Author's note: Wow, I can't believe that this story has reached well over 500 reviews! :D When I started writing this, I never imagined that so many people would take an interest in it, and it makes me really, really happy and mushy inside! :D You guys are so awesome, thanks for all the support!
And now, finally, for the promised *something* that you have all (okay, some of you) been waiting for… This chapter is really my favourite one of this entire story, so I hope you enjoy it too! :)
His days pass slowly, in constant oscillation between bone-grinding boredom and aggravating frustration, between unwilling resignation and unrelenting fear about the punishments still hanging over his head that have for unclear reasons still not been meted out. For wrecking Tony's living room. For throwing a potted plant at his head. For having contemplated harming himself. For ruining Tony's clothes and – even worse – trying to hide the evidence. For his actions in New York. For throwing Tony out a window. And for whatever additional offences he might have committed since coming here that Tony thinks he should be punished for.
But somehow, the scales seem to have tipped, because now, he can swear that Tony is the one avoiding him, quickly retreating into his workshop to fiddle with his science and Midgardian technology whenever he isn't leaving the tower for unknown business elsewhere.
Perhaps the man has grown bored with his slave, no longer finding any entertainment in the everyday fact that the degradation and subjugation of his defeated enemy has become by now. Maybe he's come to the conclusion that he will be content simply dishing out whatever punishments are still in store, while forgoing further petty amusements in the form of humiliating his slave, at least for the time being.
Whatever Tony might be thinking, there is little point in him speculating – there's nothing he can do about it anyway – so instead he just aimlessly wanders around in the tower, without any specific goal in aim. The restlessness is crawling under his skin, and he finds himself unable to sit down lest his straying mind takes over to lead him into places far too dark and dreary. So he prowls like a restless ghost, meandering through corridors and hallways and rooms, desperate for anything that will take his thoughts off their current downward spiral.
He's not really thinking, merely allowing his feet to take him wherever they want to go. It's not like there is any semblance of a purpose to anything for him anyway.
And without realizing where he's been heading, he suddenly finds himself standing outside Tony's workshop, not quite sure how he ended up there. There are noises drifting through the crack of the half-open door, and he lets curiosity get the better of him, gingerly peering inside.
As expected, Tony is in there, working in deep concentration at something or the other at his workbench. His back is turned to the door, but Loki gets the impression that he could have been standing right there in front of the man and he wouldn't even have taken note of his presence for all he's focusing on the little gadget he's tinkering with. Most likely another one of his endless inventions.
Of course, he would be better off leaving the man to his own devices; nothing good will ever come out of lingering in Tony's presence. So his feet start moving again, but instead of turning and walking back like they should, they carry on forwards, further into the workshop, as curiosity and boredom get the better of him.
Tony's forehead is creased with deep lines of concentration, laser-sharp focus directed onto the gadget in his hands as he digs around in its innards with a thin metal tool. Loki has no idea what the device is or what it is supposed to do, but he stands there watching regardless. It's not the usual flippant Tony sitting there, but rather the inventor, the scientist, and the shift grabs his attention. He's not used to seeing him being so serious about anything, really putting his mind into crafting something else than his usual sarcastic remarks and conceited witticisms. And for some reason, that is drawing him in, though he should of course know better.
He takes another step closer, despite knowing he ought to walk out of here before Tony discovers him sneaking around in what must be the man's most sanctified place in the entire tower.
And another step.
And then, there's the sharp noise of something crunching and breaking under his foot, the crack ear-splitting in the focused silence hovering over the room.
The man at the workbench startles, and there is the unmistakable sound of something snapping as his hands reflexively jerk.
Uh-oh.
Not even a blink of an eye later, Tony whirls around to face him, annoyance written across every line of his features.
"What the fuck are you doing creeping up on me like that?" he snaps, darting up from his chair like a wolfish predator taken by surprise by a hunter. Not waiting for Loki to deign that with an answer, he gestures with the tool still in his hand at the broken remains of whatever lying sadly on top of the bench, punctuating his words with angry stabbing motions. "Do you have any idea how long I worked on this freaking thing? And now it's all broken because you had to come sneaking around here like someone out of Spies Like Us!
Letting out a gruff howl of frustration at his wasted work, he throws the tool down onto the grimy surface of the bench; a sharp clatter of metal against metal before the instrument slides off the edge and onto the floor, scattering pieces of broken gadget as it goes.
