Darcy’s eyes fluttered open, scanning a blank white room. A machine beeped rhythmically beside her. God, her head ached so bad, but the pain was beginning to cease compared to the splitting agony she found herself in earlier. She slowly sat up in the hospital bed, looking down at the I.V. in her arm. As her vision came into clearer focus, Darcy realized she was still at SHIELD headquarters, in their medical ward. Slowly, she remembered how she collapsed in Director Fury’s office, how blood began to pour from her nose as the pressure in her head mounted. She remembered how all she could remember was Loki’s words crushing her mind like a vice. Darcy flinched as she remembered it.
“Well, this is one way out of doing paperwork,” She muttered, as she peeled back the cheap bed covers and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. She looked down at the hospital gown she was in, frowning as she realized the medical staff must have stripped her bloodied clothes away. She looked over to a bag labeled Contaminated to see her hoodie, shirt, jeans, and underclothes. “Great, SHIELD’s going to pull a velveteen rabbit on me because of a friggin’ nose bleed.” She sighed, searching around for that convenient little button that made the nurses come at her beck and call. Not like the nurses would bring her a daiquiri or something, but maybe some water.
She heard the door click open, and her eyes met the man who walked inside.
“I should really stop being surprised, shouldn’t I?” She said with a sigh as she looked over at Loki.
Getting into SHIELD was far easier then he had anticipated. Sporting a new ‘face’, he blended into the faculty with little issue - it held avoided areas that would have Thor, not willing to risk the possibility of the oak recognizing him even under disguise. Locating the room in which she was in, he waited until the coast was clear, and entered, glamour dropping as soon as he was in, the door shutting solidly behind him. Back taut, his eyes were so trained on her form in the bed, that he barely even blinked. Head turning to the side, his voice was devoid of the playfulness he usually greeted her in. “Yes, you should. Particularly considering your little stunt, which was not, at all, amusing to me.”
Hands folding behind his back, he regarded her with an almost frigid superiority, eyes flickering to her forehead, before drifting back down to the plains of her face. A ball of emotion was churning in his gut; anger, sadistic amusement, and smugness rolled into one, with little flickers of everything else, just for good measure. “Though,” He added, “It did work well in it’s own way - there was a sense of tangible fear and anxiety as I walked through the hall. That was mildly satisfying.”