Warnings: nudity, hypothermia

They're testing his cold tolerance.

It's perhaps the first test in years that he's found any interest in.

How well does a Frost Giant withstand cold? Is his tolerance even comparable? He's lived in Asgard nearly all his life, after all; Jotunheim is as foreign as foreign can be. It's warm in Asgard. It doesn't snow often. He doesn't know the cold all that well.

He looks forward to finding out.

He doesn't quite look forward to the process, though.

It's the middle of winter, and, for the first time in a very long time, Pierce has brought him outside. He's all bundled up in a winter coat and snow pants, but Loki trudges through the snow in only his hospital gown, his bare feet stinging as they sink into the snow.

He must not be a very good Frost Giant. This is already miserable.

Pierce begins to untie Loki's gown, first at the waist and then at the neck, and Loki helps him take it off without being asked. The sooner they begin, the sooner this will end and the sooner he can go back inside.

There's a light flurry of snow, and it sends a shiver down his spine. Each snowflake melts when it touches him, and he brushes the drops of water off his skin with his fingers.

His gaze falls to his arms. It's been a long time since those sleepless days began to drive him mad, but he wouldn't have guessed it from the state of his wounds. There was a time they would have healed by now, leaving nothing but a scar in their wake. Now, they're still red and scabbed over – scabs he's learned not to pick, because sometimes it will bleed, and when it bleeds, it doesn't like to stop.

He's since come to realize that Thor was never there; that it was nothing but his sleep-deprived imagination, but sometimes he still wishes he'd succeeded. Sometimes he wishes that Pierce hadn't found him when he did; that he didn't stitch him back together like a torn-up shirt and send him right back into the hell he'd so nearly escaped.

But then he remembers that wishing doesn't do anything but make him sad, and isn't he sad enough without that?

Pierce begins moving the snow around with his boot, digging a hole of a sort. Loki cocks his head to the side. This is weird. He'd assumed he would just be standing out here for a while — sitting, maybe, with his ass in the snow. He wasn't expecting a hole.

"You can lie down there," Pierce says, gesturing with his foot to the thin layer of snow still left in this new hole.

Loki doesn't particularly want to lie down there, but Natasha told him to listen and Pierce wants him to lie in the snow, so, reluctantly, he does just that.

He thinks it's bad when he puts his bare ass in the snow, but it only gets worse when he lies down and the snow touches his back. He shivers, hugging himself in a vain attempt to conceal his warmth.

"There we go," Pierce says. He begins kicking the snow back, covering Loki's body one small pile at a time.

Loki stops hugging himself, his hands instead protecting his penis from the cold. He doesn't care if the rest of him freezes. He's going to save his goddamn penis.

Pierce chuckles, but Loki doesn't care. He'd doubtlessly do the same if he was in this situation. Of course, he never will be in this situation because nobody but Loki has ever had the misfortune of being forced into these kinds of things, but he still believes it.

When Loki is completely submerged in the snow, only his neck and his head sticking out, Pierce takes a step back, admiring his handiwork. "I'm going to sit inside so I can make sure you're okay," he says. "If you can handle it better than a human, I might leave, but we're gonna give it at least 45 minutes before I let you out of my sight."

Loki forces a smile. "Wonderful."

So Pierce goes back inside, sitting behind the glass window to watch. Of course he gets to be warm. Loki would love to be warm right now. But alas, here he is, butt-naked and covered in snow, and warmth does not seem like an option.

He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, but it's somewhat awkward in this position. He uses his magic to move the snow into a pillow behind him — making a point not to disturb any of the snow that Pierce moved. He doesn't want to upset the only person who can let him inside.

This is a little better. It doesn't help with the cold, but it lessens the strain on his neck, which is enough for him.

He closes his eyes and opens his mouth, sticking his tongue out to catch the falling snowflakes. He could probably drink the snow, actually. He could always use more water, and what is snow if not frozen hydration?

He's shivering despite his best efforts, and it's strange, the feeling of the snow shifting around him. He doesn't like it, but then, he doesn't like most things that happen to him. He's gotten used to discomfort.

His thoughts shift back to Asgard – thought that change with the day. Sometimes he misses his home; others, he wants nothing but to watch it fall apart. Today, he's leaning more toward the latter.

"Are you enjoying this, Heimdall?" he grumbles. He probably is. He probably thinks this is hysterical. He's going to tell everybody about it, he's sure. Have you heard about our old fool of a prince? Buried to his neck in snow, fully in the nude, and left to freeze. He must be the laughingstock of his homeland.

But then, maybe he deserves that. How many Asgardians died because of his ego? Their own prince being the first casualty; their husbands and fathers and sons following suit as he launched an invasion on an innocent world.

They deserve to laugh at him.

And he deserves to take that.

He lets out a long breath. This is one of the many reasons why his relationship with Asgard is so complicated. He hates them for what they've done to him — or what they haven't done; what he wants them to do and what they refuse to. But he understands. He hates that he understands, but he does.

He groans. He hates these waiting tests. He very much prefers the ones where they do something to him. The ones where he has to wait are the worst. He hates being left alone with his thoughts.

He doesn't think so much when he's in the cage. The cloak of darkness is perhaps his best friend. It shields him from his own mind. When he's in the cage, he's resting. His brain turns off. Even when it lasts for days, he's resting.

He can't rest when he's buried in the snow.

