A/N: Exciting news! Firstly, I've managed to crack this chapter out with a far shorter wait than the last time. Secondly, on Sunday it was my tenth anniversary of joining this ridiculous site, and to celebrate, on Saturday night I uploaded my 120th fic, which, not only was a Blackfrost fic, (called Intoxication, in case you were interested, hint hint) but also pushed me over the one million words archived milestone. So that's a really big deal for me personally and I just wanted to share that with you. Also, over a third of those million words have been published in the last year, and have been largely Blackfrost orientated, so props to you guys for getting so much mileage out of me. You're awesome.
The Interloper
by Flaignhan
She may just be about ready to go back to work. She has seen the same fifteen episodes of Friends half a dozen times at least. It is, apparently, too much for her to expect the TV network to show different ones after all. She's anxious to get outside, but she doesn't really have anywhere to go, and knows that there's no way in hell she could take Loki with her, even in disguise. She'd rather be around him, if she's honest. At least while she's still fragile.
They don't do a lot of talking. In fact there are some days where they don't speak at all, but it doesn't feel strained. She likes not being obliged to make conversation, it suits her just fine, and he seems perfectly content to keep quiet. They spend their evenings in front of the TV, Loki not bothering to hide his disdain for the 'idiot mortals' on the commercials. She doesn't bother explaining to him that it's all fake, she's pretty certain he knows anyway, but just wants cause for complaint.
There aren't a lot of people he can look down on anymore.
It's late on the Thursday evening in her final week of house arrest when an enormous boom nearly has Natasha jumping out of her skin. Heart thudding wildly in her chest, she looks across to Loki, who lets out a shaky breath, his lower lip trembling.
"Sean?" Natasha whispers, reaching across for her phone to ensure that she hasn't received any texts. Just like last time, nobody's made any contact. Loki shakes his head, his eyes narrowed.
"He wouldn't be foolish enough," he murmurs.
"Natasha!" a familiar voice booms through the wooden door of her apartment. "May I please enter?"
Loki's jaw juts forward at the sound of Thor's voice, and his fingers curl into the padding on the arm of the sofa, his knuckles straining under the skin.
"Bedroom, now," Natasha hisses, and when Loki's lips curve into a smirk, all traces of displeasure at his brother's presence vanished, just for a moment, she sends him a withering look. At this, he pushes himself up from the sofa and disappears into the bedroom, leaving the door open just a crack, presumably so he can eavesdrop on the conversation. Pushing him from her mind, she gets up and heads towards the hallway, just as Thor sends his fist crashing into her front door once more. Even the floor shudders at the impact, and Natasha shakes her head.
"Natasha! Are you in there?"
"Yeah, I'm coming," she says impatiently, loud enough for him to hear, but, unlike him, not loud enough to wake the entire block. When she reaches the door she pulls it open, to find Thor leaning heavily against the wall of the corridor, his head resting against the back of his forearm.
"How are you?" he asks, much more quietly now, his words slightly slurred. "Are you well?"
"Are you drunk?" she asks incredulously, stepping to one side to let him pass her. There's no way she can allow him to go back onto the streets of the city like this. He'll probably take out half a city block just looking for his apartment key. He stumbles past her, the heavy soles of his shoes clomping loudly against her wooden floors. Natasha mentally apologises to her downstairs neighbour and closes the front door, before rushing ahead of Thor to guide him over to the sofa.
"Jane has gone to see the picture with Darcy," Thor tells her, collapsing onto the sofa with a huge thump, the inner wooden frame creaking ominously under the strain.
"The picture?" Natasha asks, quickly clearing away the two empty glasses on the coffee table, hoping that Thor is too drunk to notice such things.
"Yes," Thor says impatiently with an overly expressive wave of his hand. "The picture!"
Natasha frowns. "Right," she says, then turns and heads for the kitchen, ditching the glasses into the sink and grabbing two fresh ones, filling them both with water.
