He rolled his eyes as he eyed the first item on the list Tony had given him. One word.

Recovery.

What a farce. He tossed the tablet aside. He still had nightmares, of course. Horrible nightmares with black and pain and terror, and he awoke covered in sweat and tinged blue. Tony had learned not to touch him when he was blue, and the thought made his chest seize. Instead, Tony sat with him, calling his name over and over and over again until he'd wake. (Well, not his name. One of those ridiculous nicknames the mortal was so fond of).

And his heart would race so hard afterwards, so hard that Loki at times thought it might explode. Again. Like when-

But he recovered. Wasn't that the same as recovery?

He shook his head, his mind twisting the phrase over and over again. The word felt odd in all-speak. Different. As though the meaning of the word was corrupted, impure, tainted when translated into the language of the gods. Like him, his mind whispered, not quite Asgardian and not quite Jotun, and tainted by his association with both.

He paced quickly across the room, then turned again to stroll towards the couch, his back towards the city outside. It was bright and cheerful outside, the last gasp of summer heat as the city prepared for the holiday weekend ahead, or as Tony had explained it, the last fling of summer before the season changed, when half the city would evacuate for one last weekend in the Hamptons before autumn set in.

"Jarvis, if you could please define the first item on the list? And pronounce it, in common English vernacular," he ordered.

"Certainly Mr. Lie-smith. Recovery. Noun. 'A return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.' It is pronounced as 'ri-kav-er-ie'. Recovery."

Recovery. Recover. Re. Cover. Cover.

Recovery. What a stupid concept. Of course he was recovered. Well, physically at least. His health had returned, as had his strength. He'd seen the images SHIELD recorded of his arrival, the gaunt cheekbones and lanky black hair, and his eyes. Blue-tinted eyes that swiveled unsteadily back and forth as he carefully stood. He even had looked crazed when he arrived. But had he been as crazy as he looked?

Tony certainly had thought so.

Loki paced again. It was disturbing to examine his memories, even in the bright sunlight of the penthouse, but needs must and all that. Would he ever truly recover in mind? Tony had been tortured too, and he still had nightmares, even though it was (by human years, of course) so long ago.

He sank into the couch, his head suddenly heavy as he rested his elbows on his knees. It was too hard, this living thing, it was so much easier just existing, just letting himself drift away into the ether, like a blanket of fog and ice and snow, and he missed (fiercely, though he'd never say it out loud, or at least not where a certain mortal genius might hear him) the peace that overcame him as he had fallen away from Asgard. The moment when he thought nothing would ever matter to him again, and he welcomed the oblivion. Welcomed it, and regretted it at the same moment, in a way he couldn't explain. He didn't want to die, but he liked the feeling of letting go.

Loki's shoulders twitched.

And that's the problem, he sighed. Something—or should he say, someone—mattered again. Someone had picked him up from the rubble, wiped away the dirt, and saw him. Saw what was underneath the shell and masks and pain. Someone noticed the bags under his eyes, that he hadn't slept—actually slept!—since he had fallen from the bifrost, since before The Other had found him-

No, he corrected himself. He didn't fall.

Maybe recovery meant he had to be truthful, despite his namesake, despite his reputation. Maybe he could just be truthful with himself, just this once, for Tony.

He had let go. He had let go, and tried, willed it, wanted to die at that moment, when he let go and watched as his world fell away. He tried to surrender, to give away everything of value and importance, even himself.

And for what? A father who could never love him as himself? A kingdom that willfully misunderstood and vilified him for his natural gifts, even before they knew he was born from monsters?

Maybe the first step to recovery is accepting that he had something to actually recover from.