Author's note: Well, judging by the reviews, it would seem that you readers were glad that Loki finally got to go outside! Somehow, I think Loki was quite happy too…
He turns the shirt on the board around, flattening it out with his hand before pressing the hot iron down against the fabric. This is the first time since his abysmal failure when he managed to burn a hole in one of Tony's shirts that he's done any ironing, but he's gotten the hang of it by now. It's not a difficult task by any means, it just takes a bit of practice.
His thoughts are drifting away to the last time he stood here with the iron in a firm grip, trying to make the best out of the situation he found himself in, and ending up ruining the first piece of clothing he got his hands on. He winces at the painful memory, but at least he doesn't have to fear any terrible repercussions now in case he should make the same mistake as last time. Which he, in any case, isn't about to do.
It would be a blatant lie to say that he enjoys the chore, but it's a break from the monotonous paper sorting, at least, and he's glad to have something else to do for a while. Trying to go to sleep without having never-ending lines of black text on white paper dancing beneath his closed eyelids before his inner vision should definitely count as an improvement.
As he's standing there, arranging and rearranging the pieces of clothing on the ironing board, he has to admit, as strange as it sounds to his ears, that he's actually in a fairly good mood. Or at least as close to what could possibly count as it, given the circumstances.
However, the reason isn't the welcome change of tasks, but something else entirely.
It's the fact that just yesterday, Tony actually let him go outside.
And for the first time since coming here, he now has something to look forward to. Something to brighten his day, something to bring him at least a little slice of happiness. He'd never expected there'd be anything of the sort awaiting him here; at best, he'd thought he might eventually learn how to endure his situation, in the knowledge that it would at least be preferable to the non-improvable condition of being dead. And the only thing to keep him going would be his desperately clinging to the flimsy, futile hope that things would somehow change for the better in the distant future, while knowing that such a day would probably remain nothing but a desperate wish.
And he realizes that that's what makes all the difference. Not that he can't appreciate the lack of beatings and whippings and similar punishment since his coming here, but an absence of bad things isn't the same as the presence of something good.
Because an absence of bad things can only offer a sense of relief, but the presence of something good can bring forth the genuine will to go on for another day, in the knowledge that there's actually something worthwhile waiting around the corner. A small ray of sunshine, a little glimmer of light. Perhaps not much, but still enough to turn his situation from glum and dreary to something containing a much-needed sparkle of life.
Even if his current accommodations and circumstances would be considered luxurious compared to what slaves in Asgard normally have to make do with, and something that only the most pampered of bed slaves could ever dream of, it's still a prison. Nothing will change that; a gilded cage is still a cage, but even a bird with clipped wings can appreciate being allowed to leave its stifling confinements.
Before all this, getting to go outside would have been a trifle to be taken for granted, but now it has been turned into a much-coveted luxury that he feared he'd never have again. And just standing out there in the open, temporarily released from his prison, had been so exhilarating, not quite unlike having the flow of magic rushing through his body again. For the first time in so long, he'd been able to walk around freely and unrestrained, and even though Tony's little tracking device had been circling his wrist and the man himself had never strayed far, it was almost like being free again.
Yes, even if he's stuck in an alien realm, in a world far apart from his own, inhabited by a strange and foreign people, it was still a sense of glorious freedom, no matter how small.
And now, it's like the sun outside shines a little brighter than before, despite the stacks of grey clouds nestling around it. Like his body is no longer held down by the previous invisible but heavy weight that has been sitting on his shoulders for so long.
It's still confusing why Tony would let him out like that after he wilfully disobeyed orders, as opposed to taking the necessary steps to ensure that his slave would be securely locked up to prevent further incidents, perhaps even put into chains to make sure there'd be no repeats. In hindsight, he can admit that it had been an idiotic, ill-considered whim to sneak out onto the roof like that simply because the opportunity had presented itself. But the temptation had been too great, because for all he knew, that might be the only chance he would ever get. And if he had passed up on it, he would no doubt have ended up regretting it.
Yet another of the many things about Tony that are making no sense, regardless how he twists the recent happenings around in his head. Slaves don't get rewarded for disobedience, they get punished.
But then again, he supposes he will have many years ahead of him trying to understand whatever logic is driving Tony's actions. Given the man's obvious intelligence, there's certainly nothing wrong in that aspect, at least. There must be other things at play, as difficult as it is to perceive them from where he's standing.
