Author's note: Thank you for all your kind comments so far, I do appreciate the support. :) I suspect this chapter will draw various kinds of reactions from the readership, but you're of course free to tell me your opinions whatever they might be. Well, enough talk, and on with the story!
The mattress under him is surprisingly soft, and when he wakes up from his fitful sleep he isn't sure at first were he is. His head is still cloudy with dream images of filthy dungeons, shackles and chains, and Odin standing before the court pronouncing his judgement…
Strange. This can't be his cell down in the lowest level of the Asgardian dungeons. But then where is he?
He opens his eyes, and suddenly remembers.
He's in Tony Stark's tower.
Damn.
His stomach sinks. The dungeons would have been preferable.
Slowly, he sits up, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep out of his eyes. Though it is nice to wake up for the first time in far too long not wearing shackles, apart from the little silver chains circling his wrists, the fetters he's in now are much worse. Because it isn't simply his body that is shackled this time, but his entire self, as Tony Stark's freaking slave.
Well, that's a great start to the morning, he thinks bitterly to himself as he gets out of bed and stumbles off into the bathroom to wash himself off. He took a lengthy shower yesterday before going to sleep (didn't take him very long to work the water mechanism out), figuring that he might as well use the available facilities while he could, seeing as how they could be taken away at any time. It was a relief after spending so much time in a cell where the chances to wash himself off were limited and far in between. Of course, he was allowed to clean himself up properly before being sent off to Midgard and to Tony Stark, but not quite as thoroughly as he would have liked. The dankness and filth of Asgard's dungeons somehow penetrate into the very pores of a prisoner's skin, clinging to it like a garment.
When he's finished and dressed, he sits back on the bed again. It's not like there's anything else for him to do in here.
So he waits for Tony to summon him for whatever he's planned for him today, not relishing the prospect one bit. The idle nervousness is grating at his nerves, and so he stands up again and prowls around the room in circles, finally coming to a stand before the window.
It offers him a breathtaking view of the city, but he's not in the mood to enjoy it. Especially considering that this is the very city he once tried to conquer, only to be defeated and sent back to Asgard in chains and disgrace. He'd never thought he would see it again.
His hand reaches for the handle. At least he can make us of the opportunity to breathe some fresh air again.
Then there is a voice speaking to him, sounding far too cheerful for someone not even human.
"I'm sorry, Mr Laufeyson, but Mr Stark's orders are for this window to remain closed. If you choose to disregard those instructions, I will have to report your failure to comply, and Mr Stark will be most displeased."
Loki's hand falls back to his side. So this is the computer Jarvis that Tony mentioned that is supposed to keep him under surveillance, then.
It's a pointless instruction, really. The floor is far too many levels above ground for any human or powerless god to survive a fall from. There's no way he can use that window to escape.
Unless he'd opt for a more drastic route. But he has already been given that option at his trial. He could have chosen death back then if he had wanted to. And he didn't.
At least for now, things aren't so bad as to make that a possible alternative. Perhaps that might come to change, but then it will have to be a later concern. Now is now.
Then Jarvis' disembodied voice speaks out again.
"I have reported to Mr Stark that you are awake and about. He requests to see you right away."
There is a faint click from the door as the security mechanism unlocks itself. Loki only stares at it, not feeling in the least bit prepared to go face a Tony Stark who's had an entire night to think about appropriate ways to take revenge on an enslaved god.
"Right away, Mr Laufeyson," comes the voice over the intercom again. This time, the door swings open, and Loki slowly obeys, heading out into the corridor leading into the main room, his stomach churning.
Tony is sitting at the table with a newspaper spread out before him, idly flipping through the pages when Loki enters. The menacing look from yesterday is gone from his face and now he just seems relaxed. Loki isn't sure whether that's a good or a bad thing.
He stops when he's halfway into the room, wondering if Tony is expecting him to kneel in the presence of his master. Still, he remains on his feet. If Tony wants to see him on his knees again, he will first have to give him an expressed order before Loki will debase himself.
But it would appear that the man in front of him has no such inclinations for the moment. Instead, Tony folds the newspaper aside and gives him a grin as he takes in Loki's appearance.
"Good morning, sunshine. Did you sleep well?"
Is that a trick question? Tony is highly unlikely to be interested in the quality of his sleep.
"I slept… adequately," Loki replies warily, not sure where all this is leading.
"I'm glad to hear that your alien energy reserve levels have been replenished, seeing as how I have a little task for you to fulfil today." Tony looks far too happy when he says that, and Loki has a sinking feeling. He's not sure he wants to know what this little task is all about. Serve as a punching bag for the Hulk? Act as a moving target board for Barton's archery practice?
Loki doesn't offer a reply. What is there to say anyway?
Tony continues on, though, undeterred by Loki's silence. "Have a seat, will you?" He gestures to the empty chair at the other side of the table, indicating for Loki to sit down. "No point in you standing around there all day like a mopey poodle."
