Author's note: Thank you so much again for your continued support of this story, it really means a lot to me! :D
This time, there are two cardboard boxes of papers in front of him, both a bit smaller than the previous ones. He's almost made it down to the bottom of the first box – which Tony said contained minutes and records from board meetings, though the words mean little to him – and mechanically picks up the last few sheets of paper, sorting them out as well.
Tony, on his hand, is sitting on the couch some distance away, reading through some documents nestled on his lap as his hands absentmindedly keep fiddling with a little colourful cube. It clacks rhythmically as he twists and turns the sections around, changing the ever-flowing pattern of colours. He recognizes the thing, having seen Tony play around with it before.
Despite the specifics of his situation still being confusing and illogical, at least the current seating arrangements are something he can relate to and that make sense, given the differences in their social status – him on the floor, surrounded by a sea of papers and folders, and Tony lounging comfortably on the couch. That's one of the few things so far that are as one could expect them to be, that would have been similar back in Asgard.
There is still precious little of his situation that makes sense, though, so when something actually does, it stands out in the ocean of bewilderment and unfamiliarity. But at least it would seem that his presence is tolerated now, no longer serving to routinely put Tony into a bad mood, like he all too well remembers how it used to do.
Perhaps the change in attitude has been brought by his finally being of some use and doing something that the man actually considers worthwhile.
It would be a logical conclusion. Because what master would look with anything but disapproval on a slave that isn't useful? Feeding and clothing a slave who can't contribute anything valuable would be distasteful to any master, of course.
He finishes with the last few papers in his hand, placing them into the correct folder, and is about to reach out for the second box still waiting for him when the sound of Tony's voice makes him look up from his work.
"Done already, huh?" the man says, giving the pile of folders on the floor a scrutinizing glance.
"Yes," he answers, eyes following Tony as the man gets up from his sprawled position on the couch and saunters over to where Loki is sitting. Crouching down, Tony picks up the top folder, opening the front flap and slowly flipping through the pages with his thumb.
After a little while of this, he smacks the folder shut and gives Loki a brief nod. "Looks fine," he says, as he puts the thing back into the pile. "Good job, Rudolph."
With that, he stands up and walks back to the couch again where he nonchalantly arranges himself in a position that looks positively indecent, returning to his documents and his cube, leaving Loki to his second box of papers.
Loki throws a surreptitious glance at the man. He can't remember the last time Tony voiced any approval for anything he's done, as opposed to annoyance or exasperation, which seems to be the default emotions he's evoked in the man for most of his stay here. And there's a bubble of resentment rising up in him as he realizes that a part of him actually appreciates the approving comment, like a dog being petted on its head by its master. When did Tony's being pleased with him ever matter to him beyond the mere practical aspects, to ensure that his life here won't be any more difficult than necessary?
Perhaps he should have been fitted with a tail so he could wag it while he's at it.
It shouldn't make any difference what a mortal thinks of him, especially not when it comes to simple matters like paper-sorting. Truly, he must have fallen far when a comment like that from Tony can cause that little stirring of something that isn't resentment or fear, or anger or desperation or any of the other negative, draining feelings he's become all too acquainted with since coming here. Even if the previous roaring of those emotions has subsided to a dull murmur by now, there's still been so precious little falling on the positive side of the scale for him that even this simple comment gets a welcoming reception in his mind.
And it's not until now that he realizes how much he's missed that, something that's not just another expression of his being unwanted and unappreciated and failing to live up to expectations; sentiments that he's already all too familiar with from his life in Asgard. Since his coming here, there have been so precious few good things – an absence of bad things isn't really the same – and no matter how tiny and insignificant this might be, he still wants to hold onto it for a little while.
So for a brief moment, he lets himself enjoy that faint little stirring caused by Tony's approval, basking in its tiny warmth, before resolutely shoving the blatant proof of weakness aside.
Because it's ridiculous and unbecoming that he should care about any such, even for a second.
No, it should not affect him what a mortal thinks of him.