"You know," Thor calls after her, and when she looks she sees he has twisted himself on the sofa, his chin resting atop the arm, his long blond hair splayed over the dark leather. "The picture on the wall where the people eat the…" he trails off, his brow furrowing as he tries to remember the word.
"Popcorn?" Natasha supplies helpfully, at last coming to realise what he's trying to say.
"Yes!" he says, his eyes lighting up as she returns. "Popcorn! I have had it myself and found it to be most strange." He frowns again, sitting up as Natasha holds out a glass of water for him. He takes it unsteadily, water sloshing over the sides and wetting his large hand, but either he doesn't notice or doesn't care, because he doesn't bat an eyelid as he drinks deeply.
"So Jane and Darcy have gone to the movies," Natasha recaps, making herself comfortable at the other end of the sofa. She has a feeling that this isn't going to be a fleeting visit. She's banking on being up until at least the early hours, or until Thor has talked himself into a drunken stupor.
"The movies," Thor sighs. "Yes, the movies."
She can't help but smile as he tries to come to grips with life on Earth. Even though things are vaguely the same, from what she can gather, there is very little in the way of entertainment up in the realm of the gods. It goes a long way to explaining Loki's obsession with car crash TV, and Thor's complete ineptitude when informing Natasha of his girlfriend's whereabouts.
"Tony heard about their outing and decided that I should accompany him and Dr Banner to one of your Midgardian inns."
Natasha smirks. Of course Tony was going to be involved in here somewhere. Getting the god of thunder hammered though? That's certainly an achievement. She dreads to think what kind of mess he and Bruce are in right now. Unless they were cruel enough to trick Thor into drinking fifty times as much as them. She wouldn't put it past them. It probably would have taken most of the bar's stock to get the job done, but at least Tony can cover that tab.
"And they convinced you to what, drink your entire weight in beer?"
"Not beer, no," Thor says before taking another clumsy sip of water. He sets the glass heavily down on the coffee table with a loud clunk and leans back into the sofa, making himself comfortable. "It was a different drink. Stickier." He wrinkles his nose at this, then rests his hands on his stomach, letting out a heavy sigh.
"Shots? Tony made you do shots?"
"I assure you there was no weaponry involved," Thor says seriously, turning his head so he can look at her with bleary blue eyes. "All good fun."
"No, I didn't mean - " She breaks off with a sigh, and rubs her face tiredly. Sometimes it's harder work than it needs to be. She speaks half a dozen languages, but none of them are quite so challenging as speaking English to Asgardians can be. Especially when they're drunk. "Did they serve it in little glasses?" she asks, trying a different tact.
"Tiny ones!" Thor says, pushing himself up on his elbows, his face turning into an expression of discontent. "I told them I was no child and asked them to bring me a bigger glass. The innkeeper argued but Tony told him it was fine and he gave me a tankard instead."
"A tankard of what?" Natasha asks. She wonders if she ought to be calling an ambulance right now. God or not, a tankard of anything that Tony's doing in twenty-five millilitre doses is probably not good for the stomach.
"It was yellow," Thor says, sinking back down into the sofa, his eyes fixed on the dimmed lights of the candelabra above. "And it had big piece of lime in it."
"Tequila," Natasha says darkly, closing her eyes as she tries to maintain her patience. "Tony got you to drink an entire tankard of tequila."
"Three, I think you'll find," Thor says smugly. "I considered a forth but the other two had had enough, even with their puny glasses."
"Three," Natasha breathes, opening her eyes to stare at him. He's almost horizontal, a blissful grin spread across his face as he stares up at the ceiling. "You maybe wanna sit up a little?"
Thor tears his eyes away from whatever it is he finds so interesting above her, and fixes her with a wounded gaze. "Do I have to?"
"Well I'm not gonna be able to lift you up if you end up choking on your own vomit," she says airily. "So yeah, you're gonna have to."
Thor grudgingly pushes himself into a more upright position, and Natasha grabs the two nearest cushions, then shuffles along the sofa to place them behind his head. He closes his eyes in contentment, and she assumes that he's comfortable enough, before she returns to her end of the sofa, her legs crossed, elbows resting on her knees.
