On the eve of the so-called Time Heist, Natasha volunteers for what has been dubbed Thor duty. Tony, Rocket, and Bruce had been doing most of the heavy lifting there, forcing Thor to 'keep them company' while they put the finishing touches on the portal device. But Natasha and Thor had once had a ritual, back when things were simpler and the team had all been together. Back then, the nights before a mission, she and Thor would spend time together, just the two of them. Unable to sleep for the adrenaline, they would talk and braid one another's hair out of the way for the following day. Natasha had learned more about Thor in those hours spent together than she had ever thought possible, and she had found herself missing him frequently, not just in the days since the Snap, but in the years leading up to it. Since Ultron, and since Thor left to explore the galaxy. The galaxy, unfortunately, had not been kind to Thor.
"Hey there, big guy," she greets him, walking over to the sofa he has claimed as his own and settling comfortably beside him, making a point to ensure their thighs are pressing together. Thor is physical person, and it hasn't escaped Natasha's notice that he hasn't initiated contact with any of them even once since he's been back. "How're you holding up?" Nobody seems to know how to act around Thor, now, and she is pretty sure nobody has actually asked him how he's doing yet, even though it's pretty obvious how well he's doing. As in, not well at all.
Thor moves as though he wants to pull away from her, but instead he merely leans forward to snag a can of beer from the table in front of him. "Peachy," Thor says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Great, we're gonna fix everything, why wouldn't I be - why wouldn't things be just great? I'm great, Nat, thanks." He cracks open the can and drinks it down in three long swallows, crushing it in his fist.
Natasha swivels her body to face him, making sure to keep the physical contact she'd initiated. He's staring down into his hands, hunched and broken, and Natasha wonders if they're going to be able to count on him in the morning, or if Rocket will be going to Asgard alone. She isn't sure which option she would prefer, really. "It's okay if you're not, you know," she murmurs softly, sliding her fingers over his hair, pulling it away from his face. "I know I'm…" She swallows, shakes her head. "I'm terrified, Thor," she admits, cursing herself as her eyes fill with tears. She hastily scrubs them away with the back of her sleeve. She never used to be so open with her emotions like this, and being so around her old teammates makes her feel raw and flayed open. She hates it. She can't imagine Thor feels much differently, considering she has watched him break down in tears and then immediately withdraw from the group multiple times over the past couple of days.
Thor snorts and grabs another beer. Natasha knows they had collectively agreed not to force Thor into giving up drinking so she doesn't comment. Somebody needs to, eventually. When all this is over and everyone is home, they've all agreed: Thor becomes their priority. For all the times he had served as the solid bedrock of the team, the one who always got up when he was knocked down, the one who always went out of his way to find a way to smile, to make them smile, Natasha can see now what that truly has cost him. Because he's still trying, forcing a smile as tears run into his overgrown beard, playing up the role he's fallen into to hide how much it hurts that he's become a laughingstock. Not that any of the team thinks that of him, but one of Natasha's greatest skills is observing, noticing things others wouldn't. And it hurts Thor that they're on edge around him, that they're all clearly trying to prop him up even as they work to save the galaxy, that they're essentially working around him. She notices how he makes himself scarce if he ends up lost in his memories in front of any of them, if anyone comments on how he looks, or how he's acting. She wonders how long it's been since anyone has hugged Thor. So, she does. She leans over and wraps her arms around his bulky shoulders and buries her face in his filthy hair. She feels him stiffen in her arms. "I need a hug, buddy," she growls against the side of his head. "Just let me have this."
Slowly, slowly, Thor turns too, and envelopes her in a crushing embrace. Thor has always given the best hugs, and that, at least, hasn't changed. In fact, hugging Thor now is even better, softer and more comfortable than broad planes of rock-hard muscle. They remain like that for a while, propped in each other's arms, Natasha's fingers playing with the ends of Thor's hair, rubbing over his back, and he's practically melted into her touch. When was the last time anyone had touched Thor at all, besides Bruce's medical intervention Thor's first night here, and the hand Tony puts against Thor's chest whenever he seems to be on the verge of a meltdown? "I'm not ready," he breaths into her shoulder.
"None of us are," she assures him, pulling back finally and meeting his eyes. He keeps darting his gaze away, but she grips his jaw between her thumb and forefinger and forces him to make eye contact with her. "How could we be? But I know - I'm lucky, I think, going someplace I don't know. Somewhere I don't have memories of." Sending Thor to Asgard, while the best option, also seems unnecessarily cruel, a reminder of what Thor will not be getting back, even if they do succeed.
