Author's note: Well, I admit that I have deliberately been avoiding the subject matter of this chapter ever since this story started, thinking I could get away with it, because I didn't know how it should reasonably play out if it was ever brought up. But, Potkanka got me thinking better of it, so here it is… ;) I'm sure you'll get what I'm referring to pretty soon; several of you guys have actually asked me about it already.
Another breakfast along the line; he's long lost count of how many there have been since his coming here. Despite having eaten countless more back in Asgard, it still inexplicably feels like there has been a greater number of them in Tony's tower than in all those preceding centuries.
His spoon is slowly stirring around in the bowl in front of him, only occasionally traversing the distance up to his mouth, his mind being occupied by other things. Tony's voice is droning on as usual, creating a familiar background tapestry of sound. But he's not really listening, because his eyes keep drifting to the window and the magnificent view of the sky outside. And he sincerely hopes he won't have to wait too long before Tony will let him out again.
Absentmindedly, he lets his fingers twirl the spoon around, playing around with the little round shapes that are quick to slip away as the metal cuts meandering patterns through the milk. One thing is clear, though; if the man is in a good mood, particularly if Loki has a part in that, the chances that he will decide to once more grant such a favour to his slave should be significantly higher.
The dislike of having to cater to a mortal's whims rustles inside of him, but the feeling still pales against the prospect of getting away from his stifling confines and the constant reminder of his inescapable situation, so he pushes it back down.
Apparently finding that the meal has dragged on for long enough, Tony suddenly scoots his chair back and stands up, eyeing Loki's still half-full bowl with a crooked eyebrow. "Still at it, huh?" he asks before taking one final swig from his cup of coffee, then setting it down at the tabletop. "Well, if there's anything, I'll be down in my workshop, fixing up some things for my new suit."
With that, he walks off, but after a few steps he seems to think better of his decision and halts in his tracks, turning back to Loki. "Oh, by the way, if you should find a document issued by Petersen Electrodrome, let me know," he says. "They promised to send me some data I want to have a look at before upgrading my transmodulator. It should probably be lying around in today's box of papers, so if you find it, bring it down to me as soon as possible, alright?"
Loki nods, and a few seconds later Tony is on his way to tinker with his inventions.
It doesn't take too long before he's finished the last of his Cheerios and cleaned up after the meal, eyes not leaving the window for longer than necessary. Then, he proceeds to the living room to deal with the papers waiting for him.
After perhaps half an hour or so he encounters the asked-for document among the piles of paper. Letting mild curiosity get the better of him, he flips his thumb through the sheets, but the data printed on them don't mean much to him, so instead, he gets up from the floor and heads down to the workshop, document in hand.
The door is open when he gets there, and he peers inside before entering. As expected, Tony is in there, fiddling with something at the workbench at the far end wall, his back turned towards the door. Loki can't see much of what the man is doing, but there are heaps of tools and equipment spread out all around him, even on the floor.
Gingerly, he steps inside, realizing with a wince that he hasn't set his foot in here since… well, that time when he so shamefully broke down and cried right in front of Tony. It feels odd being down here again; so much has… changed since then. Of course, the memory of the desperation and fear that had been raging inside of him at the time is still vivid. But at least that's all it is now – a memory, nothing more than that.
He comes to a halt in the middle of the room. There's a dull but insisting buzz emanating from a nearby piece of machinery, so Tony hasn't heard him entering, still fully focused on whatever is in front of him on the flat metal surface.
For a couple of heartbeats, he waits, but Tony doesn't turn, and Loki realizes that he will have to call Tony's attention. His thumb toys with a corner of the thin wad of papers in his hands and he chews hesitantly on his lower lip as he deliberates with himself. Despite having been here for so long, this is the first time he's ever been in a situation where he's actually had to address Tony. Up until now, he's managed to get away without doing it. The few times he's actually had to tell Tony something, the man's attention had already been directed to him, and he's never needed to do anything to get it.
Until now, that is.
Of course, he knows full well that there's only one acceptable way for a slave to address his master, and that is making something unpleasant churn inside of him, the idea of speaking the fact of the matter out loud.
And really, it shouldn't make a difference, because it's not like it changes anything; it's merely an acknowledgement of circumstances that are unchangeable and undeniable, so why is it that it's still making him feel like that, as if his tongue has been transformed into lead? It's not like it would be the worst humiliation he's had to suffer since coming here. Nor the worst he's suffered before coming here.
At the end of the day, it's just a word, is it not? One tiny, measly little word, and yet it's making his skin crawl like his aversion is demanding to manifest itself physically. Perhaps because it's the last thing left to cement the undesirable truth, the final admission of the reality of what his life will be from now on.