"So what brings you here?" Natasha asks. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, of course," she adds before he can take offence. She doesn't know if he's a sensitive drunk, but she'd rather not find out if she's being perfectly honest.
"I haven't been drunk since…" Thor trails off, his tone suddenly cooler, and Natasha's skin crawls with the direction the conversation is heading in. He's not here to play twenty one questions or truth or dare. He's here to talk. Really talk.
"Since?" Natasha asks. Part of her think it's a bad idea to remind him, but she knows, deep down, that he will eventually get to what he has to say, no matter which winding route he takes to get there. She'd much rather offer him a shortcut and get the whole thing over and done with. If not for her sake, then for Loki's, who, banished to the bedroom, will have to listen to every word his emotional, drunken brother will spout.
"Since before Malekith," Thor replies miserably. He rests the side of his face against his fist and stares at the TV, the sound turned right down, but showing a commercial for a pedicure set. His attention is held by it for a moment, but then he continues solemnly. "I can't stop thinking about Loki," he sighs. "How it's not right that I should be having fun, down here, in this city, when he gave his life for mine. I should be doing something to celebrate his memory, something that he would want me to do, not getting drunk and stumbling around the city he once tried to…" He covers his face with his hands, inhaling deeply, and Natasha chews on her lower lip, trying to think of something comforting to say. She's not good at this sort of thing, never has been, but Thor seems to prefer to talk about Loki with her, probably because of all the questions she's asked him. He must think that she cares, that there's a part of her that's grieving too, despite their one and only encounter (as far as Thor knows) being those horrible hours on the day of the Chitauri invasion.
"He didn't give his life for you to be miserable," Natasha says gently. "He gave his life so you could save the universe, and you did. Your debt to him ends there. You did what was necessary and now you can live your life, however you want to, even if that means bingeing on tequila with a couple of idiots."
Thor shakes his head, and he slides a little further down the sofa. Natasha reaches out a foot and prods him with the tip of her big toe. He frowns, then realises what she's getting at, and pushes himself up again.
"It's not right," he sighs. "That I should get all this happiness and he none. He never experienced happiness. Never."
"I'm sure he did," Natasha replies. "You can't live a thousand years and not have one good day. That's just impossible. It's only the past couple of years where things went wrong, right? Don't let that tarnish your memory of him. You guys must have had tons of happy days as kids, didn't you?"
Thor lets out another heavy sigh, and Natasha notices that his eyes are red around the edges. She groans inwardly. The last thing she wants is for this already emotional demigod to get even more emotional on her. She really isn't great with this stuff. What on earth would she be able to do if he actually did start crying? Pat him awkwardly on the back? Tell him it's okay? Give him a hug? She glances across to her phone, wondering if she ought to text Jane and get her to collect the drunken mass that is her boyfriend, but deep down she knows she can't. This is the kind of thing that Loki needs to hear, whether he wants to or not. He will claim that nobody gives a damn about him until the cows come home. And yet here Thor is, late in the evening, on the verge of tears because he doesn't think he's serving Loki's memory well enough. Part of her wants to tell him that he's got nothing to worry about because the cunning little asshole isn't even dead, but she knows she'd be stepping into a minefield if she ever chose that tactic.
"I always used to tease him," Thor tells her glumly. "I would show off, with my strength and my power, and he would skulk in the corners, ignored."
"That's not your fault, you guys were kids," Natasha says softly. "And that was hundreds of years ago. It doesn't matter, not now. I mean come on, brothers tease each other all the time, it's what they do."
"But I should have been looking after him," Thor continues, ignoring her words of comfort. He seems determined to pile all the blame on himself, when there's no logical reason for him to. Not that Natasha can see at least. "He always looked up to me, always. It should have been I who sacrificed myself for him, not him for me. Never that."
