By this point he's fairly sure it's nearing seventy three hours since he's had any sort of sleep. He'd kept his eyes peeled on the ceiling above him, having hardly moved them since he'd laid down on his bed those three days again. He'd ignored Thor's calls from behind the closed door, sealed shut with magic, ignored the damn Intelligence system's brief interrogations, even managed to shut his ears off to the complaints of the genius whose tower he currently inhabited. None of it mattered so why didn't they leave him alone?
Thor thinks he is hurt; Tony simply called him spoiled, though neither knew of the reason for his exile. Loki knew he was a mixture of the two, likely bordering on the latter. He wasn't going to move until he had to, until he could take back the actions of his some three damn days ago. He's replayed the scene over and over in his mind's eye, committing each detail to his memory. Failure was nothing new to the demigod; it was a familiar poison he'd drank time and time again. He just never thought it could find him here.
"Loki I don't see what your problem is." She removed her earrings, sliding them into her clutch. They'd cut the date short on the account of the very angry demigod moving behind her. He slammed the door shut with more force than intended, though to Natasha's credit she didn't jump at the noise.
"Do not play coy with me, Natasha." The black haired man fumed, words practically trembling with his fury. "It is ill-befitting of my woman."
"I don't think you've earned the right to call me your anything." Her voice was soft though her eyes shot daggers at his body, used his heart for target practice, when she glanced back at him. She pulled her hair out of the elegant knot she'd managed to maneuver it into, letting the red curls tumble past her bare shoulders. He reached out to grab a handful, too quick for her to pull away, and yanked her back to face him. Her expression went blank as he glared and held her by the tendrils.
"What are you trying to say?" He demanded, green eyes burning with his fury. "Because I got a little over protective-."
"Loki, you transformed the waiter into a pigeon."
"The man should not have been taking such liberal glances at your bosom. I am more than entitled to be angry." He can't help but look himself, and his fury grew, knowing the man had gotten more of an eyeful of what was his. His. Abandoning her hair, he grabbed her by the shoulders and twisted her around hard enough to nearly send her tumbling to the floor if he hadn't caught her. Before she could complain he'd slid the zipper down and shoved the form-fitting black dress off her shoulders and watched as it sunk to the floor.
Unabashed, Natasha turned and whipped her hand hard enough across his face that his head snapped to one side, actual tears springing into his eyes. It only fueled his fire, though rather than take it out on her he added a few new holes to the wall of her apartment, and shattered the table with a few lashes of his fists.
Natasha stared, wide eyed, and would have trembled if she was not so well trained when Loki finally managed to turn back to her. He hadn't realized it, but in his fury his skin had shifted, the normal peach hue fading until his form was bathed in a deep azure, skin puckered with scars and symbols etched into his skin. His red eyes found her blue ones and saw genuine terror. Only then did he look down at his hands, knuckles swelling already from the abuse. He swallowed hard, hands shaking as they fell to his side. He could hardly get out an apology before he called on his magic to transport him away and back to Stark tower where he had been staying.
The ceiling turned the same deep hue of blue every evening, changing with the coming of the evening. Loki refused to turn on the lights since he'd made the discovery, a sort of morbid fascination coming over him every sunset and sunrise where he could watch the blue be chased away by the oncoming sunlight, a true monster moved out of sight and out of mind until the darkness overtook it once more. No, never out of mind.
He hadn't changed back to his human form since he'd made the change, forcing himself to stay in this new, horrible skin. She'd said it herself that day on the hellicarrier: he was a monster. It was only fitting he get used to it, grow acclimated to this strange skin and how it alienated every familiar feeling. The room had once been a comfortable temperature but now set him aflame in a slow burn. He never asked the computer to change it, however, and preferred to let himself sweat it out. Better to suffer and deal with it than to try and go back to pretending it never existed.
The knocking on the door came back. Rogers tried this time, though his words did as much good as the others. He attempted to appeal to the demigod's hunger, then to his sense of wonder ("There's a really amazing discovery Thor found about why your magic seems to rub off on all of us!") but eventually the Captain gave up the same as all the others that came before him. Loki can't understand why they keep trying.
Loki's self-administered isolation was bordering on eighty-seven hours when he heard something above him shift. A panel moved, catching his eye and his breath as dark auburn hair flashed before his gaze. A thud, then muffled footsteps pulled her closer to him. She slipped into the wrinkled bed next to him, head using his arm as a pillow as one of her arms wrapped itself around his waist.
"Is this how a god pouts?" Her voice is muffled, lips moving against his skin. "Or are you trying to apologize by cutting yourself off? Because all you're doing is making Thor cry, and you know I hate dealing with tears."
He swallowed hard, shifting so he can look at her. He licked his lips, wetting the dry skin before he can say a word. "I didn't think you'd come back. I'd understand if you didn't."
"Well, you're acting like a child," she told him, pulling her head up so she could get a good look at him, red eyes and all. Her hand cupped the side of his face. "And you're not allowed to do that again. Understood?"
She couldn't have been any clearer, and his head bounced in his agreement. She pressed her lips to the markings on his forehead, and he shuddered beneath her, arms pulling her against his chest with the lightest of hugs. She shivered, but allowed it, arms wrapping around to hold him in return.
A/N: I don't own Loki, Natasha, or any rights to anything Marvel. The title of the piece comes from "Your Ghost" by Greg Laswell, which I don't own the rights to either, but it is gorgeous so you should have a listen.