Those first few days, they don't let Loki leave his floor.
It's not safe. Harboring a ex-terrorist, no matter how reformed or broken, is sure to bring drastic repercussions that even the Mighty Avengers couldn't talk themselves out of. If not for Anthony and Thor's insistence, Loki probably would have been shackled and Bifrosted to Asgard the moment he was deemed healthy enough for transport. But Anthony and Thor have always been pigheaded. As individuals, they could level entire kingdoms with their will and strength. Together, well, together, they could move Loki into Avenger Tower.
Of course, there's still the glaring fact that the "trust" applies only to his floor, but it's fine. Not like he has anywhere to go anyway.
Loki huffs, tosses his copy of Mockingjay across the room, and drags a hand over his face. His foot is tapping irritably against the floor, bringing to the room a tick-tick-ticking sound that, admittedly, is worse than the silence.
"Mr. Laufeyson", J.A.R.V.I.S. beckons, startling Loki from his seat. "Do you require aid?"
"Norns", Loki hisses as he gathers himself from the floor. "Must you be so intrusive?"
"You seem agitated. Would you like for me to contact Mr. Stark?"
"No!" The word shoots out like a soundwave, lingering long after it's been spoken; it bounces off the walls of the room and slams back into his ears; there's no denying the distraught lacing that single word's syllables, no denying the panic that ensues at the just the thought of asking Anthony for help.
Loki brushes his hair out of his face. He crawls to a stand, then walks to the wall of windows stretching over the city.
They're one-sided, Tony had assured him. He could look out them all he wanted with little worry of being seen. Their elder, Fury, says it's for the best, lest any prying eyes place his face and decide to turn to vigilante justice; It's a reasonable precaution, and Loki knows most of the Team shares this sentiment. But he thinks of Anthony and, for all the walls he's put up around him, he can't help but wonder if there was more weight to the decision than merely keeping his identity a secret.
"Sir has been taking part in several meetings to grant you more access to the Tower", J.A.R.V.I.S. tells him; he sounds closer. A ventriloquist act, Loki deduces tiredly.
Those first few days, they don't let Loki leave his floor.
It's not safe. Harboring a ex-terrorist, no matter how reformed or broken, is sure to bring drastic repercussions that even the Mighty Avengers couldn't talk themselves out of. If not for Anthony and Thor's insistence, Loki probably would have been shackled and Bifrosted to Asgard the moment he was deemed healthy enough for transport. But Anthony and Thor have always been pigheaded. As individuals, they could level entire kingdoms with their will and strength. Together, well, together, they could move Loki into Avenger Tower.
Of course, there's still the glaring fact that the "trust" applies only to his floor, but it's fine. Not like he has anywhere to go anyway.
Loki huffs, tosses his copy of Mockingjay across the room, and drags a hand over his face. His foot is tapping irritably against the floor, bringing to the room a tick-tick-ticking sound that, admittedly, is worse than the silence.
"Mr. Laufeyson", J.A.R.V.I.S. beckons, startling Loki from his seat. "Do you require aid?"
"Norns", Loki hisses as he gathers himself from the floor. "Must you be so intrusive?"
"You seem agitated. Would you like for me to contact Mr. Stark?"
"No!" The word shoots out like a soundwave, lingering long after it's been spoken; it bounces off the walls of the room and slams back into his ears; there's no denying the distraught lacing that single word's syllables, no denying the panic that ensues at the just the thought of asking Anthony for help.
Loki brushes his hair out of his face. He crawls to a stand, then walks to the wall of windows stretching over the city.
They're one-sided, Tony had assured him. He could look out them all he wanted with little worry of being seen. Their elder, Fury, says it's for the best, lest any prying eyes place his face and decide to turn to vigilante justice; It's a reasonable precaution, and Loki knows most of the Team shares this sentiment. But he thinks of Anthony and, for all the walls he's put up around him, he can't help but wonder if there was more weight to the decision than merely keeping his identity a secret.
"Sir has been taking part in several meetings to grant you more access to the Tower", J.A.R.V.I.S. tells him; he sounds closer. A ventriloquist act, Loki deduces tiredly.
"They'll never go for it", he says, pinching his lower lip between his fingers.
"I think you'd be quite surprised at what Sir can accomplish when he sets his mind to something."
"Hm." Turning from the window, Loki approaches the refrigerator and tosses open its door. WIthin, there's a vast array of fine wines, out-of-season foods, and peculiar ice cream flavors. One such flavor is Cookie Dough Ice Cream; it was something he'd grown to enjoy during his many "trips" to Midgard, and, when his time amongst the cosmos had grown weary, he'd think of the dessert and feel not quite as bad. Loki doesn't remember telling Anthony any of this, but he's supposes there's a lot of things he doesn't remember telling him.