He takes a long, slow breath. He's going to be okay. Pierce said 45 minutes. He doesn't expect this to last 45 minutes. He'll be okay. He just has to last 45 minutes.

~~~

Pierce has been sitting inside for a long time now.

Loki looks up at him every now and then, usually to find him on his phone and hardly paying any attention to the god he buried in his yard.

But finally, finally, he comes back outside.

"How are you doing?" Pierce asks him.

"I'm cold," is Loki's answer.

"I assumed that much," Pierce says, an amused look on his face.

Without warning, he begins kicking some of the snow off of him, and his boot collides with his chest a few times, nearly knocking the air out of him. He crouched down, brushing the rest of the snow off his upper body with his hands.

He pulls off a glove and presses his hand against Loki's chest, and the warmth sends a shiver down his spine — perhaps paradoxically, but then, nothing really seems to make sense these days.

"You're definitely cold," Pierce remarks, "but I don't think there's any frostbite yet. That's... remarkable." He just looks at him for a few moments; then, "I'll be back in half an hour to see how you're doing."

Loki feels himself deflate.

But he'd thought...

Pierce slips his glove on and covers him back up with snow. He pats his snow-covered chest, then heads back inside.

Loki just sighs and rests his head back on his impromptu pillow, closing his eyes before a snowflake can fall into them and make this day even worse.

At least he can take a nap.

~~~

He's awoken by the warmth of a hand against his skin. Pierce is back, it seems; another check-up. Maybe this time, he'll finally be allowed inside.

"Oh, good; you're awake," Pierce says. "I came out and your eyes were closed. I was afraid something happened."

"No, sir," Loki says. "Just tired." And cold. And bored. And afraid of his thoughts. Really, there were many reasons for him to fall asleep, none of which involved being dead.

"Hypothermia does that," Pierce tells him. "But still no signs of frostbite." He looks at the god quizzically. "Can Asgardians get frostbite?"

"Yes, sir," Loki says. He should probably mention that he's not Asgardian. It's probably something that Pierce would like to know. But it's not particularly something that he'd like to share, so he doesn't. Unless Pierce asks directly, he doesn't have to know.

Pierce frowns. "How long does it usually take?"

"I don't know, sir." He's never had it. Thor's never had it. Their friends never had it. He never paid it much mind because he's never had a reason to.

"Is it the temperature?" Pierce asks. "Is it too warm?"

"I don't know, sir," Loki repeats, less patiently this time.

Pierce hums thoughtfully. "This is interesting," he says. He shovels the snow back on top of him. "I'll be back in an hour. At this rate, I don't expect much to change while I'm gone."

"Probably not," Loki deadpans.

Pierce ruffles his hair, and then he heads back inside.

He gets to go enjoy the warmth.

Oh, how Loki wishes he could do the same.

But instead, he's stuck out here in the snow, where he can't move a muscle because he's been told not to get up and his hands are the only things keeping his penis from fucking freezing off.

He closes his eyes, letting his head fall back once more. Maybe he can get another nap in to pass the time.

~~~

He wakes up to the fires of Hel burning through his skin.

He's too tired to think, too lethargic to try to act rationally, and instead, he starts flailing his limbs, trying to put out this flame.

It works surprisingly well.

He wasn't expecting that.

"Woah, hey, hey, calm down." Pierce grabs his shoulders, grounding him to reality.

And the reality is that he is so fucking warm.

"Snow," Loki says breathlessly. He needs snow. He needs to get back into the snow. He needs to cool off.

Pierce misunderstands. "You're out of the snow now," he says gently. "The storm really started to pick up. It practically buried you alive. You did really good; now we're trying to warm you up."

Loki shakes his head. "Snow," he says again. He needs snow. He needs the snow.

Pierce cups his face in his hand. "You're okay," he says. "You're safe now."

Loki squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth in frustration. He's not listening! This isn't what he wants! He doesn't feel safe! He wants to go outside!

It's Rumlow who speaks next. "Why are you so gentle with him?" he asks. "You were never like this with Barnes."

"Because Loki's not Barnes," Pierce says as though it's obvious — and perhaps it is; Loki can hardly process his words at all. "He works better like this. He listens better like this."

"He listens no matter what," Rumlow reminds him. "The Widow put a spell on him, remember?"

Loki smiles softly in spite of himself. The Widow. He misses her. He misses his Master. He hopes he'll see her again someday. He doesn't care how long it takes; he just wants to see her again.

"He has to do what we say," Pierce says, "but he doesn't have to do what we want. But when I do this..." He runs a hand through Loki's hair, and he finds himself leaning in toward him. This is nice. He likes this. "He wants to listen. He's not going to complain or look for loopholes. He's going to do what we want because he wants it, too."

He's not going to complain.

Complain.

Right.

That's what he wanted to do.

"Hot," Loki whispers. "So hot."

There's a pause, and Loki can almost feel the incredulity in the air.

"He's hot?" Rumlow says in disbelief.

"You're hot?" Pierce repeats, softer than his coworker. "Even without the blanket?"

"So hot," Loki murmurs. "Snow..."

Pierce is still for a moment, processing that. "You want to go back in the snow?"

"Mm-hmm." He gets it. He finally gets it. Snow. That's what he wants: snow.

Pierce sighs. "I don't know if that's..."

"You left him out there for four hours and he's not showing any signs of frostbite," Rumlow reminds him. "I think you can throw him back in the snow for a few minutes."

Pierce hesitates. "Maybe a cold bath," he says. "An ice bath. We'll warm him up slowly. Maybe that will work better."

"Ice," Loki repeats quietly. Ice sounds good. He likes ice. He could go for some ice.

Again, Pierce sighs, more exasperated than anything this time. "And here I thought I'd have to fill him up with hot chocolate."

Loki doesn't know what that means, but it sounds nice.

Maybe he can have that later.

Hot chocolate.

Hmm. Interesting.