"I think he was just trying to make good on everything," she says quietly. "He knew he couldn't save the universe, but he knew that you could. And apart from that, you're his brother. He could never have stood there and watched you die. Even after everything."
"Even after all those times he tried to kill me?" Thor asks with a sad smile.
"Well I guess it's kind of brotherly in that sense. I figure that even though you teased him, you would never have let anyone else do it. You would have smashed them in the face with that hammer of yours, am I right?"
"Of course," Thor says obviously, his brows twitching into a frown.
"Well maybe that was his way of showing brotherly love. Maybe he was allowed to try to kill you, but the second someone else wanted to try and beat you to death, he wasn't going to allow it."
Thor lets out a small, soft laugh, laced with sadness. "I hope you're right," he says quietly. "And I hope he knew, in the end, that I loved him dearly."
"I'm sure he did," Natasha tells him, hoping that their melancholy trip down memory lane is nearly at an end.
"I remember the first time I saw him." Thor's mouth breaks into a smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges, gaze bright with unshed tears. "I didn't know that Father had brought him home from war, nor did I know enough about babies to understand that he couldn't possibly have been my brother by blood." He treads carefully around the phrasing of his last few words, and it is clear to Natasha that the dishonesty over Loki's adoption doesn't sit well with him either. Obviously he isn't nearly as affected as Loki, but he still treads a very thin line incredibly carefully to make sure that he never, not once, not even after three tankards of tequila, says anything that would make people think he considers Loki anything less than a brother.
"So your mom and dad just showed you a new baby and told you he was your brother?"
Thor nods, and Natasha looks down into her lap and smile. She almost wishes she were that young and that naive again. That she could have had some blissful childhood in a palace somewhere, as opposed to her own shit storm of a youth.
"He kept crying. I suppose, because he had been separated from his planet, his mother…" He pauses and releases a heavy sigh, his large chest falling several inches as the breath escapes him. "Father let me hold him, and when I took him, he stopped crying. Mother always said that I had a kinder face than my father, that I must have been much less scary to an infant. But then he looked up at me, and he smiled."
"So he was happy when he was with you," Natasha tells him triumphantly. "Even from the very first day."
Thor shrugs, and Natasha chews on her lip. She's not sure how much more optimism and comfort she can draw out of her cold and damaged heart, but Thor is pushing her boundaries. If she's struggling, she wonders how Loki must be dealing with things, mere yards away, silently waiting in the dark.
"He thought he was a monster after he found out about his true parentage. Thought he was some sort of demon, simply because of the blood that runs in his veins." Thor closes his eyes and shakes his head. "He is nothing of the sort. Hours out of Jotunheim and he was already a part of our family. He was a baby. The Frost Giants are so fearsome because of how they are raised, because of their society. But Loki was taken long before any of that could have had an effect. He's no monster."
"I know," Natasha tells him before she can stop herself. Luckily, Thor misses it, far too preoccupied with his own ramblings. She chances a quick glance over towards the bedroom door, but can see nothing but a long thin line of blackness, with no movement beyond it.
"If I had been a better brother, if I had never been exiled, none of this would have happened. He followed my stupidity with stupidity of his own, and now…"
"Oh I don't think he followed your stupidity," Natasha says. "He always had that need to prove himself, even when the Chitauri came it was about proving a point. I don't think you can blame yourself for that."
"I should have led by example," Thor says firmly. He slams his fist down onto the arm of the sofa, then places his free hand over his eyes, his fingers trembling minutely. "I should have done more to help him," he adds in a whisper that's only just loud enough for Natasha to hear. She glances at the clock and wonders just how much longer this emotional mess is going to go on for. She is fully aware that with each moment that passes, each sentence that Thor utters, Loki's mood will deteriorate exponentially, and it won't just be a drunken, melancholic god of thunder that she'll have to deal with, but an irascible, moody and downright intolerable god of mischief.
"You can't change it," Natasha tells him. "There's nothing you can do. All you can do is live your life well and enjoy it. That's what he would have wanted, deep down."
