Cellmates

12

I just need a little more time.

We have little but time down here. Take all that you need.

Just a little more time.

Goodnight Naomi.

It was a funny thing down here, this idea of time. In the nearly two months since she'd arrived here, the days, hours, minutes had dragged by unforgivably slow. Fifty-six days. Fifty-six grueling days. Some better than others. But there were still fifty-six of them. It had been nearly a month since the guards had attacked her. It hadn't made her brood any less over it, but only time would ever heal that wound. Her eyes wandered over the tallies etched into the stone. She had updated it since her long lapse in consciousness. While some days were still cloudy in her memory, Loki's continued affection and care had resurrected much of the time they had shared. Or rather, time she sort of shared minus her normal state of awareness. Those were the twelve days that changed everything. Everyday after that was easier. The marks in the stone were less angry and insistent. And the endless span of time condensed.

She had never expected to find a companion down here and not a day since meeting him, did she think it could have been Loki. He was often miserable and brooding and evil, but when he wasn't, life in captivity was almost pleasant. More than almost. It wasn't so much of a hardship with him there to see her through it. Now it was more like being trapped indoors while it was raining as opposed to being imprisoned in a dungeon several thousand feet below ground for no freaking reason at all.

Everyday since she'd awakened from her fog – as Loki had put it – he would find his way into her cell to share at least one meal with her, and whenever he couldn't, he'd be conjuring things into her cell as compensation, she supposed. She had already taken note of several tokens of his regret. The blanket, of course. New clothes. Well, not technically new. His reasoning for gifting her one of his shirts was that teleporting things was easier than creating them from nothing. Naomi was only half convinced, but regardless of intent, anything was better than the messy scraps she was trucking around in. The fabric was soft and warm, but the scent that stuck with it was dizzying. Even still, she loved it, though she shrugged it off as merely acceptable. He thought to offer a few of his books, but given they weren't written in English, he amended that he could read them to her instead. Somehow that seemed to be his preference. Not a horrible idea. After listening to him talk – and not yell – about things, she'd come to enjoy his eternally soothing tone.

Among other things.

Loki offered her time. True to his word, he took a few steps back and stayed there. But she could see his restraint – his frustration. But it had more to do with their unfortunate circumstances than her reluctance to get closer to him. She couldn't. After learning that he could barely exist beyond that stupid pane of glass, she felt almost guilty. He'd made it his mandate to care for her, but at times it seemed almost painful. He shrugged it off as if it was nothing, but she could tell that it took a toll on him. Whatever enchantment was keeping them apart, it was strong enough that she urged him to only come through when it was necessary.

Of course, the idea of necessity seemed to elude him.

Even if I somehow charged him admission, necessity would be the farthest thing from his mind. While she was outwardly irritated by his persistence and his stupid, selfless, stubborn attitude, she was more grateful for his company than she could ever form with words.

His duplicate form sat cross-legged, his knees barely a breath from touching hers, as he continued to break off pieces from some weird bread he'd been delivered. It was like garlic focaccia on steroids. She had no experience with prison prior to this little escapade, but she was fairly certain what they served back home could only be classified as gruel. As far as Loki's half of the cell was concerned, this place was like first class captivity in comparison.