Cy was not generally known for her ability to let things go. She folded her arms and crossed her legs and shut her eyes, prepared to stay for however long it took until Loki was able to look after himself again. The set of her jaw was stubborn; nothing less than a missile to the face would make her voluntarily move. Even then, it would only be grudgingly, and she would grumble the whole way. 

She slitted one eye open to make sure Loki was resting properly. She hadn’t been kidding about sitting on him if he didn’t cooperate. She wasn’t above doing it now. 

Arc met Wilson in the other room and raised an eyebrow at the closed door. “So… I hear we’ve got Loki in there. Please tell me it’s not.” He’d dealt with Loki before (more than once) and the idea of the mischievous god in HIS h.q. was a combination of nerve-wracking and infuriating. He trusted Loki at SHIELD about as much as he trusted a lion in a pen full of sheep. He rubbed a hand across his bald head and sighed heavily, dropping into a chair beside Wilson. “Seriously. Tell me it’s not him so I can sleep tonight.”