"You think?" Thor asks sceptically, raising one blond eyebrow.
"Yeah I do," she replies sincerely. "If he saved your life, for whatever reason, then he obviously gave a damn about you. Yeah, he's probably self centred enough to want you to mourn him for a good long while, but after that, he wouldn't want you to worry, not anymore."
"I'm still mourning him," Thor tells her. "I never got the chance to at the time, not properly. We couldn't even give him a proper funeral. We just left him." He sniffs loudly and sits up straighter, reaching forward for his glass of water. He drinks slowly until he has swallowed the last of it, then sets the glass down, carefully this time. When he settles back in his seat, he avoids Natasha's gaze, and she tries to think of something half decent to say to him. She briefly considers some bullshit about it not mattering because he would have become one with the earth, that it's the most natural way to go, but it's way too hippy for her, and not even an inebriated Thor would believe she meant it for a second.
"We're all just atoms in the end," she says at last. "I wouldn't worry too much. It wasn't really his body that made him, was it?"
"I suppose not," Thor says grudgingly, running his fingertip up and down the seam on the outside leg of his jeans. "But we should have done it properly, so he could go and join my mother, amongst the stars."
"I'm sure he's fought his way to wherever he wants to be."
Thor actually cracks a smile at this comment, and a tension that Natasha didn't realise had been building leaves her shoulders.
"I think he could have loved you, you know." His words are softly spoken, tinged with sadness but still, somehow, optimistic.
"What?" Natasha asks, unable to keep the breath of laughter from escaping her. How the hell could have come to that conclusion? Perhaps it's luckier than Natasha first realised that Thor never made it to that fourth tankard of tequila. He's now passed the misery phase and spiralling downwards into sheer insanity.
"Come now," Thor says with a disapproving frown at her lack of belief. "Think about it. He would only have ever wanted to be with someone who could outwit him, and we both know that you did. He will not have forgotten that."
"But he must have been outwitted - "
"Not often," Thor interrupts. "Not often at all. My brother was…" Apparently the use of the past tense throws him, because he sinks into his own little world once more for a few quiet moments. "And I don't wish to offend," he says, changing topic after a deep breath, as though breaking through the surface of a lake after a long swim towards the daylight. "But you are very beautiful."
Natasha smiles, her front teeth grazing against her lower lip. "Why would that offend me?"
"It's not my place to say," Thor says obviously. "Your appearance is your own business, it is not for me to comment on."
"Well, I hate to break it to you," she says with feigned disappointment. "But I don't think there'll be a single girl on this planet who'd be offended if you told them they were beautiful."
Thor smiles briefly, but doesn't stop there. "I think Loki would have…appreciated it," he says awkwardly.
"I'm not so sure," Natasha replies quickly. She hasn't caught Loki looking since they fell into a steady routine. He had only looked in the beginning to irritate her, she knows that. She also knows that Loki isn't nearly shallow enough for simply a pretty face to be sufficient in a partner.
"You have spirit," Thor continues, as though she hasn't spoken. "He would have needed somebody with a strong will. As much as he has desire for power…I'm sure he had a soft spot for Sif when we were younger, and she was brutal with him."
Natasha smirks at the idea. Whoever this Sif is, she sounds like quite the badass if she managed to not only captivate Loki but call the shots as well.
"Plus…" Thor speaks more carefully now, his frown deeper than it has been all night. "I think you would have understood him. You certainly understand him better than your comrades. But you've not always been on…the right path, have you?"
"I got out of bed on the wrong side," she tells him, bristling at the mention of her past. "Then Clint gave me a shove in the right direction."
"I mean no disrespect," Thor assures her. "Just that you know what it's like, to think you're doing the right thing, only to discover that you…were mistaken."
Natasha doesn't say anything to this. She doesn't need the reminder of her misdeeds, doesn't want to hear the crackle of the flames that engulfed the hospital at the back of her mind. She closes her eyes and pictures a clear, blank space, devoid of fires, of weapons, of corpses, and, most importantly, devoid of Asgardians.
