A/N: I've decided to put up a new chapter of this story every Saturday, so if you like this story enough to check up on it, but not enough to follow it, then just keep your eye on the Avengers fandom every Saturday (about 12/1/2 O'Clock British time... -ish... no promises).

Anyway, before I forget again, a huge thank you to my beta, Flame of the Darkness for helping to spot some minor errors throughout the story, and helping to inflate my ego in terms of my writing abilities. XD

Final note: Fanfiction decided to do away with my page break (which was ten hyphons) for the previous chapter, so they'll be boldly announced as thus:

-BREAK-

Like to see Fanfiction mess that one up...

But anyhow, enjoy the story, and don't forget to join my slowly growing army of followers... and maybe favourite and review the story whilst you're at it, please... : )

Chapter 2

Servitude

I freeze, staring at the crazy god in front of me. Because surely he is crazy; fucking insane, in fact!

"W-what do y-you mean by-by never leaving here?" I stutter. His smile widens to a grin.

"You either stay here and live, or I kill you," he says simply. I choke in fear at my options. "You see, Shana, I cannot allow you to tell anyone of my presence on your precious planet. I simply cannot risk it."

"But I won't tell anyone!" I blurt out quickly. He gives me a patronizing look.

"I cannot take the risk. You mortals talk quite freely, whether through this 'Facebook' you mentioned before, or behind the backs of those whom you are speaking of. I could kill you swiftly, if you would prefer it, or you could have the greatest gift of them all."

"Oh? And what would that 'gift' be?" I ask, eyeing him doubtfully.

"Your servitude," he states simply.

Right. Shit.

I leap to my feet, whip around so I face the door... and keep spinning, landing heavily on the floor.

"Ah, shit!" I shout, rubbing my tender, injured arse and grimacing at my dizzy nausea. Loki simply smirks.

"If you choose to stay, I assure you that I will heal any lasting damage you might be suffering from through the injury I inflicted to incapacitate you. I take care of my servants, after all."

"Alright," I say through gritted teeth. "I don't want to die, and I can't so much as stand still for ten seconds without nearly throwing my guts up, so fine. Just tell me -what am I being paid with?" I ask, slowly looking up at Loki, and trying not to cringe at the aching head ache and annoying nausea.

"Pardon?" Loki asks, for some reason completely thrown by what I just said.

"Paid. To be your servant. Unless by 'servant,' you actually meant 'slave,' and it just got lost in translation. Which brings me to another point -why are you speaking English if you come from another planet? And if it's because you have some weird translation device thingy, then why aren't you speaking American English? Or Australian English? Or any of the other forms of English? Why aren't you speaking French or German for that matter? And that brings me onto another matter, why did you leave it so long to come back? And why-"

"Silence!" Loki shouts, I wince at the sudden wringing head ache I get in response to that. "I will pay you by letting you live, mortal. You will be paid by food, shelter and the company of a god, for that is all you need and deserve."

"Well that's pretty mean," I mumble.

"Silence!" he shouts again, making me properly grip my aching head this time in pain. "Will you, or will you not stay to be my servant, mortal?"

Right, servitude or death. Let's press pause here for a sec. If I become his servant, I would have to wash all his dishes and dust the place daily, mop the floors, cook the meals... It's actually not too bad considering just how small this place actually is. The main thing that will surely hurt if I did this, is my dignity. That tattered, scarred little shard of dignity I have remaining, that prevents me from running around naked like a mad wild woman. But then again, what's one more little scar for my poor, zombified dignity?

As for death...

"Yeah, sure. I'll be your little slave girl," then, just for kicks, I wink at him. He stares at me in astonishment, before giving me a deadly glare.

"If you are to be my 'slave,'" he says softly, "then I will have to teach you the proper way to address people. Especially your masters."

"Right, yeah, but could you train me like My Fair Lady after you've healed my little head wound? Because I think I've just found your lost twin hovering right next to you..."

-BREAK-

An hour later and I'm lying on the couch, all nicely healed. Due to the late hour, there wasn't anything he wanted me to do, fortunately. So that just leaves me lying in the dark, refusing to focus on the god lying on the large bed on the opposite side of the room. I don't even know how he managed to fit that bed in here, and I don't want to know... though I hope it had something to do with magic.

