Here's the next one ma lovelies! All of my huge projects were due today! So for the next three days I am FREE! Let the hardcore Loki costuming and fanfiction writing commence! Fingers crossed that I can get some more chapters finished... lately the time has eluded me...

It is so endlessly thrilling that there are people out there that look forward to new chapters for this... it blows my mind every time! Many many thanks to all of my followers and reviewers! I broke 5000 views today... how freaking crazy is that? Teeanks sooooo much! XOXOXOXO

WARNING! This chapter contains very graphic depictions of violence!

It's a small scene that I've already cut down twice and I still think it's pretty graphic... so just be warned...

And as you may have guessed already... Loki gets a little revenge...

Naomi recovered very gradually, one painstaking day at a time. After almost a week, she snacked on the solid food he brought her and while she seemed much better, she was still in this fog and she slept for much of the day. He wondered more than once if she would ever be herself again. But the few times she managed a smile or an incoherent jest, he knew she was still in there somewhere. So he sat back quietly and let her recuperate of her own accord.

For now she was sleeping, full and content, under the warm and heavy wool blanket he'd procured for her. Though she didn't voice it, he could tell she was infinitely grateful with the way she curled into it and tucked it under her chin, burying her face in the fabric. The effect it had was like that of chloroform, the scent keeping her submerged in a deep and peaceful sleep. So for the first time in over a week he wasn't strung up with worry. Of course, without being actively occupied, that nagging shame slipped back in, biting at the back of his neck. What more must he do to be free of this madness? He was basically nursing this woman back to health and still, he couldn't help but feel responsible for her. It was infuriating. She couldn't get better soon enough.

Loki looked up from one of his old spell books when Naomi suddenly stirred. She turned over, tugging the blanket even tighter around her if it was possible – an omen for something worth hiding from.

He heard the voice of a young woman just beyond the doors – the young woman who served him more often then not. She wasn't in distress, but she wasn't thrilled with whatever was taking place out there. The door swung open and he caught one string of dialogue as she was – by the sound of it – shoved aside. Two guards stepped inside. One was carrying the tray of food, which had no doubt been appropriated from the young servant, and the other simply holding the flank to ensure she didn't attempt to return for it. And it was the two guards he never wanted to see again – or did he?

The guard – Naomi's attacker – came down the stairs at a more even and measured gait than before, with all drunkenness gone from him now. He strode with the authority of his title, carelessly carrying the tray, but the tarnished nature of his status was clear as he tossed it to the floor where the well-prepared meal was splattered against the stone where it met the glass. Loki didn't flinch, but he felt his blood boil against his inherently frigid pedigree. Oh yes, he wanted to see this man again. Amends would be made today. He felt his inner-self smiling like a madman.

Naomi turned over again, her back now facing the guard who stared hungrily into her cell. And Loki watched and waited for him to choose his inevitable fate. He stepped forward and gazed at her sleeping form, more than likely reminiscing of the horrific encounter. Come back for more, have you? Come and get it. I dare you. The guard took the subconscious provocation and stepped through the parting pane of glass. One slow step at a time, he crossed the cell, his eyes longingly travelling over her. He reached for her, his lips parting for some sentiment or sneer. He stood straight quite abruptly when Loki pressed a finger to his lips as a long, silencing hiss rushed past them. "Careful. You wouldn't want to wake her," he whispered, his grin barely restrained. His voice was like a gentle tisk of discouragement. "I must insist that her rest remain uninterrupted."

The guard turned, rising to his subtle taunt. "She does seem much more beautiful in sleep – a lot less trouble. Though I do miss the sounds she made." He was chilled to even imagine it. Even muffled through ice, those sounds were clear enough. And he could never forget. "Suppose she even enjoyed it?"

"I doubt that very severely."

"And why would you doubt that? Do you think her so prude? You hid behind your sei∂r as you always have. You didn't see what I saw."

Loki didn't wait for elaboration. To hear anything of his perspective would bring an indefinite end to his sanity. "The sounds of you mauling her like an animal were unmistakable with or without my skills. I didn't need to watch to know the type of brute you are. You would suffocate your whores as soon as fall asleep on them." The guard came forward in a sudden huff. So easily provoked. "Fortunately, she escaped with only mental trauma and slow healing scars."