Well, he should have time figuring it out, he supposes. Time that will evidently not be as unbearable and intolerable as he had once been certain.
He picks up the now wrinkle-free shirt from the board, folding it as neatly as he can manage, then reaches out for the next one in the pile.
As he turns back again, he catches a glimpse of the window behind him, and the sight is strangely comforting, a reassuring reminder that all is not dreary and bleak; there's actually something now that he can look forward to. Seeing the sky outside is no longer depressing or fills him with despair, but offers a small sliver of hope.
A hope that maybe if he behaves according to expectations and doesn't make any trouble, Tony will let him go outside soon again.
The clatter of forks and knives against dinner plates is occasionally interspersed by the soft slurps from the machine preparing Tony's coffee, the ubiquitous brown liquid that the man drinks with almost every meal, as if his body depended on the stuff to function properly. He even had Loki try it once, but the taste was foul and bitter, and he can't understand why someone would willingly drink such a concoction.
The smell is still rather nice, though.
"How's the ironing coming along?" Tony asks from across the table as he inelegantly digs into the food in front of him.
Loki looks up. "It's… mostly done," he says, hoping Tony doesn't think that he's working too slowly.
"Uh-huh. Any burnt shirts so far?" the man says flippantly between mouthfuls, clearly not finding the possibility a very big deal at all, as strange as that is.
"No." He still feels stupid about that old ironing incident, and he has no idea why Tony never brought it up when it's obvious he knew about the ruined shirt. But he's glad for it, though; not even now would he feel comfortable having to explain himself in that matter.
"Figured you never did much ironing back in Asgard, did you?" comes the next question. Tony likes asking questions, almost as much as he likes talking, and as perplexing as the habit was at first, Loki has mostly gotten used to it by now.
He shakes his head. "No. There were servants around for that." And slaves as well, of course.
His gaze drifts to the sky outside, visible through the window only a few arms' lengths away from him. Yesterday's stroll in the park is still lingering, a pleasant memory never far from his mind. Even now, he can vividly recall the fresh air in his lungs and the wind on his face and the sun warming his skin, things he's yearned for for far too long.
"Shame you're not technologically more advanced up there in alien Viking-land, or you wouldn't have had a need for any slaves." Tony comments as he gestures with his fork.
Whether it was intended or not, he can clearly hear the implication in there. For someone like Tony with a household full of robots and technology, a slave is bound not to be very useful. And he doesn't like the unavoidable inferences that can be drawn from that, because such a state of the matter is doing nothing to improve his standing here, nor the chances that he will get to see that outside again anytime in the near future.
As Tony continues to talk, Loki's eyes linger on the window. Not that he actually enjoys performing simple household chores or serving on a mortal – or on anyone, for that matter – but there's one thing that appeals even less to him right now, and that's lacking opportunities to gain enough of Tony's approval to be let out of the tower soon again. Unfortunately, there are so precious few things available to him that will help him in acquiring the man's favour, so he'd better make good use of whatever chances he can get.
The slurping machine on the kitchen counter beeps, signalling that the coffee is ready. Before Tony can do it, Loki stands up and walks over to the counter, taking the filled cup and placing two pieces of sugar into it from the nearby bowl, like he's seen the man do so many times before. Then he returns to the table and sets the cup down in front of Tony before seating himself.
The man raises an inquisitive eyebrow at him.
"So, first-class service today, I see. Just the blond and buxom flight attendant missing for the picture to be complete," he says, voice pitched in a way that makes it sound slightly off, as he eyes Loki with a vaguely peculiar, lingering look. Then, he slowly lets a hand circle around the handle of the cup, and after a moment of silence takes a sip.
And Loki isn't quite sure how to interpret that voice and that look, can't tell whether they approve or not. But in the end, he decides for the former. Of course, it has to be the former, nothing else would make sense.
Granted, he's having a hard time reading and understanding Tony, but there is no possible reason why the man shouldn't approve of his slave serving him a drink. In Asgard, such a thing comes with the territory, and many from the higher nobility keep slaves standing behind their chairs during mealtime merely for the convenience of having someone to fill their empty cups for them.
And as Tony continues to sip on his coffee with that unreadable look of his, the thought once more resurfaces that it would serve him well to behave more in line with what Tony would reasonably expect from him, to make sure he's contented.
The man does hold the key to the outside, after all.
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