"Don't think about it", he murmurs to himself. He grabs the tub of ice cream from the shelf. With a twist of his fingers, the door slams shut, a soft clank echoing throughout the room. It's a simple spell, one that, on a normal day, he could perform with barely a thought. But his magic's severely depleted, and even a simple Command Spell has proven enough to sap a day's worth of energy. As it stands, he can barely manage the walk across the room without collapsing onto one of the bean bag chairs. It's infuriating to have gone from one of the most powerful mages in the Nine Realms to a being that nearly faints at Commands. The doctor, Banner, says it's temporary, that his strength will return in due time and that using his powers will only prolong the process. 'Course, what does he know? A simple, wretched Midgardian as himself, he couldn't even begin to comprehend the genetic makeup of an otherworldly being, much less a-
"Aah!" Loki doubles forward, an arm wrapped around his middle, and hisses. He's seeing spots, and it feels like someone's taken a blade to his core. He falls across his seat, clenching his fingers around the sifting material, and grits his teeth.
"Mr. Laufeyson", J.A.R.V.I.S. questions. If Loki weren't too busy trying to put out the fire within his stomach, he'd wonder why the voice sounded concerned. "Are your injuries troubling you?"
"What could possibly give you that idea", he bites out in return. Not even a moment later, something fans the coals of the fire, licking across every nerve in his body. Curling into a ball, he chokes down a cry and wills his spasming magic to remain contained; on top of everything else, the last thing he needs is an accident.
"Dr. Banner is just three floors away", J.A.R.V.I.S. informs him, sounding farther away than before. "I could-"
"I'm fine." Loki presses three tender fingers against his abdomen, only to recoil at the spark of pain this prompts. "It's just a little, just some tugging", he pants as he settles into the fetal position. "It'll pass."
"Would you like for me to call Mr. Stark?"
"No."
"I called for him two minutes ago. He will arrive shortly."
"You are an awful, despicable-"
"Loki!"
Loki curses, then rolls as much as his body will allow until he can catch sight of Anthony kicking his door open. As he takes note of the sheen of sweat on Loki's forehead and the tight set of his teeth, the barely-concealed panic within Anthony's eyes fades, only to be replaced with unabashed worry. Anthony crosses the room, murmuring something as he taps his ear, and crouches beside Loki on the bean bag chair.
At first, he doesn't say anything. Just sits there, waiting and listening as Loki struggles to regain his breathing. Once he's certain he's not dying, Anthony rolls onto his ass, drops his arms over his knees, and lets out an airless chuckle. Loki just raises his eyebrows.
"I guess these things do have a purpose", Anthony says with a pointed look.
Loki scowls. "I'd much rather prefer a seat that doesn't move every time I do", he murmurs. Cautiously, he pushes himself into a seated position. The movement takes way more effort than it should, leaving him, once more, a panting, sweating mess. Anthony's quick to reach out and grab him by the shoulder. Loki finds himself leaning into the gesture, seeking comfort from the only source he knows. He draws close, closer until Anthony's taken the hint and crawled into the chair and wrapped an arm around him. It's silly how much easier it is with him here, but it's just fact.
"How bad is it", Anthony asks him, his fingers warm and soft against his stomach and shoulder. He traces them along the skin, weeding out the tension that's been building up there.
Loki sighs and creeps closer into the touch. Norns, how he's missed those fingers. "Not as bad as you're thinking. I've just been overexerting myself is all."
The fingers turn still, and Loki closes his eyes, steeling himself for the ensuing argument.
"Loki-"
"Anthony, please, I'm in no mood for quarrelling."
"This is the third time this week J's had to call for me", Anthony replies. "I'm not exactly in too good of a mood either."
Loki turns to face him. His eyes are narrowed, and his face is closed off, void of any emotion. "Well", he says carefully. "It wasn't my intent to waste your time. It was your...Voice's decision to call for you, not mine."
Anthony's shoulders sag. He closes his fingers around his lips and shakes his head. "You know I didn't mean it like that."
He does. Of course, he does. He probably wouldn't even be sitting here if he hadn't learned how to decipher Anthony's words. But he's tired, and he's hurt, and he's frustrated, and everything just feels so grating. Loki looks down at their chair, at the space between their fingers. Anthony's got a bandage around his thumb, and there's a bruise upon the back of his hand. If Loki were even half the man he used to be, he could heal these ails with barely a moment's thought. All he can do now is take those hands in his own and give them solace. But there's a space between them, and Loki isn't sure if now's the time to address it.
"Yeah, I know." He drags his hands into his lap and sighs.
"You know I...you know I want you here. I wouldn't have you here if I didn't."
Loki nods. "The Voice told me you were attempting to extend my access to the Tower." He watches the red unfurl across Anthony's cheeks and smiles. "I doubt much will come of it, but I do appreciate your efforts."