"Fortunately? Is that a hint of genuine concern, I hear? From the God of Lies?"

"Fortunately, for you," he amended with a smile.

The guard frowned with a very sharp spike of fear, before he smothered it in empty threats and a boisterous show of non-existent power. "You think yourself so righteous! You walk and talk like you are entitled to everything! But you are nothing more than a captive – a prisoner. You've nothing to hold over my head and I will do to her as a please. And there's not a thing you can do about it!"

I should have done something – I will do something. So this time he watched. He watched as his mirror image wrapped a hand around him, mouth smothered, neck drawn back and exposed. And then he poised his blade against the pulse of his throat. Loki smiled seeing the panic flare in his eyes and the realization of who held the real power among them. Underestimated yet again. Squirming and twisting, Loki had him completely pinned against the glass. "You will never touch her again," Loki breathed, coming to meet him at the glass. The guard nodded against his hold, his breath heavy through his nostrils. And he believed that hint of assurance – of promise – would save him. Loki laughed. "And I'm going to make certain of it." The guard gave a shallow cry, muffled by his duplicate's grip on his jaw. If he had even an inkling what he was in for, he should beg. He should scream. "Suppose you might even enjoy it?"

Loki could feel his victim's heart pounding in his chest, the blood rushing under the sharp edge of his blade. He drew the tip along his collarbone, blood escaping in its wake, crawling in tendrils under the hem of his shirt. How generous of him to come without his armor. He traced the bone with one long, deep line until he saw the beige surface beneath the skin. There was the scream, though nearly muted by his hand. But the sound made him shiver.

He thought about Naomi. He thought about the pain she'd suffered. That cold, utterly defeated look in her eyes was forever ingrained in his memory. He thought about how that single horrific occurrence had utterly ruined her. This man had stolen and destroyed the brash, stubborn, carefree woman he'd known. Now, how could he convey how he felt about that?

Scarlet stained knife now poised against his Adam's apple, Loki thoughtfully eyed his visibly pulsating jugular. He licked his lips and offered the guard a long, toothy grin. "If I had it my way," he whispered, "I would see that you suffer an eternity and a half before you finally die. I would see you gutted and skinned a thousand times over, but I won't risk your return. I made the mistake of allowing you the opportunity to harm her before, but never again."

Loki stared into his widening blue eyes, reveling in his terror. The skin split and the blood finally escaped as he pierced the artery. His projection dragged the blade down, following the trail all the way back down his neck. His blood dripped rhythmically to the floor, forming a puddle and soon a small lake; his last few heartbeats splattered the glass. And then his eyes turned steely and gray and lifeless. And beautiful. Then his body hung limp in his arms. His clone stood stark still with the body still hanging in his grasp, as Loki's eyes met those of their onlooker. The other guard. He hadn't moved. He had reached the foot of the stairs at some point, but hadn't gone any further. Not after watching Loki's little atrocity – his little act of revenge. Loki went back to his chair, relaxing, projecting his thoughts back into his doppelganger. He walked up to the edge of the cell, pushing the dead guard closer until the barrier parted along with the glass. And then he let him drop out onto the stone.

"Consider this your only warning," he said, the duplicate vanishing. "If you ever return here, you'll see a fate far worse than his. Now take your friend and go." The other guard eyed the corpse, continuing to bleed out on the floor.

"What shall I do with him?" the other man meekly asked.

Loki's eyes flashed open. "Dispose of him! Burn him! Dismember him and feed him to the hounds! Drop him off the edge of the bifrost! I don't care what becomes of his bloody corpse; he no longer has use of it and neither do I."

He scurried cautiously forward, eyes on Loki's feet to avoid his gaze. He grabbed his dead friend, hauling him over his shoulder before hurrying up the stairs without another word. Loki grinned when he caught the look of revulsion as it passed over his face along with a sudden loss of color. Before he reached the top, he would be coated in the remains of his friend, the stench and stain imbedded in his clothes. And he would live with the knowledge that he helped make it possible. Each received their just reward from what they did to her and for the first time since this ordeal began, he felt his gut unclench as some form of relief set in. He had guaranteed her safety – from the guards at least. If all went well, rumors would spread and all of the palace staff would know better than to come anywhere near her again. She was his. And no such harm would ever befall her again.