And Loki feels that far too familiar lurch in his stomach as Tony turns to him, fists clenched and eyes narrowed in indignation. Why the hell did he ever think it would be a good idea to come here and look Tony over his shoulder as he worked? He should have known better than this and left before things went southwards.
Reflexively, he takes a step back. And another one. Then, his leg catches onto something on the floor, probably the very same treacherous gadget that he stepped on moments ago and caused this whole disaster in the first place.
He tries to regain his balance, but the perfidious thing on the floor thwarts his efforts and instead he ends up stumbling backwards and ungracefully falling on his ass.
Tony takes a step in his direction, hands still clenched into tight fists.
So that's it, then; Tony's finally had it and isn't going to hold off any longer. The first of all those punishments that he's been waiting for forever is finally about to rain down over him. And Loki knows full well he isn't allowed to defend himself and fight back, not if he doesn't want to risk getting dragged back to Asgard by a group of malicious and spiteful Einherjers far too eager to deliver him up for execution. But he can at least still protect himself, no matter how little good it will do him in the end, so he curls himself into a ball, legs drawn up to shield his ribcage, and raises an arm to cover his face.
And then he waits.
For a long time, nothing happens; it is as if time has grinded to a halt. Tony appears to be just standing there somewhere above him, waiting for who knows what.
Then there is a soft shuffle of feet and an even softer ruffle of clothes as Tony crouches down next to him.
"Hey, Reindeer Games," a voice startlingly devoid of its previous anger says somewhere above him, and Loki slowly lowers the arm raised in protection of the impending onslaught halfway to meet with a pair of brown eyes, likewise devoid of anger. A hand lightly touches his shoulder, and he flinches at the unexpected nature of this physical contact. "I'm not going to hurt you. You can take that arm down," the voice continues, still as perplexingly not-angry.
And that makes no sense at all. So he just keeps staring emptily at the man, uncomprehending and confused, not offering a response.
"You understand what I'm saying? I'm not going to hurt you," Tony repeats himself when the silence has gone on for half an eternity, sounding like he's speaking to a frightened child rather than to a hated enemy. His fingers curl around the arm that Loki still hasn't fully lowered yet, pushing it downwards, gently at first and then more insistently when there's resistance. And Loki hopes the twitch he felt in his arm just now wasn't a tremble.
"Why wouldn't you," he says reflexively, almost antagonisingly, bewildered at Tony's contradiction of this surely the most natural thing in the world.
Tony shifts where he's crouching next to Loki and rakes a hand through his hair, gazing at something at the far wall. For some reason he's looking uncharacteristically lost and unsure, as if he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Then he sighs and looks down at his hands instead. "It's a Midgardian thing," he finally says. "We don't go around beating up on people who aren't able to defend themselves." A short pause. "Well, not most of us, at least."
The brown eyes then turn back to bore into his, contemplative and not entirely unkind. And there is no doubt about it; the anger from only a moment ago is definitely gone, now, having disappeared into thin air as if by magic. And Loki isn't sure what to make of it; it is certainly no kind of magic that he's familiar with.
And then, it is as if all those whirling emotions suddenly congregate once more, swarming together to form a massive, gigantic wave that comes crashing over him without warning, taking every semblance of tightly held control with it. Everything is swept away in that whirl stream of howling madness, just like that one time when he smashed Tony's living room to pieces. All those terrible feelings of being powerless and helpless, the never-ending despair and hopelessness, all his old and current fears, everything is just too much to handle. Once more, the pressure gets too high and the boiling mixture beneath demands to be let out lest he explode.
He can feel how something within him snaps and breaks, but something is different from last time. Maybe it's the relief brought by Tony's unexpected reassurances, maybe it's the lingering feeling of a hand gently touching his shoulder a few heartbeats ago, or maybe it's the sight of those not-angry brown eyes looking down at him; whatever the reason, this time, the effect of the crashing wave is quite another.
A moment later, Tony's hand is back on his shoulder again, the man mumbling soft nothings that Loki barely even registers as he lies there on the floor crying, his body wracked by sobs and his pathetic tears spilling over his cheeks and staining the mosaic concrete tiles beneath.
And in that moment he isn't sure if he hates himself or Tony the most.
Himself, for showing weakness, or Tony, for showing pity.
Well, could it be that the runaway angst train might finally have had its emergency brake pulled…
Kudos to Kerttu for being the one who suggested the idea to me that Loki might eventually have a reaction involving crying. I hadn't originally intended to bring a crying!Loki into the story, but the idea was just too good to pass up on, so here we are. ^^
Please review. :)