Day 69
Jane Foster
Loki is late.
Not that Jane has a set time of day she expects him by. It's been well over fifty cycles since their first illicit encounter, and while she'll never say it to his face for fear of swift retribution (and not the fun kind) he's becoming a bit obvious.
It's a simple routine they've fallen into. She wakes up, he shows up, they fight, they fuck, they fight some more, they fuck while they fight. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Between seven and nine is his usual time frame. Ten o'clock passes and there's still no sign of him. Jane's room remains undisturbed, her body untouched, and her thoughts unceasing. She lays on her side, her arm tucked under her head. She counts the number of cracks on the opposite wall. Fourteen. She counts the items on her vanity. Twenty. She calculates the difference in area between her room here and her bathroom in Puente Antiguo. Five feet, give or take.
This was a far more efficient time waster the first time she did it. By the seventeenth, it's lost its luster.
She gets up and paces. Thirty circles around the room make her dizzy and the momentum of her thirty-first sends her out the door. It's quiet for now, but lunch is only a few hours away. Soon the halls will be packed with bleary-eyed researchers desperate for a reprieve from their hours toiling away in the lab. Jane walks along until she reaches the lounge. It's empty, thank the lord. The TV is off, but she's not in the mood to watch it anyway. The chairs are decently comfy in here. She sits back and relaxes, taking in the silence. Her foot taps and her legs tingle like they're falling asleep. She tries to close her eyes but it's like they've been taped shut. A slight tap makes her jump, and she looks around wildly for an attacker until she notices the pencil next to her foot. She pushes it aside and stands, gulping in air.
It's been twelve seconds since she sat down.
"I can't do this." Her elbow hits the doorframe on her way out, but her mind is numb to pain. "I can't do this. I can't. Every damn day on this island. With him. And then today he just doesn't show up that bastard-"
"Yes, thank you, please have the financial report on my desk by three and no later. I will keep time."
The voice comes complete with clicking heels and the potent scent of an entire bottle of perfume. Jane does the traditional 'deer in headlights' move for roughly ten seconds, which is nine seconds longer than she should've needed. Dr. Ahlberg's shadow is in sight and her body is soon to follow. Jane scrambles through the first door she sees and holds it closed, bracing herself for an irate shout of her name. She's supposed to be sick in bed after all.
Dr. Ahlberg is likely on her Bluetooth, though Jane has no idea who she speaks to other than her underlings. She can't make out the conversation through the thick wood, but she doesn't slow her pace. When she's gone, Jane releases the air trapped in her lungs. This is a terrible idea. She inhales a mouthful of chemicals and only then notes the cramped walls and cluttered hundred-year-old shelves holding all manner of fluid.
The doorknob won't turn.
Suddenly, she's not alone anymore.
"I would say it's fancy seeing you here," Loki narrowly avoids stepping in a puddle of bleach. "However, this is by far the worst location for a tryst you've ever chosen."
"I did not choose this and you know it," Jane seethes, "so I'm going to skip that conversation. Now let me out of here."
"Is it the smell?" Loki's nose scrunches up. His senses are more heightened than hers and she almost feels bad for how miserable this closet must be for him. "I do believe it's the smell."
"Yes, and it's a lot of other things." The odor vanishes in an instant, replaced with floral scents like the world's most bountiful garden. "That doesn't change anything. I still want out."
Loki frowns. "Are you always so hard to please?"
"Just open the door. I won't ask you again."
"That was more a command than a request, was it not?"
Jane growls and turns away from him. She huddles in the corner, the smell, and his presence are less apparent this way. Not that he actually leaves. Of course, he doesn't. That would be too easy. She feels his movements; it's so tight, he can't help but brush against her.
"It's quite musty in here." He kicks a mop bucket out of his way. "I didn't know Midgardians had special rooms to store their filth."
"These are cleaning supplies," Jane says.
"These?" Loki eyes a blackened mop head like it's just sprouted arms and is reaching for him. "Oh my, that does explain quite a bit."
"Okay, we've already done the whole 'Midgard bad, Asgard good' thing. Don't you think it's time to find some new material?"
He pretends to think about it. Puts his finger to his chin and hums to himself. Jackass. "No, I don't think so."
Jane closes her eyes. 'One, two, three…'
At four, he's on her. No warning, no build-up. He all but throws her against the wall, sandwiching her between hard rock and his even harder chest. His lips first brush, then devour hers. Most days he's all about foreplay, but there's something to be said for quick, brutal passion like this. She can't smell flowers or bleach anymore. Just him. His heady scent will never leave her.
She scratches his neck as he bites down on her lip. He gives her ass a squeeze, reaching into her back pocket. This room is a CDC nightmare, but she still wants to be naked now. Him too. Especially him.
He lets go faster than he grabbed her. Jane is alone, trapped in the corner as he reads the back of a bottle of stain remover. He sprays a suspicious brown stain on the back of the door, then removes the entire mess with a whispered word.
"Much better," he says. His eyes flick to Jane. "Wouldn't you agree?"
She steadies herself. It feels like this closet has shrunk down to half its size. She can't call it her imagination because he can do anything he wants, can't he?
"Why?" She covers her ears. Her heart won't shut up. "Why do you do these things?"
He smiles like this is a game and he just won. "Because I can."
Jane blinks and he's gone. The door clicks and opens slowly. Outside, the hall is empty. It's ten more minutes until lunchtime. Before she leaves, Jane picks up a dirty rag and throws it at the spot he once occupied. It lands with a squelch and leaves behind a new stain.
"I cannot fucking do this," she moans.
She drags herself back to her room and falls asleep with her head buried under her pillows.