Slowly, Loki makes his way over to the table, dragging his feet behind him. Ideally, he'd prefer to keep as much distance between himself and Tony as possible in case the man decides to lash out at him, but that's not an option at the moment.
Suddenly, Tony scoots his chair back and stands up as Loki is only a couple of yards away. Loki flinches and takes a step back.
Tony stops in his tracks and holds up his hands. "Whoa there, aren't you a jumpy one, Rudolph," he says, using another one of those ludicrous Midgard nicknames that mean nothing to Loki. "I was merely gonna get a few things from the kitchen. No evil intentions at all."
He grins again, and Loki doesn't believe him for a second. Still, he sits down and watches as Tony rummages around in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors. Apparently having found what he was looking for, the man comes back and sets two rectangular and colourful packages down in front of Loki. Not sure what they are, he stares suspiciously at them.
"Breakfast, Reindeer Games," Tony says, catching onto Loki's confusion.
Breakfast? That wasn't what he had been expecting at all.
Tony walks off to the kitchen cupboard again and returns with a bowl and a spoon that he places before Loki. And that makes him feel vaguely uncomfortable, because he's supposed to be the slave serving on Tony, not the other way around. This turning of tables makes him suspect that Tony has something ominous planned, but he remains seated and merely takes a closer look at the things in front of him, frowning. The two rectangular boxes with strange pictures on them are supposed to be food? He knows that humans don't eat quite the same things as they do back in Asgard, but this seems ridiculous. His stomach is growling at the idea of something edible, though, Gingerly, he grabs the smaller of the packages and turns it around in his hands, not sure how to tackle this strange kind of food.
"Oh for Pete's sake." The box is removed from his hands as Tony comes to stand next to him. "You've never seen a milk carton before?"
Tony does a couple of twists to the box and then tips it over the bowl. The white fluid that comes out does look like milk, though.
As the man starts to fiddle around with the other box, Loki absent-mindedly studies the bowl in front of him; there are kittens painted along the side, kittens playing with yarn, licking their paws, or rolling around in the grass.
Tony pours some of the contents of the larger package into the bowl of kittens as well and hands Loki the spoon as if he was a small child. "Go on, eat. It's not poisonous."
There are odd little things swimming around in the milk, round shapes with holes in the middle. He's never seen anything quite like it and prods at the shapes with the spoon, watching them slink away.
"Come on," he hears a voice say over to his right. "Don't tell me I have to spoon feed you as well?"
"I am fully capable of feeding myself," Loki snaps before he can stop himself and then winces, expecting his insolent comment to earn him at least a backhand to the face, but nothing happens. Relaxing a bit, he puts a spoonful of the shapes into his mouth, chewing slowly.
The round things crunch between his teeth. The taste isn't unpleasant, just very unlike the food he's used to. It's a lot better than what he expected to be served here, and given the sorry excuse for sustenance he had to make do with during his long stint in the dungeons, he can't complain.
His marginally better mood takes a downturn again as he's scraped the bowl clean and Tony reminds him again of the task he's supposed to perform.
"Get over here," the man beckons from where he's gone to stand over in the kitchen area. Loki obeys, as slowly as he dares; the smirk on Tony's face not encouraging him one bit.
There is a red bucket filled with water on the floor. Loki eyes it suspiciously, then looks up as Tony hands him something.
It's a tiny brush with fine strands in blue and white at the end. He turns it around in his hands, not sure what it is for. "Oral B," is says on the handle, whatever that means. He looks up at Tony in confusion.
"The floor needs cleaning," the man says, reading the unspoken question on Loki's face. He gestures to the bucket on the floor and then to the ridiculously tiny brush. "There's the water, and there's the brush. I want this kitchen floor scrubbed, and once you're done with that, you can continue with the rest of the rooms on this floor."
Not all that long ago, anyone with the gall to expect him to perform such menial tasks would have been smitten so hard into the ground that there would be nothing but a smoking hole left. But that was when he still had his powers, before he was turned into a slave. He wants to break the brush in two and throw the pieces into Tony's smug, self-satisfied face, but he doesn't.
You decided you'd rather go on living. This is the price you pay, a voice whispers to him in the back of his head. And as much as he hates it, he knows the voice is right. He's made his choice, at least for the time being.
"Jarvis will keep an eye on you at all times, so no shenanigans. And just to make sure, I'll have a live transmission feed directly to my cell phone so I can keep track that you don't slack off. I expect you to be finished with the entire floor once I'm back here."
Loki sags slightly as Tony cheerfully claps him on the shoulder as he walks past him on his way to the door. "Have fun, Reindeer Games, and I'll see you again in the evening," he offers as parting words.
Loki remains standing for several minutes after Tony has left the room, staring emptily in front of him.
If you think that dying is preferable to submitting, you're free to do so any time, the little voice in his head whispers to him again.
But he's not ready to die just yet. Clenching his teeth to control his simmering anger, he picks up the bucket of water, ignoring the splash of water that sloshes over the rim and drenches the leg of his pants.
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