This time, Thor meets her eyes on his own. Natasha isn't sure she's ever going to get used to the mis-matched irises; just one more thing Thor has lost. "Well, you would like Asgard, I think," he says. "It's - it was - beautiful there. Gardens. Lots of, lots of gardens." He's getting a little worked up, and Natasha wordlessly hands him his drink. He looks at her with such an expression of relieved gratitude that she nearly weeps. "And water, and - the Bifrost - you would arrive and look down the Rainbow Bridge and you'd see the palace, where I lived, and I never -" He drinks, and looks back down at his hands. "I never thought I would see it again. I don't want to see it again. I - I don't think -"
Natasha rubs his shoulder and waits for him to collect his thoughts. Thor has always had a tendency to go on tangents, especially about Asgard, always boasting about defeating this troll or that giant, always describing the dragons and bilgesnipes and golden towers of his home, but now the words seem far less planned, as if he's just speaking his thoughts as they come to him with no good organization or through-line. "We could trade places," he suggests. "Rabbit and I could go to Vormir, you and Barton could go to Asgard." He sounds desperate, his eyes pleading. "I don't want to go back there," he moans.
Natasha wants to agree with his plan. Really, it makes little difference who goes where - or, rather, when. Steve is going to 2012 because having another Captain America on scene will be helpful when liberating the Tesseract and the Scepter, but beyond that… Natasha is sure the intention behind sending Thor to Asgard was a good one, but seeing how distressed he is gives her second thoughts. The problem is, everything has already been calibrated and is ready to go. To change team destinations now would set them back another few days, and Natasha knows they collectively would start to become impatient with the wait. "Hey," she says, reaching down to grab his free hand. "Hey, it's gonna be okay. You've got this."
Thor's nostrils flare and he breaths quickly, harshly, as if he can't quite get enough air. His eyes have gone wide and wild and he looks - he looks panicked. "Hey, hey, Thor, it's okay," she says, putting a hand on either side of his head, rubbing soft circles against his temples. His eyes slide closed for a moment and he appears to be making a real effort to calm down. She keeps rubbing, massaging his scalp as he stops shaking. "Here, scootch up a little bit," she says, turning him so she can kneel on the couch cushions behind him. He does as she tells him to, mechanically.
It would be pointless to try to take a comb to the dreadlocked mess that is Thor's hair, but Natasha tries to smooth it out anyway, separating the larger clumps into smaller strands, trying to make it look like it's an intentional choice instead of a symptom of Thor's deteriorated mental state. "Let me do something with this," she says softly, twining a strand around her finger, but she understands. Thor is hiding. He's hiding behind his hair, his beard, his weight, his sweatshirts and his sunglasses. He's hiding behind alcohol and food and the act of pretending it's all fine and normal. She doesn't drop her hands from his hair, but she does drop the suggestion. Let Thor hide however he needs to in order to complete the mission. Then, then, they can work on recovery. "Or," she says, giving him a squeeze by pressing herself a little tighter against his back, "you could help me with mine." He turns his head to give her an incredulous look, and Natasha flips up a lock of her grown-out hair. She has been taking far better care of herself than Thor has, but that doesn't mean her hair isn't fairly unmanageable as it is for their task tomorrow.
Thor hums a little, his expression suggesting he knows why she's asking. It's the night before a mission. Natasha needs her hair braided, and nobody but Thor can do it just right. He looks a little shy - and since when has Thor Odinson been shy? - but nods and they switch positions. Natasha hands him a comb and a couple of hair ties she'd brought with her and he starts running the comb through her hair, tugging gently until it's smooth. Nat leans back against him, making certain to give him as much human contact as possible before tomorrow. He deserves it. He starts a bit when her back makes contact with his stomach and she can feel him trying to suck in his gut for a moment, but then he seems to realize that she isn't going to pull away from him and relaxes a little bit. He braids silently, his meaty fingers working with the gentle deftness that Thor has always excelled in. He seems to be taking longer with it than he might have otherwise, but Natasha doesn't mind. It feels good to have his fingers in her hair, running over her scalp and rubbing her neck and shoulders, easing the tension that she hasn't been able to drop since the Snap. "Done," he rumbles in her ear a while later, and Natasha raises her hand to feel what he'd done. At first it feels like a simple French braid, but then she realizes he has put smaller plaits at the front of her head and pulled them into a larger braid on the side of her face that then swept into the main braid at the base of her neck. Surprisingly complex, just like Thor himself. She turns around and smiles at him. "Thank you," she says sincerely and leans forward for another hug, suddenly afraid, because despite everyone's cautious optimism, Natasha can't shake the feeling of finality. They're on the edge of something dangerous, something terrifying, and she has no idea what tomorrow will bring.
Thor hugs her back far more readily, this time, and they hold each other in companionable silence, drawing strength from one another as they once had, a lifetime ago. They both drink a couple more beers, but Natasha is shocked when, for the first night since coming back to the Compound, Thor doesn't drink himself into a stupor, stops when she does, matches her pace. Maybe he does want to get better, she thinks. And once this is done, she'll make sure she's there for him while he tries, will help him try.
"You'd better come back," she informs him on their way to the portal platform, giving his hand a squeeze.
He nods once, movement jerky. "You too," he says. And then he smiles, and it almost looks genuine, this time. Natasha returns it, and Steve begins to talk, and it feels just like old times for just a minute or two. It gives her the boost of courage she needs to join Clint and to activate her device. Vormir awaits, and so does victory. Whatever it takes.