With their silence restored, he felt better. Infinitely better. Were she conscious on some level – or the level he wished she was – she would not have approved but she would have been grateful. Or so he hoped. But more than likely, she would still see him as the monster he was. All he remembered was the look on her face that night – the last night she spoke to him. You didn't do anything. You just stood there. No matter what he said or thought or did, the fault stuck with him. He only hoped he had somehow made amends for it. She was one of the few people whose company he had actually come to appreciate. He'd only come to that conclusion when she nearly disappeared. It was both odd and incredible, this notion of attachment. No. It wasn't attachment. To this day, he still had no name for it. But it remained a comforting luxury in the swirling silence of this endless captivity.

He waited a few moments – but only a few moments – before he joined her again. With their lunch splattered all over the floor, they wouldn't be bothered for at least a few hours. But it also meant he wouldn't be able to feed her anything until tonight. But she would manage, he thought, especially after surviving several weeks without it. For now, she would sleep.

Loki sat down at the head of her cot, tugging her into his lap. She responded as she had every time since he managed his way in here, drowsily curling into his lap without even waking up. She whined when she accidentally pressed her cheek too hard against his chest. The bruise beneath her eye was still a deep purple. At this point, her inability to chew anything more solid than pears had more to do with the fracture to her eye and less with her state of consciousness. He secured a hand underneath her chin and turned her head so it wasn't bumped. Looking it over more closely, he wished his magic wasn't so limited so that he could just heal her. The swelling was coming back again. Well, there was one thing he could do for her.

His hand faded from his Æsir coloration to that unholy shade of blue. The genial markings of his mother world returned and with them the cold. His fingertips grazed the swell in her cheek and she shuddered, tugging the blanket tighter. But once he'd contained the cold to the area of inflammation, she seemed content. The cool penetrated her skin until it was pleasurably numb, or so he thought since she tried to snuggle her face against him again.

With cool hands, he cataloged the many bumps and breaks and bruises – one day soon he would see her whole again. He ran his hand down her arm. Her elbow was a tad askew and her wrist had a tiny break as well. The force with which the guard had grabbed her would not have been enough to seriously harm another Æsir but as a mortal, she was so, so fragile. That simple jerking motion and the blow to follow had managed to throw her entire arm out of whack. The other arm had only seen some minor bruising thankfully. When the swelling subsided with the cold, he moved on again.

Pulling the blanket aside, he quickly examined the rest of her. Her thighs were bruised where she'd been grabbed. And her hip as well – though that may have been fractured. He tried to feel for it, running his hand across the overly-defined bone. He frowned as his hand ghosted her skin – skin he imagined so soft and warm – but he could never know. Not like this.

He looked himself over as if something had changed. But nothing had changed. Things were just as they had been. Tangible but senseless. Whole enough to make contact but still hollow. It was a fight to see through his surrogate's eyes. No matter how close he was she always seemed distant. Her voice, sometimes he could hear it from where he sat in his own cell, but when he couldn't, it was only an echo through his doppelganger's ears – a shadow of what it had been. But touch – anything remotely tactile was non-existent. He felt nothing.

Loki opened his eyes, his clone mindlessly continuing its crusade. It's such a horrible irony. I have always been seen as so unfeeling and now I don't have a choice. But he watched from his perch as she burrowed against him, so obviously comforted in spite of that. Comforted by his presence – his touch. However unfeeling he had to be. It would be worth it, he thought, his mind travelling back to the clone. He pulled the blanket up to her chin, tucking it in around her. It would only be a few hours until the dinner delivery required his retreat. But for now it was enough.

He ran his fingers through her hair, imagining the soft curls between his fingertips. His knuckles brushed against the soft line of her jaw and she nestled her cheek to it. He shuddered and he couldn't even feel it. And he almost felt the smile he saw as it pulled upon her lips. For now, it was enough.

TADA! And holy crap! It's not a cliff hanger! I'm usually terrible with those... Teeanks so much for reading! I love all of you nice people! xoxo