Loki was miserable. He was miserable and he was broken and he was lost, and Asgard was a place reserved for his worst nightmares. He was plagued by Thor's love for Jane (a love greater than Thor's love for his own brother), and those thoughts led him through a vicious cycle of remembering and feeling and knowing he would never be able to return home. Home was a foreign concept now; it meant nothing to the God of Mischief. Loki would eventually push himself to believe that it never had, or so he thought.
"You're thinking too much... again," Rébecca called from across the room. She would have been able to feel his scowl from a mile away, but it wasn't enough to force her gaze away from her computer screen.
"How would you know what I'm thinking of, stupid girl?" Loki folded his arms across his chest. He was prone to throwing the tantrum of a child, a sight that was both embarrassing and filled with amusement.
"I never said I did," she sighed. "I said you were thinking too much."
"You know nothing."
Becca finally forced her gaze away from her laptop. "That's the best you've got?"
Loki drew in a deep breath before he began, "you are a dim-witted, puny," but the man with the silver tongue was, for once, at a loss for words. "I am not going to waste my time being made a fool of by some insolent child!"
"Ohkay. Says the man sulking on my couch," Becca laughed.
"I hate you," he seethed.
With yet another roll of her eyes, Becca finally managed (albeit begrudgingly) to get up. She closed her laptop and left it resting where she'd been sitting at the dining table. "What you need is a good bath."
"Are you my mother now?"
"Might as well be. Let's go." Despite his strength, Loki didn't protest too much when Becca hoisted him up by the shoulders. He was taller than her, heavier, but anyone was pliable when they weren't using their weight against you. "In the bath. Hot chocolate will be ready when you're done."
Loki shot her a glare that was meant to be menacing, but there was nothing about his face that invoked fear in the Midgardian. She smiled as she watched him sulk – or maybe he was seething – his way into the bathroom.
Once full, the tub was warm and welcoming and unbiased toward his more evil accomplishments. He sunk below the water to his chin and allowed his eyes to close, thinking of the stupid girl making stupid mugs of hot chocolate, and wondering if maybe, just maybe, he'd found himself a place to belong after all. Loki was home.