Stifling a yawn, he turns another page of the report in front of him. Not that he usually bothers with formal documents like this, but as this one contains a quick and dirty overview of the recent mishap in Stark Industries, he supposes he should take a look at it. At least the perpetrator has been found out, even though he managed to leave the country before the police could pick him up.
Mr Crawford, the unassuming Marketing Director, who wouldn't stand out in a crowd of three. That had been quite the shock; he'd never suspected that guy of all people.
At least he didn't get his hands on any of the secret information he'd been fishing for, though the three million of embezzled bucks are still gone. Oh well. That's peanuts given the circumstances; he can live with that, even though his already dented ability to trust people has gotten another buckle after this episode.
Sighing, he makes another few flips of the Rubik's cube in his hands, his fingers sliding over the well-worn surfaces and edges. The little clicks of the sections slipping into place are soothing in their familiarity, and even though the cube has long since stopped providing any real challenge, it's still a pastime that keeps his hands busy while his brain is occupied with boring stuff. Like other people might doodle or twirl a pencil between their fingers when forced to plough through mind-numbing reading material.
But at least this issue has resolved itself, without the magic helping hand of Pepper. So perhaps his life can actually return to some degree of normalcy after all.
Well, as normal as it can possibly be when you have an enslaved god of mischief living under your roof. But then again, when was the last time his life was ever normal or uncomplicated? If it ever were, it's so long ago that he's forgotten about it by now.
He eyes Loki over the top edge of his wad of papers, watching as the god dutifully arranges the documents into different piles in accordance with whatever system he's made up.
At least he isn't making any trouble or protesting the paper-sorting task, or engaging in any form of passive sabotage.
He supposes that's gotta count for something.
The non-stop, almost obsessive twisting of the cube and the little sharp clacks that accompany it are mildly distracting at first, and then oddly mesmerizing. Soon, he finds his attention straying from his papers to the cube in Tony's hands as his eyes are inevitably drawn to it. He stares as the little patches of red and blue and green switch places, turning the different sides of the cube into a uniform colour, for a moment forgetting about his own duties.
Then, suddenly, Tony looks up and for a fleeting moment their gazes meet across the distance physically separating them.
He quickly turns away, breaking eye contact as he once more returns his focus to his papers.
"Want to give it a try?" he suddenly hears Tony's voice say to his left.
He looks up just in time to see Tony draw his hand back and a second later lob the cube over to him in a lazy underhand throw. He catches the thing more out of reflex than anything else.
"Picked it up in Wal-Mart for ten bucks years ago, and it has offered me a higher quote of fun-to-money than almost any stuff I've ever bought," Tony continues as Loki turns the cube around in his hands, then giving it a tentative twist.
"Anyway, the goal is to arrange the cube so that each side sports one and the same colour," Tony explains as if it wasn't obvious already.
His full attention is on the cube as he makes another few twists, trying to find the underlying logic to the puzzle. After a little while, things start to fall into place in his head, like an equation lining itself up, all ready and waiting to be solved.
He concentrates as he realigns the sections in accordance with the logic unfolding in his head, fingers working eagerly to solve the puzzle as time floats away in a haze. Another twist, and he wrinkles his forehead in consternation as he realizes that he's missed a turn. Quickly, he reverses the last few moves and then continues on the previous track, spinning the little cubes around, rearranging them to fit the images in his head.
Some time later, the puzzle is solved. He stares at it in satisfaction, then looks up at Tony who's watching him with one eyebrow raised.
"I… believe this should prove an acceptable solution," he says, trying not to sound too pleased with himself as he turns the cube around in his hand, displaying the uniformly coloured sides.
"Well, I'll be damned," Tony says with a quirk of his mouth. "Quite the smart one, aren't you?"
Loki makes no reply to that; he's too busy trying to quell the little surge that once more stirs inside of him at the unexpected compliment.
This chapter came about as a result of AidennQueen's question about how Loki might react to receiving some praise from Tony. And well, here's the answer – a little mixture of both, I suppose. ;)
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