Okay, some important notes here:

I apologize in advance for this story sort of…stopping. Rather than…ending. I am aware of the ridiculousness of it.

However: I hope to continue this through a fic that I've neither started on nor have clear ideas for yet.

You guys know I have no idea what I'm doing…ever…right? ;)

Hope yall enjoy!

His world was a blur of half-sleep and all frustration for most of the night; he awoke frequently in a state of achy shock, his mind reeling when he would momentarily forget where he was or how he had gotten there.

And it was no different when he did so at four o' clock in the morning, a shiver shooting down his spine and startling him.

Loki stared at the metal rails on the side of the bed as he leaned haphazardly over it. It was the position he had found himself in upon snapping awake, cold and confused, dull aches throbbing through his muscles and a sharp pain in his arm.

For just a moment, he did not know where he could possibly be; the room was mostly dark, but small lights flickered around him in a blur.

And then he recognized the rattle of the cuffs on his wrists.

Loki moaned in annoyance and lingering pain as he also realized that the sharp twinge in his arm was the intravenous line being pulled at by the awkward position he had curled into in his sleep. He looked over the side of the railing and it became clear just how close he had come to falling over onto the freezing floor.

As if the idea itself was touching him, he shivered again.

Loki scowled and rolled back onto his pillow.

One would think that he, being Jotun, would be able to handle the relatively low temperatures that the medical facility was kept at. He had certainly not been terribly bothered by the frigid snow and ice in Jotunheim.

As he fingered the sore tubing in his skin, he felt another headache threaten him.

Like everything else at present, his intolerance to the cold was probably due to his weakened (and, at this point, possibly ill) state. He ground his teeth together and silently cursed Thor for the millionth time.

The fool had surely seen to this out of spite; he was letting the humans poison him, keep him weak, so that he would not be able to resist when the time came to drag him back to Asgaard.

That had to be it.

Loki rolled his head to the side and stared at the machine beside his bed. He did not know what the numbers meant, and he did not know what the clear liquid flowing from the suspended bag was, but he did not like it.

His body was battered enough as it was-he could not have some strange foreign substance being injected into it as well.

Biting his lip, he pulled against the restraints to attempt to remove the tube. While the chains were indeed loose, they were not so that he could reach his arms opposite of his hands. He frowned, eyeing the metal that seemed to sparkle in the twinkling lights of the machinery.

He wondered if Stark had been the one to invent the wretched fetters. They certainly looked like something he would create.

But surely, surely, they were not so strong that he, a master of sorcery, an Asgaardian, a damned Giant, could not handle. Summoning all of his strength, he pulled against the chains again.

Dizziness swam in his head even as fiery pain consumed his entire body. Even he, who had no knowledge of medicine, could tell that his muscles were strained, his body was bruised, and it was very possible that his ribs were broken. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It hurt to exist.

"Damn. Damn!"

"You're not helping yourself that way…."

Loki felt a tremor rattle his being at the sound of a familiar female voice.

His eyes strained to focus on the small figure standing in the shadow of the doorway, watching him as he struggled to escape. He could not make out her features in detail—partially due to his blurred vision, and partly to the dark shadows of the room, but he knew it was her.

Her quiet whisper held that same determined tone.

"I have noticed. You have some better method of helping me, mortal?" He was mumbling again, content to be snarky with her since she was the only person around to take his agonized frustration out on.

She did not respond, and he did not care to repeat himself. He was far more interested in why the woman was up and about at such an ungodly hour in the first place—and in his room, specifically.

He tried to concentrate on his words even as he felt the familiar drowsiness of exhaustion sneak up on him yet again:

"What brings you here, Jane Foster? I would not think the guard watching this area through the cameras would be very pleased with your presence here."

He watched her lower her crossed arms, and take a small step over the threshold of the doorway, stopping as soon as she entered.

She whispered still, and he thought it useless and silly.

"He knows I'm in here; I…. may have done a little bribing. But he has his finger on the alarm button as we speak."

Loki felt something familiar tingle past the tiredness of his body and the sleepiness of his mind: mischievousness. He smirked at her, and he knew that she could probably see it in the eerie light of the machines around him.

"And Thor? Does he know you are here?"

The small shadowed body froze visibly for just a moment, but he caught it. His smirk grew into a grin.

"No; I'm sure he's asleep."