Surprisingly enough, Loki has been very forth coming on information, and while he healed my wound with some nice flashy green magics, he only threatened to kill me twice! During that time, I've gathered some things to think about. He's a god- one who hates humans. He never said why, and I don't know if even he knows why he hates us so much, but he does. He talked a little bit about the attack on America (and I mean a little), before moving on to discussing my work load.

Like I reasoned before, not a big deal, but I can't help but excitedly anticipate tomorrow's dinner. After all, I can't cook for shit, and certainly for a princely god like him. We'll just have to wait and see on how he reacts to a nice, refreshing, simple salad sandwich.

I shift on the couch, trying to find the perfect comfortable position. It's actually not too bad, this couch. But neither is it that good...

My mind drifts to the plant assignment. The process of photosynthesis... the process of photosynthesis... wait... damn, so that was the answer to the question!

I fidgit restlessly and gaze outside the window. It's still dark, though I haven't a clue as to what time it is. However, the moon is still bright and visible, which means that not much time must have passed.

I stare at it, and pretend that it's staring back at me, but not in a bad way. More like a protective and watchful kind of way...

My eyes grow heavy after a while until the moon carefully pushes me to a restful sleep.

-BREAK-

Hours later, my eyes flick open, only to see that it's still dark outside. What am I doing awake so early? My answer comes in the form of a stiff-backed god staring regally at me.

"You are to prepare my meal immediately," he says, without so much as a grumbled 'morning'. "Everything you require is already stored in the kitchen. Once I have eaten, we shall discuss your work for the day."

"But, wait," I say, frowning at him. "You only said once you've eaten. You didn't say anything about me," I complain. I always feel ravenous in the mornings...

His eyebrow twitches slightly as something somewhat resembling appreciation quickly flickers in his eyes. But just as quickly as it enters his eyes, it is gone.

"You will eat the leftover scraps," he says pompously, before turning to walk out the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" I call out. "How do I tell you when breakfast is ready?" But it's too late. He's out the door.

"Dick head," I mutter under my breath. The door opens again.

"Shana," Loki says, standing in the doorway, and glaring at me once more.

"Yes?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"I must warn you, as a greater being than yourself-" here I roll my eyes, "-I am gifted with far greater senses than any mortal you will ever know," he says with a slight hint of warning in his tone. My body immediately tenses. "I will let it pass for now, as you had not known. But if I ever catch you insulting me again, you will be severely punished for it." With his warning dished out, he leaves again. Pompous prick.

I walk to the kitchen, staring at the cupboards. There is no fridge, or even an oven. There are only a few counters, cupboards and a fireplace that makes up the small kitchen. I sincerely hope he doesn't expect me to use that fireplace to actually cook him anything, or else it'll be interesting to see if gods can suffer from food poisoning...

I swiftly make my way around the kitchen, getting to know all the places where everything might be stored. I quickly find the cutlery, dishes, herbs and spices, fruit and veg, and... meat?... After opening half the cupboards, I come across one that is layered with meat inside of it, with the cupboard next to it being in no better condition. The meat doesn't seem to be rotting or anything. In fact, it seems pretty good to me, so I'm sure he most probably is using some form of magic on the meat to keep it edible.

At least I know that he definitely does expect me to serve him a good, four course buffet...

With a dejected sigh, I draw out the bread (at least he has some things I can work with) along with some veg, aiming to make an at least passable salad sandwich.

After making four sandwiches in total (he did tell me I only get to eat the leftovers), I cut them each in halve before serving them on a large plate on top of the small table set close to the kitchen area.

"It's ready," I call. After all, he did brag about his 'superior senses'.

The front door opens as my lord and master comes strutting inside... only to stop and stare at the table.

"Eat up," I say pleasantly. Now, I know that my cooking abilities are hardly up to par with some Asgardian super nanny, but the way he looks at the sandwiches...

"Look, I didn't poison them," I say, reaching out for one of the halves to prove it.

"Stop," he snaps. "You are not to touch the food unless I allow you to," he snarls. I quickly raise my hands in surrender as he moves to sit at the table, pulling the large plate towards himself. I watch in wonder as he eats one of the sandwiches, which is then followed by another... and another... Finally, the last sandwich disappears from sight.

"Bloody Hell," I whisper in shock and awe. "And to think that I stuffed them full of crap..."