"You would have been able to show him a more positive way to live, I think," Thor sighs. "He might have found some happiness, had things been different. You would have been one of the few brave enough to take him on."
"But not stupid enough," Natasha reminds him. Thor doesn't laugh, and there is a guilt-ridden jab in Natasha's gut. It's difficult to remember that as far as Thor's concerned, his little brother is dead and gone, and not to be the subject of jokes, when in reality, he's less than twenty yards away, most likely sulking on the bed, his ears pricked for all mentions of his name.
"I'm sure wherever he's ended up, he's wreaking havoc there too," she says, her voice kinder now. "And we both know that that'd make him happy."
Thor's lips twitch into a small smile. "Yes, he was always up to mischief, even as a boy." He stifles a yawn, and Natasha thinks they might, at last, be coming to an end. "I once walked around with ass ears all day because of him," he adds tiredly. "Nobody said word, but they all kept sniggering."
Natasha lets out a snigger of her own, but it stops abruptly when Thor slides down once more on the sofa, his eyes fluttering shut. She grits her teeth, then gets up, grabbing one more cushion and popping it under his head, lifting him a few more inches. She quietly lays her blanket over him, then, after one final glance to ensure he is in fact, fast asleep, she heads to her bedroom, flicking out the lights in the lounge before she goes inside, closing the door quietly behind her.
"Are you still awake?" she whispers. There's no answer, and so she heads over to the window, pulling the cord on the blind in order to open the slats just a little. Light pollution from the city spills in through the open strips, and when Natasha's eyes adjust, she realises what she should have known all along.
He's gone.
She lets out a sigh and strips off her clothes, pulling on her pyjamas before clambering into bed. Of course he didn't hang around, he probably made a run for it the second that she let Thor through the door. She's angry with him, if she's honest. He's the reason why Thor is so upset, and he's the reason he's turned up at her place, instead of heading back with Tony and Bruce to play video games or make things explode or whatever those two idiots get up to when they're drunk. It's her, again, who's having to deal with the fallout, the emotional side of things that she's just not comfortable with. She wouldn't have minded so much if he'd been here, even if he'd been asleep by the time she arrived, even if he'd been pretending to be asleep. Outright abandoning her however, that doesn't strike her as playing fair. But, she supposes, when did Loki ever play fair?
She spreads out in the bed, taking advantage of the fact that she's got all the space to herself, but the novelty wears off after a few minutes of tossing and turning. Even through the closed door, she can hear Thor snoring in the next room, and she jams her pillow over her head, clamping it down with her arm, and wills herself to go to sleep.
When she wakes the next day, there is a stillness to the apartment that she's unused to. Normally she will wake to find Loki next to her, his arms behind his head as he stares at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. Since she's been signed off work and has taken to waking later, she sometimes finds him up and about already, and though he's not making a racket, the sounds of him moving about, the quiet, tinny noise of the TV and the clinking of a spoon against a cereal bowl leaves her feeling less lonely.
She pushes herself out of bed with a sigh, then opens the blinds. The sunlight hits her and she squints, her eyes not ready for such an assault. As they adapt to the harsh light, the city below slowly comes into focus, and Natasha rests her head against the warm glass, watching the progress of the taxis inching along the street, hundreds of feet away. Eventually, she grows bored, and heads for the living room, wondering whether she'll find it empty or not.
The answer is, of course, not. Thor is still slumped on the sofa, sunlight warming his face, his brow creased into a slight frown while he sleeps. It's nearing nine o'clock, and she's certain that Loki will be staggering his way back to the apartment any minute now. Naturally, as soon as she deals with one inebriated Asgardian, another one will come stumbling along.
"Hey," she says, shaking Thor gently by the shoulder. He doesn't stir and Natasha grits her teeth then tries again. "Hey," she says, louder this time, shaking him a little more roughly. It has no effect, and so she straightens up, placing her hands on her hips. Guilt is already trickling through her. In all honesty, it would feel like kicking a puppy, but, she reasons, a puppy is unlikely to down a disgraceful amount of tequila and pass out on her couch in the early hours of the morning.