Loki angled his head (ignored the ache of his neck) and eyed her, curious.

"You're sure? You sound uncertain. Am I right to assume then, that you do not know because you are not sharing a room with him?"

He attempted to sit up a bit then, suddenly very interested in this mortal that dared sneak her way through the compound in the dark, bypassing his brother's bed to visit him. He felt his head swim a bit and fought against it. The rigid posture of the woman in the room was too curious to miss due to his injuries.

He listened closely to her whispered response, pleased with its sudden edge of nervousness:

"I…no, I'm not. That is…I'm not sharing a room with him. I mean…he just got back, and…"

Loki felt the grin on his face pull forth into a full smile, sly-and yet, strangely genuine.

But it faded quickly, when the woman's hesitation forced her to step away, back into the dark doorway.

Something alarming rushed through his mind, silent but real.

He blinked in confusion at realizing the nature of it, of the truth of his reaction: panic.

He did not want her leave.

Loki breathed deep and commanded his heart to stop beating so quickly.

Attempted to cough but found it not worth the resulting body ache.

"Of course. You did not have much time to spend with Thor when he was here last. I digress; tell me….what are you doing awake? It does not seem an enjoyable habit for mortals to be up so long before daybreak." Loki swallowed thickly upon speaking, his throat dry and his voice strained. He shivered again against the chilly metal on his arms.

He damned the mortals even as he conversed with one.

His words held much less acid this time, and prompted the response he'd hoped for. Jane stepped back into the room, and began looking around in the low light.

He cursed the obvious feeling of relief he felt at seeing her come closer to his bed.

"Couldn't sleep. Stark and Fury have me helping get the Bridge going again—it takes a lot of power and even more programming. It barely worked the first time, getting Thor here-"she stopped short and Loki felt his brows rise when she gave him a suspicious look.

He grinned again and read her face clearly.

"It is dangerous to say so much to someone who just recently tried to conquer your world, Jane…."

Loki expected her to step away again at his teasing, to turn in a huff and walk out of the room to the comfort and safety of his brother's bed.

He was surprised when she instead stepped forward again, coming to stand an arm's length away from him.

"Yeah…but you don't look to be in any condition to use such knowledge." She dragged her gaze across him, slowly, and Loki felt himself grow dizzy again as he watched her. "You don't look to be in any condition to travel back to Asgaard, either…."

Loki squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and willed his vision to clear and his mind to focus before meeting her dark orbs in the flickering lights.

He felt another wave of confusion hit him when he recognized concern in her eyes.

He glared at her in frustration and pushed away the strange feelings her look threatened him with.

"You do not know what kind of condition I am in, mortal. You do not know what I am capable of. Do not think for a moment that you do. You may be intelligent, but you do not know me!" Even as he lashed out at her Loki felt his body begin to shut down again, his world of consciousness crumbling around him and furthering his desperate anger.

For a moment the woman's eyes narrowed at his insult. In his irritation, he found it momentarily pleasing. It even distracted him from the new series of shivering his body was breaking into…

But then the concern was there again, and if not for the darkening of his vision and the slow decay of his focus he would have spat at her to stop pitying him.

Any thoughts of doing so were destroyed when warmth suddenly landed on his forehead.

"Are you feverish?"

Loki blinked up at her, her words registering in his mind but his mouth unable to formulate any semblance of a response.

He felt the warmth of her palm against his skin, seeping into him like something far greater than even the power of the tesseract. His trembled slightly, and knew it was not due to cold. Fingers strayed across his left temple softly, and Loki felt a sudden calm that he could not explain or deny.

Jane pulled away.

"Should I get a doctor?"

He could not stop himself from staring at the hand as it rested against the bed rail.

He mustered something, incoherent to even himself:

"No, no….need sleep….just cold."

His eyes closed and Loki did not fight them. He couldn't—everything had suddenly shut down again, and in what was left of his consciousness he wondered just how long it would take for his body to recover from Thor's wrath.

He did, however, register the feeling of a blanket, previously tangled halfway down the bed, being pulled up against his chest.

Part of him was angry again, his obvious helplessness an outrage to his ego. Part of him wanted to snap at her to leave him be, to stop helping him, to stop…

Touching him.

Except that he did not want her to stop doing that. Not really. Not if he was honest with himself.

Her heart was fearless and her hands were warm…

Loki felt the waking world die altogether with that final thought in mind.