Pushing his chair back, Loki stands to his full height (all six foot something or another) and commands, "you are to polish the few weapons I was able to bring with me during my escape." I stare in shock.

"Well?" He asks, seemingly annoyed.

"Yeah, um... aren't you afraid that I might try to kill you?" I ask hesitantly.

"The fact that you asked proves to me that you won't," he says with a smirk. I glare.

"Well, what makes you think that?"

"Because, Shana, saying it alerts the captor of what you plan to do," he says calmly. "For you having mentioned it proves that you had not truly thought of overpowering me, or at least not yet. And besides," he says, his eyes glittering with mischief, "you would never succeed in overpowering a millennia old god." With that said, he walks towards a wardrobe, pulling it open and bringing out several swords and daggers. "You are to clean, polish and sharpen these weapons to a point in which I find acceptable," he demands.

"But I don't know how to-" I start saying, but he's already pulling out other items from some drawers. He throws them to me.

"I will show you once, and that will be all," he says a bit impatiently.

It doesn't take him long. Luckily, he has some powerful cleaners for cleaning the weapons, the really tough part came with polishing and sharpening them. After he shows me how to do it, he stands up to walk out of the door again. Once he reaches the door, however, he stops to look back at me.

"Once you are finished," he says, "simply say it and I shall give you your next task." With that said, he's out the door again.

Well, this wasn't quite what I had expected...

-BREAK-

A while later, all eight of the giant splinters were sparkling like stars.

"There," I say to the room. "You happy now?"

"Not quite," a voice says from right behind me.

"Ah! Fuck!" I shout, shooting away from a smirking God of Mischief.

"However, it should do for now," he says dismissively. "For right now, I intend to teach you the proper way to speak."

"Yeah, well you can fuck off, mate!" I snarl. "You ain't turning me into My Fair Lady, you posh prick!" Loki winces at my (kind of intentional) butchery of the English language.

"Indeed," he says, a look of disgust crossing his face. "However, for now I've finished everything I had planned for today, and I am ahead of schedule. As such, we will begin our lessons now. Follow me." He leads me to the couch, where he then sits down. As I go to sit next to him, he stops me by grabbing my wrist, shaking his head at me while glaring furiously again.

"Oh, come on!" I whine.

"Servants are to know their place," Loki states forcefully.

"I'm not your pet," I say savagely. His glare strengthens.

"No, but you are my servant. As you have never been a servant before and this is your first day of working for me, I will refrain from punishing you. However, know that other masters would not be quite so forgiving."

"The only thing that's stopping you from calling me your slave is the lack of price tag," I grumble. He sneers.

"Tolerating you and your constant complaining is more than enough cost," he hisses.

"That's hardly fair," I growl. "But anyway, if you don't want me to sit next to you, where should I sit?" I ask, looking around for chairs. My eyes zone in on the dining chair.

"On the floor," he says simply. I turn to scowl at him.

"Whilst there's a perfectly good chair sitting right over there?" I ask, pointing at said chair. Loki just stares blankly at me. "Fine!" I snap, flopping down inelegantly on the floor. "There! Better?"

"Yes," is his simple reply, sending me a quick exasperated glare.

"And you know," I say in a quieter tone, "if you keep glaring like that, it'll stick." Loki just looks at me in blank astonishment.

"And what meaningless nonsense are you speaking of this time?" he asks with a long suffering sigh. I shrug.

"Just something every mother says to their kids. I never really saw why they said it, but I have to say, the amount of times you've glared and scowled and frowned at me in one day- and not even a whole day at that!" I shake my head in faux awe. His eyes grow a bit of a dangerous tinge to them.

"We are not here to discuss such matters," he says stiffly. "First, we shall work on your speech. No servant of mine will speak like a..." he pauses for something he can liken me to. He blinks in surprise, "I can honestly say that I do no know of anyone who speaks like you do."

"Aww, darling, you say the sweetest things!" I say, plastering a cheeky grin on my face.

"We shall start by pronunciation," he says, completely ignoring my comment. "Let us begin with the comment you made earlier, that I," he clears his throat, before doing a startlingly good impression of me, "'ain't turning me into My Fair Lady!'"

"Fuck!" I gasp. "How'd you do that?"

"Yes, we will get to that part of your speech soon enough," he says with much disgust.