There is a loud crack as the palm of her hand connects with the side of Thor's face, and he sits up suddenly, his eyes wide as he inhales sharply. He blinks a few times, looking around in confusion, before his eyes land on Natasha.
"What…" he mumbles, looking dazed.
"I was concerned for your wellbeing," she says plainly. "It's morning. Jane's probably wondering where you are."
Thor presses his hand gently to the side of his face as her words take a few seconds to process. "Yes," he says, eyebrows contorting into a frown. "Yes I daresay she is."
"You okay?"
Thor nods, then stands up, leaning heavily on the sofa, his feet unsteady.
"You want me to get a cab for you?" she offers, eyeing him wearily as he nearly overbalances and falls straight into the coffee table. She throws out an arm to steady him, and after a few seconds, he seems to have gotten the hang of standing again.
"I'll be fine," he says, running a hand through his thick blond hair. He lets out a long breath, steeling himself for his departure. "I apologise for…" he looks down at his feet sheepishly, and digs his hands deep into his pockets. "Everything," he finishes, looking up at her at last and fixing her with his bright blue gaze.
"It's okay," Natasha tells him. "Although maybe try the tiny glasses next time."
Thor cracks a smile, then meanders towards the door, weaving his way across the room and in very real danger of colliding with the wall of the hallway. The door opens and closes, and when Natasha hears the elevator doors ping a few moments later, she knows she can relax. She sits down and lets out a soft sigh, wondering when she became the calling point for gods in crisis. She's not cut out for it, not at all. It's definitely something Pepper might be more at ease with, and better at too. Her caring nature hasn't been stifled by years of assassinations and torture. Apart from the fact that she's with Tony, she's actually pretty sane.
The front door crashes open, and Natasha jumps to her feet. She's certain Thor hasn't returned, he'd have the decency to knock. Steeling herself, she waits, poised and ready, but then Loki lurches into the lounge, his feet dragging against the floor, his eyes unfocused as he collides with the wall, his shoulder taking a battering.
"First your brother, now you?"
He turns around, leaning all his weight against the wall, and slides down it a few inches. "Problem?"
She can smell the liqueur on him from here, and she shakes her head in exasperation. The only thing she can be thankful for is the fact that Loki is as emotionally stunted as she is, and no amount of alcohol will ever lead to him drunkenly pouring his heart out to her. He's more drunk than she's ever seen him though, and as she approaches him, he clumsily pushes himself back up into an upright position, swaying dangerously as he tries to focus on her.
"What the hell have you been drinking?"
"Tequila," he says with a halfhearted shrug and a wave of his hand.
Her mood darkens instantly. "Tequila," she repeats.
He nods, his eyes looking around the room, everywhere except at her. "I follow my brother's stupidity, remember?" he slurs, tipping forwards until Natasha places a firm hand on his shoulder and anchors him to the spot.
"Are you trying to prove a point?" she demands. "Is that what you're trying to do?"
"No," he says, pulling a face as he takes a few uncertain steps forward, and then backwards again.
"Then what?"
"I'm trying to go to bed," he mumbles, his eyes meeting hers briefly before she releases him, stepping out of his way and allowing him to stagger past. She hears him collapse onto the bed without so much as removing his shoes, and it's with a sigh that she goes after him. She unlaces his boots impatiently and tosses them into the corner, then tugs his jacket off of him, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door. His face is buried in the mattress, and it's with a sigh of impatience that she grips him by the shoulders, and, gathering all the strength she has, flips him onto his back. Luckily he's much slighter than Thor, though it's still no easy task. He doesn't stir at the disturbance though, and once she's propped his head up with enough pillows, she closes the blind and leaves him to it.
She doesn't hear hide nor hair of him until much later, and discovers that day time TV is incredibly boring to watch alone.