Chapter Text
Both men were glad when Syla woke and distracted them from their conversation. Stark seemed lost in thought, and Loki was overwhelmed by the events of that morning. Too much was happening and he had no time to process it. Syla stretched, rolled off the couch and trotted over to them, her old tunic still in her hand. She looked between them both, sitting together on soft chairs, then pointed to a third chair with a meaningful look. Stark snapped out of his reverie and pulled it over to their group, making a little circle. Syla climbed up into the chair and sat, her feet just poking off the end, mimicking the pose of the two adults. She looked at them, curious, waiting for them to continue whatever they had been doing, that she was now a part of.
Loki glanced at Stark. Did he think the child too forward? But Stark was smiling fondly at Syla, unconcerned that that all three of them now sat together, on the same chairs, as equals.
“Hey cutie,” Stark said, “How’re you doing? You have a good sleep?”
Syla shrugged. She had been sleeping more since arriving on Midgard, sleeping at night and during the day. Loki could only hope it was a good thing, that finally she was able to get the rest she needed. Rest and food both.
Stark tried again, his patience seemingly unlimited. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, making himself more Syla’s height.
“So did you like that movie?” That got her attention. She sat up straight and nodded enthusiastically.
“What was your favorite part?”
Syla’s face wrinkled as she thought about it. “Music!” she declared.
“Oh yeah! The music was awesome! Let me tell you something, if you wanna just hear the music, you can ask Jarvis to play it for you. You wanna try?”
Syla’s face lit up. She nodded and looked up. “Music please?” she asked, and Stark hid his smile.
“Of course Miss Syla,” The smooth voice of Jarvis was replaced by the opening music of the movie. Syla bounced in her seat, hiding her face with her tunic, too excited to be shy, but too shy to show her face.
Stark was not yet done. “You know something else?" He asked, "If you walk around the penthouse, the music will follow you. It’s like your own personal soundtrack.”
Syla wriggled down from her chair and walked to the other side of the room. The music followed her. She ran back , the music followed her. She ran down the hallway and back, chased by her music, and Loki saw her face. She looked like a child. Like a little child, with a big smile and without any cares, in her soft yellow sleeping clothes, running barefoot around this beautiful, safe home, with a full belly, without any fear.
(Art by Leone on tumblr)
Almost physically Loki was transported back in time, to when he had had this, he had been that child, safe and loved and carefree. His time with his other children also, too short, but happy while it had been allowed to last. It had all been a lie, his own childhood and the childhood he had tried to give his children. Just as Syla’s pleasure in this moment was. A lie, because she was not safe, not forever. Her safety and happiness balanced on the goodwill of his master, and at any moment it could be taken away. Stark could decide he no longer wanted them in his home. He could turn them over to Shield. Byliestr could demand the return of his property. Syla was stolen from him, after all. So many things could go wrong, to take away her happiness. Stark had given it to her, and he could take it away just as easily. Loki would do anything to keep this for her. He would be a good slave. Loyal and obedient. That was all he could do.
Stark had claimed him. He had acknowledged him as his slave, but Loki still did not know what his purpose would be. Stark had told him he would not be used for his master’s pleasure, and he had rescinded his order that he was to be useful about the penthouse. Loki was sure that he was not living in the penthouse simply to keep his master company, so there must be some purpose he could fulfill.
Before Loki could broach the subject, Stark stood up. “OK,” he said, “I think that’s enough conversation for now. I’m gonna to go to the lab. You guys…” Stark paused, his eyes focused far away for a moment before snapping back. “You guys can do pretty much what you want in here. Try to stay out of trouble. If you’re not sure about something you can ask Jarvis.” He paused between each sentence, thinking through the next sentence before speaking. “You can eat whatever you want. You can watch movies if you want. Just don't...” he cut himself off, paused and started again, “It’s not a good idea to leave the penthouse or go on the balcony.”
Loki nodded. “Yes Sir, thank you, Sir,” he said. He noticed Stark’s careful phrasing. Indirect, suggestive rather than giving orders. Giving Loki the most leeway he could, rather than weaving an inescapable trap with his words as Byliestr had liked to do. Of course, Loki would not leave the penthouse anyway. And after his experience at Romanov’s hands he would not go out on the balcony, or allow Syla to go out their either.
Stark waved at Syla as she zoomed past in a cloud of music and headed for the elevator, leaving Loki and Syla alone in the penthouse.
Loki sat for a while, watching his daughter play. Syla noticed him watching her and held her arms up to be carried. Loki walked around the penthouse with her cuddled in his arms, pointing in the direction she wanted to go, ensuring the music would follow them. Loki gently kissed her, rocking her as he walked, relishing the time with her. It was rare for them to simply spend time without fear of being discovered and without Loki having to rush away to attend to his work. Loki was glad to be with her, but at the same time, without tasks to complete he felt aimless. He felt flat. He had fought and struggled every day for so many years, now he had some semblance of safety and comfort, he did not know what to do. He could hardly remember what he used to do with his time, in his previous life. All he knew now was to obey orders, to serve, to anticipate his owners desires and try to meet them. Syla was the only light in his life.
(Lineart by Leone's Mountain Art on Facebook, color by me!)
The girl wiggled in his arms and Loki set her down. He was moving too slowly for her and she rushed off by herself again. Loki paced the apartment, unsure what to do. His hands went to the metal ring around his neck. It was round and narrow, fixed around his neck by the Joton cold welding method, smooth and seamless. Byliestr had used it to leash him, to drag him, to hold him where he wanted him. Loki was used to the weight of it, after so many years. He wondered what Stark thought of it. His new owner liked shinier metals, he liked red and gold, not dull iron. Loki wondered if one day he would replace it with a collar of his own. Something in his own colors and style. Something to show his ownership of Loki, that was more pleasing to his eye, as he had done with the clothes.
Loki would hardly mind being remade in a manner more pleasing to his owner. It would only make him safer, and in turn make Syla safer. He was glad Stark had claimed him, had named him his slave. He would keep him. Keep them both. That is all Loki wanted, for them to be here, and to be safe
Loki decided he would cook dinner that evening. Stark had rescinded his order to make himself useful, but he had not forbidden it. So Loki would do so. It is what a good slave would do. But perhaps first he could rest. He was still shaky from the events of that morning, the shock device, the threats, the fear. He had too much to process in such a short time, Stark's questions, the abrupt change in his situation, in the expectations, in his behavior. Everything weighed on him, he did not know what to think about first.
Before he let himself rest, he cleaned the living area of any crumbs from their breakfast. Then to ensure he was not slacking off, to ensure he had earned some rest should his master check on him, he cleaned the kitchen as well. Syla was padding backward and forwards from the kitchen to their room, the music following her. He worked around her and let her continue her game.
When everything was spotless he allowed himself to sit down, in what he now thought of as his spot, on the floor by the couch. The rug was soft and warm, and he could lean back against the furniture. He would just rest for a little while, then he would plan and prepare his master’s evening meal. Loki's head slumped against the arm of the couch, and his eyes drifted closed.