And so it went, for what felt like several hours (I don't know, all I have is the Sun to keep me time-coordinated, which is apparently still going strong if the light flooding the cabin is anything to go by). During that time Loki tried valiantly to teach me how to talk like a royal sla-ahem-servant. I honestly still don't know why he hasn't offed with me yet, which I'm sure is actually something he himself wondered throughout the speech session...

"I really ought to kill you now, and be rid of your impudent self," he snarls after I, once again, swore enough to make an aged sailor blush.

"Nah, you'd miss me, sweetheart," I say with a wink. He sneers at me (I'm honestly starting to think it's how he shows affection to people he secretly likes), before standing up from the couch.

"You are hopeless," he says softly. "I will try, nonetheless, to make you at least somewhat acceptable. But by tomorrow, I will start punishing for misbehaviour. For now, there is nothing more I need of you," Loki says as he heads for the door.

"Hey, hang on a moment!" I call, he doesn't stop though, closing the door behind himself. "Hey, I know you can still hear me! What should I do? There's nothing for me to do!" And there really doesn't seem to be anything; no TV and no computer. Looking around, I wonder whether he truly expects me to just sit on the floor and wait obediently for him. Just then, my eyes catch sight of something: a bookshelf, loaded with some pretty ancient looking books. I sigh, could be worse...

Walking to the bookshelf, I look at the possible titles for me to read, only to find with some disappointment that almost none of them had titles.

Pfft, figures.

I pick a random book and take a seat on the dining chair to start comfortably reading the book... only to find it's in some foreign language.

Rolling my eyes, I get up to put the book back exactly where I found it, and picked up a different one. One peak inside showed that that book is also in another language. Frowning, I check all the books- from start to finish- and find to my great annoyance that almost all of them are in some other language. Only three of the books are in English, and one of them is an extensive look at physics (of all things), another on religions (both modern and ancient), and the final one being a short story on a boy orphaned during a war and adopted into an unloving family from the opposing side. It looks well read, if the wrinkled paperback spine and worn pages are anything to go by...

Making a decision, I decide to play it safe with the religion book. After all, the book about the kid seemed a little out of place, and just screams sentimentality to me. As I sit at the chair once again and get settled down to read the giant tome, I can't help but wonder who gave the smaller book to Loki, because surely he didn't get it himself...

-BREAK-

By the time Loki decides to return to the cabin, it is dark outside. I must say, it comes as a surprise when I realise that I had read through twenty pages of the giant book (what? It isn't just large in thickness! Besides, the writing's small...)

But anyway, he walks through the door, appearing quite frustrated and annoyed. He scowls when he sees me innocently sitting at the chair, reading the thick book.

"You are not to sit on my chair, nor touch any of my possessions," he snaps, eyes flitting quickly to bookshelf, before resting on me with murderous intent.

"Yeah, sure, sorry," I mutter, slamming the book as I screech the chair back to stand up (all of which making Loki visibly grit his teeth and clench his fists in anger. Poor bookworm). "Sorry, mate," I say again, returning the book as gently as I could (as in, not at all), onto the shelf. "I just couldn't resist. I'm sure you know what absolute, desolate boredom is like..." I say dramatically.

"Just prepare my meal," he snaps.

Gosh, it's that time? I head to the kitchen, and stop in the middle of the little area. What should I make? I haven't exactly got a gourmet cook book located inside my skull. I can't even cook chicken right, for fuck's sake!

"Shana," Loki says softly from the couch (which the damn arsehole is lounging on serenely).

"Yes?" I ask shortly.

"Prepare me a chicken, along with honeyed ham sprinkled with nuts, and some fruits, if you will," he requests regally.

What the f-

"Yeah, but no," I deny. "I'm sorry, but I can't even so much as cook chicken nuggets without burning down the entire kitchen, let alone the whole fucking creature!" I snap. "And as for the ham, you might as well say your goodbyes to your beloved 'sanctuary' now, because a fuck load of good this'll do for you! So I'm afraid that for as long as I'm the chef in this kitchen you're gonna have to make do with salad, sandwiches and fucking cereal, you get me?" I rant. By the end of the rant, Loki is looking quite furious. He stands up, walks towards me until he looms over me.

"You lie," he says softly. "From what I have read and been told, mortal women are the home makers. You cook, clean and pride yourselves with your duties to the house." He's got to be kidding me. But as I look into his serious gaze, I see that he's not joking at all.