But even if Tony, for whatever reason, has never insisted on it, the respectful address would of course appeal to him; that's something obvious that goes without saying. And surely it would please the man even more to hear that particular word out of his slave's mouth now that it's not forced or ordered but instead offered voluntarily.
His hand grips a little tighter around the papers as reluctance claws inside of him, growing stronger by the second. Sure he needs to call on Tony's attention somehow, but it doesn't have to be with words, does it? He could cough or clear his throat, or even pretend to accidentally slam his foot against some of the metal equipment on the floor so that the resulting clang will alert Tony of his presence.
But neither alternative is any good – the first would be blatantly disrespectful, and the second too obvious, neither serving to impress Tony.
He winces. Maybe he's just stalling in the hopes that Tony is going to turn around by his own volition, noticing Loki's presence before he has to make a choice about how to handle the situation, thereby taking the unpleasant decision out of his hands.
And that's when he remembers the view of the sky from the window during breakfast and the promises contained therein, and he realizes that his decision has already been made.
Yes, it's a humiliating address to take into his mouth, but one word only. It's a small price to pay, isn't it? If it will serve to put Tony in a good mood and to improve the man's disposition towards him, then it would mean that sky should once more be his for a little while. And truth be told, this is probably one of the best opportunities he'll get in a long time to help him with that. There are so precious few other possibilities for him, being stuck in a realm where he understands little of how things are done and what is expected of him, where he's unskilled at most of the tasks that might reasonably be assigned to a slave, where his usefulness is laughably small.
But this one thing is something he could easily do, one of the few actions he could take that would surely serve to put him into Tony's good graces and increase his chances of getting to go outside again.
It's like forcing a walnut through a needle's eye, and the taste is bitter in his mouth, but the image of the sky filling his inner vision is like a soothing balm and makes the aversion possible to overcome and endure.
"Master?" he says, hoping Tony will hear him over the noise the first time so he doesn't have to repeat himself.
The man at the workbench freezes like time has just grinded to a sudden stop.
Then, as if he's thawing again, one body part at a time, he slowly and jerkily turns around to face Loki, who swallows. The look on the man's face is one that doesn't bode well.
And he feels that all-too familiar lurch of his stomach, knowing that something is wrong but not having any idea what it is, but having little doubt that he is the cause of it.
"What the hell was that?" Tony asks as he throws the tool still in his hand down onto the bench, his incredulous stare boring into Loki like needles. At least he doesn't sound angry, but he's obviously not happy either.
He hesitates, not quite sure how to tackle the unexpected reaction. Tony looks upset, as if Loki has done something very wrong, and once more there is that wave of confusion washing over him.
Not knowing what else to do, but feeling he should try to salvage the situation somehow, he holds the papers out in front of him, like a placating offering. "I thought you said… I should come here to give you these when I found them."
Tony rubs a hand over his face. It leaves a smudgy dark stain on his cheek. "That's not what I was referring to," he says, making an ugly grimace. "I meant that word you just said." A short, but noticeable pause. "Just… don't call me that, okay?"
His face must be showing his befuddlement, because Tony lets out a deep sigh that comes off more like a groan. "Look, it's not a term we use to address other people here." He makes a face as his eyes roll skywards. "Yeah, well, unless you count some people who are into, uh, certain kinds of adult games, but I don't think you'd want to go there. My name is Tony, it's what normal people would use. Or Anthony, in emergencies. All clear?"
It's not, but Loki nods anyway, since that should be the safest option, feeling himself deflate like a leaking balloon at Tony's obvious disapproval.
So that hadn't been the right thing to do, despite everything telling him the opposite. And once more he's managed to displease Tony through his unfamiliarity with Midgardian ways and customs. Suddenly, the blue sky feels like it's drifting further away from him, and he desperately wants to grab onto it, but he has absolutely no idea how to, and it's one of the most frustrating feelings he has ever experienced. He can do nothing but stand there and watch as it keeps floating off out of his reach, him utterly powerless to stop it.
Then, as he's certain he can't handle the frustration and the strange mood any longer, Tony takes a step closer, reaching out a hand for the document that Loki had forgotten he was still holding, his face lightening up. "Oh, so there it is. Awesome! Glad you found it, Bambi; I really need this data."
There's even the hint of a smile there too as he looks at Loki, like the recent mishap is already magically forgotten.
And at that, Loki feels himself slowly relax. The sky suddenly doesn't feel so far away anymore, having once more returned to reaching distance.
Poor Loki, trying so hard, and yet failing so miserably…
But I guess that answers the question of how *would* Loki choose to address Tony if he had to…
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