Moving slowly, you descended to the lower level, your steps echoing faintly in the quiet hallway. The air was thick with tension, each movement deliberate as you approached the containment room. The sound of the locks shifting and clicking into place as you walked sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, but you didn't show it. You were accustomed to these things—powerful beings caged behind steel and energy shields, things that mere mortals couldn't fathom.

You couldn't quite understand why Tony hadn't taken Loki away or transferred him to the Raft by now. Maybe he was trying to figure out what to do with him, to find the right way to deal with someone like Loki. The Raft was a prison designed for people who had, for lack of a better term, overstepped their bounds. It could hold the most dangerous individuals, but a demigod? Someone with the power to reshape reality itself? The Raft couldn't contain a being like that, and Tony knew it.

Loki stood there in the cell, his figure a silhouette against the dim lights, his posture regal despite the chains that bound him. His eyes glinted with that familiar mixture of cunning and mischief, though there was something darker in them now — something sharp and unforgiving. A prisoner, yes, but one who knew how to play the game, one who knew how to turn the tables.

You stopped just in front of his cell, arms crossed, gaze fixed on him. The moment Loki noticed you, a wicked smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "Ah, my dear, it's always a pleasure to see you," he said, his voice smooth as velvet, carrying that unnerving charm he could never quite suppress.

"Is it?" you asked, your tone cold and controlled. You were used to dealing with Loki, but that didn't mean you trusted him. Not in the slightest.

His smile widened, eyes gleaming with something dark. "Always. Though I must admit, I'm curious. What is it you want, hmm? Have you come to gloat, or perhaps to offer me an escape?" He tilted his head, an expression of mock innocence on his face.

You studied him for a moment, the flickering shadows of the dim room playing across his features, before speaking. "I don't need anything from you, Loki. I came to see how you were holding up."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "How very kind of you," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And here I thought you might be a little more... invested in my situation."

"I'm not," you said bluntly. "And I'm not here to play your games either."

Loki's eyes twinkled, as though he found that amusing. "Ah, but you're already playing, my dear. The moment you set foot in this room, you became part of my game. It's inevitable."

You took a step closer, studying his every move, his every word. He was too clever for his own good, but so were you. "I didn't come to play games, Loki. I came to remind you that you're not as invincible as you like to think."

Loki's smile faded slightly, though his confidence never wavered. "I've never thought myself invincible," he replied softly, almost too softly. "I've always known that there are greater forces at work in this world. And I've always known that eventually, they will come for me."

You watched him, sensing the undercurrent of something deeper, something he rarely let others see. But that wasn't your concern right now. "You're not getting out of here. Not without consequences."

His expression darkened slightly, but only for a moment, before his typical arrogance reasserted itself. "I'm well aware of that, darling. But the question remains — what are you going to do about it?"

You stood there, staring him down. For all his bravado, you knew Loki wasn't one to be underestimated. But you also knew that no matter how many tricks he pulled, no matter how many gods he deceived, he was still bound by something far more powerful than his schemes. And that, in the end, was something he couldn't escape.

For now, you turned and began to walk away, leaving Loki in his cell. "We'll see," you said softly over your shoulder, "how long that confidence lasts."

As you ascended to the upper levels once more, you couldn't shake the feeling that Loki was already planning his next move. But for now, he would remain in his cage, waiting, like all of them did.

As you entered the common room again, the tension in the air seemed to hang a little heavier. The dim light from the nearby lamps cast soft shadows across the room, and there, sitting on the couch with a furrowed brow, was Bucky. The moment he saw you, his eyes darkened with concern.

"You were down there, weren't you?" he asked, his voice slow, carefully controlled, yet tinged with an unmistakable edge of worry. "With... him."

You could hear the tension in his words. The mention of Loki always seemed to bring a certain unease to anyone, but especially to Bucky. You knew the reason why—his past, the trauma he carried, and how it often manifested in these protective instincts, especially toward people he cared about.

Sighing softly, you moved towards him, your eyes softening as you took in the concern on his face. He was so used to fighting, to protecting, that sometimes he forgot just how strong you were. You understood his need to shield you, but you knew that there were moments when it wasn't necessary.

"Bucky," you began, your voice calm, steady, "I love that you try to protect me, but I'm far stronger than you think, darling." Your hand gently cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing across the rough stubble there as you leaned into him. His tension seemed to ease slightly, though his eyes still held traces of doubt.

"I know what I'm doing," you reassured him, giving him a quick, gentle peck on the lips, a soft reminder that you were in control of yourself and the situation. His breath hitched for a moment, but the look in his eyes softened, that quiet vulnerability he always tried to hide slipping through just enough for you to see.

With a final squeeze on his shoulder, you pulled away, leaving the weight of his emotions behind for now. "I'm going to get something to eat," you said with a small smile, a glint of determination in your eyes. You had a task to complete, and nothing was going to stand in your way—not even the worry in Bucky's heart.

You moved toward the kitchen, the soft click of your heels against the hardwood floor punctuating the silence. Tony had left you a few recipes, ones he had wanted you to try—more of a challenge than anything, a request from a man who believed he could outdo anyone in the culinary world. Well, you'd show him that no one could top your skills in the kitchen.

You set about gathering ingredients with practiced ease, your fingers moving deftly over the counters as you pulled together the necessary items. There was something about cooking that gave you a sense of peace, a way to focus, to put your mind into something tangible, something real. The task at hand was simple enough, but there was a quiet thrill in it, especially when you knew Tony's reaction would be priceless.

As you chopped, stirred, and mixed the ingredients together, you couldn't help but think back to the conversation with Bucky. You knew he meant well, and you appreciated his concern, but there was still a part of you that felt protective of him in return. He didn't always see his own strength, his resilience, the same way you did.

It was funny, really. The way everyone tried to shield each other from the things that scared them most. But in the end, it was the trust that mattered—the trust you placed in each other to survive the worst of it. And that was something you both had in abundance.