"In what century did you find that out?" I ask. "Because it certainly isn't from here!"

"Yes, I can see that," he snaps back. "In all the realms, none of them has women as rude and disrespectful as yourself!"

"Welcome to lower-class Britain, princess!" I snarl in his face. At this closer proximity, it really gives me the chance to see that there seriously is nothing wrong with his face. Nothing. No scars, no moles... I'm a thousand years younger and already you could make constellations out of my acne scars alone.

Fucking gods.

"So, what would you like for dinner, princess," I ask challengingly. "And don't think my stomach had forgotten about the lack of breakfast!" Damn thing had been annoying me for ages. With the thought of food, it lets out a fierce roar, and I give Loki a pointed look. He gives me a deadly stare.

"Prepare what you made this morning, though this time make twice the amount," he demands, before heading to the bookshelf to grab one of the books.

Twice the amount? I mouth. That would be eight sandwiches! Just how much do these guys eat in that golden palace up in the stars?!

But I do as he says and get straight to work. After half an hour (and some serious lettuce butchery, and many lost tomatoes who fought valiantly against the edge of the knife... only to somehow get squished), I finally dish up an over flowing plate of sandwiches.

"Eat up," I say, watching as Loki gets up from the couch, returns the book he was reading through and settles down at the small table to eat. Yet again, he eats an ungodly-erm... sorry, a godly amount of food (I know, I go' dem punz!), leaving two and a half sandwiches left.

"Adequate," he rates at last. "But it will suffice for now."

"Glad to appease your lordship," I say sarcastically. "May I now nibble, please?" I ask.

"Indeed, you may eat," he says, getting up from the chair and eyeing the books once more.

I make quick work of the sandwiches, leaving behind half a sandwich, which I can't eat what with my meagre feminine mortal diet.

"What time is it?" I ask Loki after I have finished with washing the dishes. It looks late, and I'm starting to feel quite tired.

"About nine at night," he murmurs, turning a page in his chosen book.

Well, 9 O'Clock is a little early for me, but it has been quite exhausting for me, both physically (bearing in mind that the majority of my existence is generally spent playing MMORPG games on my computer whilst swearing at morons, and being in college), and emotionally. It is, after all, quite stressful living with an apparently insane god; though he doesn't seem all that deranged to me... just a little spoilt, in fact.

"Mind if I turn in for the night?" I ask.

"No," he says sharply, turning another page (shit, he reads fast!) "Wait until I have finished what I am reading." His eyes scan the pages lightening fast. It looks like he reads entire portions of text at a single glance.

He turns another page.

"I hope that by 'wait until I'm finished reading', you don't mean reading the entire book!" I say. He simply smirks and turns another page. That's another thing, he seems to be a very good multitasker, judging by his ability to completely hear what I am saying and still continue reading at pretty much the same pace... or, at least I think that he's listening to what I'm saying...

With a huff, I sit back onto the dining chair.

"On the floor when I am present, mortal," Loki says absently as he turns another page. With another huff, I get off the chair and sit as far away from the spoilt, annoying god as I can. After a long while (I'm pretty sure the bastard drew it out on purpose), Loki finally closes the book and nods in my direction. I stand up, shaking off the aches and the pins and needles I suffer from sitting there so long (turns out he had decided to read the whole book), and move to sit on the couch. Then I realise something.

"Erm... is there any... err..." I trail off, looking around.

"Speak up, mortal," Loki says sharply.

"Pyjamas?" I ask.

"... What?"

"Do you have any pyjamas," I specify. "You know, for me to wear? Or should I wear this till the day I die?" I ask, looking down at my "pug life" t-shirt and skinny jeans with uncertainty. Loki also looks, a disgusted sneer fixed on his face.

"I do have spare clothes," he says slowly. "Though none for women."

"Right," I say in disappointment. "So... there's no shirts of yours I can borrow as night dresses or-?"

"Sleep, Shana," Loki growls, putting out the candles that dotted the cabin (what idiot even lights those miniature fires inside a wooden cabin?)

Grumbling, I settle on the couch for sleep, ignoring the discomfort I feel in wearing the same, dirty clothes from last night.

Remember Shana, it could be worse. It could be much worse... at least he offers some good eye candy...