the back of her hand against his forehead again. And again, his flesh was unnaturally warm. When she took her hand away he was still watching her in silence.

"Go to bed," she said softly, trying and failing to feel anything but pity for the poor little exiled prince.

Murderous prince, her brain reminded her. Traitorous prince.

"I left the Nyquil in your room. Take some. It'll help you sleep all night."

He sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them again they sought her own. "Jane. What is it my brother sees?"

"I don't—"

"In you." His interruption was impatient, perplexed. Comprehension dawned on what exactly he was referring too and she felt her stomach drop in a very unsettling way.

"Is it," he went on, leaning in closer, "something I might see? In time?"

This was not a conversation she wanted to have now. It wasn't a conversation she wanted to have, ever. This close, however, it was impossible not to see him for what he was, not to notice the particular glacial shade of his eyes or the impressive bone structure that alluded to his deific ancestry.

With him this close, it was getting very hard to breathe.

One of his hands lifted from the chair, the fingers curling in loosely. The backs of his knuckles ghosted over the line of her cheek and down the column of her neck. Jane sucked in a silent breath of panicked disbelief. He wasn't in his right mind. He was feverish. If he'd been feeling normal, the only way he'd want to touch her would be to strangle her.

Take control, Jane. "Go to bed, Loki," she repeated in a voice that shook slightly.

His smile was slight, one of wearied self-deprecation. His hand fell away. "A nursemaid's recommendation?"

Wordlessly, she nodded.

He straightened and stepped away. Gazed down at her, a faint frown marring the skin between his brows. Shook his head with an air of mild bewilderment. And finally, thankfully, left the room.

Jane's breath left her in a long, rapid rush. She dropped her head into her hands and wondered how she could have ever been so foolish to think that this would get any easier.

.x.