Anthony raises an eyebrow. A cheeky grin spreads across his face, and he leans forward, a sly glint within his eyes. "Excuse me", he scoffs. "But was that-was that a 'thank you'? Was that sincere, genuine gratitude, or are my ears deceiving me?"
"Ah, it must be your ears." Loki grunts, rolls, and rises to his feet, leaning against Anthony as his balance threatens to betray him. "I'm never grateful."
Anthony rolls his eyes. He keeps an arm around Loki's lower-back as he guides him to the bar, even after he's caught his footing. "Mm, what if I made you a sandwich?"
"You don't cook, and I loathe Midgardian food." As he's saying this, he thinks back to his tube of ice cream, which is no doubt a disgusting, lukewarm mess in the other room. He pulls a face but continues in his pace, seeing no reason to lose the warmth of Anthony's arm before he has to.
"You just haven't found anything good", Anthony says as he helps him into his chair. He then takes a seat of his own, reaching into the cooler for two frozen Nakeds. He uncaps the Mango, then passes it to Loki, smirking at the pout he receives in return. "Now that you're, uh, here for a while", he continues, opening his Green Machine. "Maybe I could always take you around, show you some spots."
Loki sips at his drink and nods. "That'd actually be nice", he notes wistfully. "If you don't mind aggravating your Director when you break me out of here."
"Always so eager to break things. But give me a couple of weeks. Fury's already backing off on the single-floor rule. It's only a matter of time before I get to introduce you to the wonder that is New York City Hot Dogs."
"Tried them. Not a fan."
Anthony places a hand to his chest and groans. "You're breaking my heart." He takes three gulps of his smoothie, swipes a hand over his lip, and belches. Loki hides a smile behind his bottle. "But I'm serious. There's tons of cool stuff to do in New York. Once we get you back on your feet, you won't wanna leave."
"Oh, I'm certain." He places his bottle on the counter and shoves it away from him. Sheathing his mouth with his hand, he yawns and stretches his legs out beneath him. "But for now, I think I'd just like to rest."
"Rest. Right, of course. Uh." Anthony rises from his seat and wraps his arms around him once more. Loki starts to protest, but moments like these are fleeting, rare, and he'd rather mellow in them than allow them to pass him by.
"Your...Voice doesn't respond well to instructions", Loki tells him as they pause outside his room.
"Ah." Anthony leans against the wall and shrugs. "Usually, he's a peach. But if he suspects any one of the Tower's inhabitants is hurt, he immediately lets me know."
"What happens if you're hurt?"
He looks down at his fingers. He tugs his lower lip between his teeth and murmurs, "He sends Pepper a text."
Pepper. The girlfriend.
Former girlfriend, Loki reminds himself, but it's not like it matters anyway. He'd have to be mad to even think of pursuing anything beyond whatever this is he has with Anthony. He forces a smile to his face and nods. "Good", he tells him. Anthony looks at him like it's anything but, but he shakes his head and waves a hand. "Get some rest, Anthony. You look worse than I feel."
At this, Anthony frowns and rears his head back. "Well, excuse me. I wasn't aware my dashingly good looks were so important to you."
"They aren't", Loki chuckles. "If my recovery's going to go nearly as well as it should, I need to be relieved of all stress. And that." He gestures to Anthony's face. "Is stressing me out."
"Well, what can I say, I'm a busy guy. I don't have time to sleep."
But you have time to check on me every time I pull my stitches.
Loki shakes the thought from his head. He leans against his doorframe and considers Anthony. Loki's done nothing but rest for the past week, but Anthony looks like he hasn't seen a bed since, well, before. He's heard of Anthony's poor sleep hygiene, but he's never quite looked it in the eye. Now, he is, and he wants nothing more than to take Anthony by the hand and guide him into his bed.
Neither of them are ready for that. But Anthony needs sleep, and Loki needs for Anthony to be okay.
He reaches into the pocket of his robe and pulls out a purple pouch. Without hesitation, he reaches over and passes it to Anthony. Anthony weighs it in his hand, then looks up, perplexion written clear across his face.
"It's for sleeping", Loki explains, tucking his arms into his armpits. "Sprinkle some of the powder on your pillow; you'll sleep just fine."
Anthony smiles. "You aren't supposed to be using your magic."
"I know, I know, and I won't. As long as you promise to use that."
The smile grows wider, softer. He reaches out and places a hand against Loki's chin, staring into his eyes like he knows where they lead. "I still don't get you", Anthony admits, dragging a thumb along the stubble of Loki's chin. "Even after all this time, I can't figure you out."
Loki closes his eyes. He lifts his hand and presses it over Anthony's. He breathes. "I know." He lingers there, entranced by his touch, before pulling away and stepping over the threshold that separates his room from the hall. Anthony stares at him, still holding that bag of Sleeping Powder.
"Good night."
Loki nods. "Good night, Anthony." And he closes the door.