Truthfully

Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:

Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff.

Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN.

Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy.

TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends.

Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.

Chapter Twenty-One: Bismuth

Loki had hoped, maybe, that a decent night's sleep (drunken and relatively unpleasant though it was) might have made it easier. At the very least, that it might have quelled some of the anxiety and strife that bubbled up inside him the moment the lights went off and he rolled over to try and get some rest. There it was, though, the cold knot in the pit of his stomach roiled and it felt like his insides were being eaten by rats, rats that never seemed to get their fill nor tire nor ever die.

It was a familiar feeling and had once been comforting in its consistency.

Once, Loki had been able to treat it as merely another part of who he was, someone plagued with anxiety from the cradle by words and actions that others around him had treated as normal, someone who knew when it was best to not eat for fear of his stomach rebelling, someone who didn't remember exactly what it felt like to not be stressed out about something. It was just how it was because that was just who Loki was and no manner of change had been able to help. He'd remained a tense, easily upset little boy who'd grown into a tense, reclusive man who would eventually self-destruct.

Nothing had changed, nothing would change.

Except that at some point… something had.

Loki remembered being able to sleep in his apartment, if not necessarily well, but relatively easily. He remembered nights that instead of consisting of hours and hours of dusty tomes and tiny text and staring at his ceiling had instead been filled with corked bottles and the thrice-damned cricket that sat on the porch and chirped at ungodly hours, hot tea and stretching that soothed him instead of winding him tighter.

He remembered cool night air and pepperoni pizza at four in the morning and realizing that in New York, it was possible to find a great-fitting jacket no matter what time it was.

Blindly, Loki reached out an arm to brush the side table until he curled his fingers around the bottle of chamomile oil that Thor had brought with him along with his clothes. He didn't have to look at it to remove the cork and it was with a sigh that he brought it to his nose and breathed deeply to let the scent fill his head, replacing the snow and darkness and the need to hear something break with quiet and moonlight and the bright sunshine of summer, before it got swelteringly hot and when all the fields were blooming.

Loki had always been able to appreciate beauty when he saw it. It wasn't always in the curve of a woman's hips and limbs or the make of her clothing or in a painting or sculpture. Sometimes, it was simply in being, or a sweetness in the wind that would otherwise be taken for granted, or in the satisfying snap of sugar on his teeth.

This wasn't working.

Sluggishly, Loki dragged himself out of bed and into the living room, collapsing bonelessly onto the sofa with an inaudible sigh.

When had he gotten so tired?

Steve was in the process of burning his panini when Loki entered the kitchen, dressed in dark green skinnies and a surprisingly relaxed black t-shirt. Green eyes had shot from Steve to the smoking sandwich press then back to Steve again.

He sighed as if he wasn't even surprised anymore.

"I can't take this," the dark-haired man muttered under his breath, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as if to fend off a potential headache. "I really can't. You choose a setting and press a button. What is so hard?"

Steve shrugged, only to have Loki sigh again and shove him over courtesy of an elbow threateningly close to his ribs.

"Out of the way, Rogers," he ordered, pulling open the press and scraping the charcoaled remains of what had started off as a roast beef and provolone, "Really, I don't understand how any of you even live past the week if you can't even feed yourselves. At least Thor had the excuse of nannies and more nannies and then the liquid mead diet that even he could procure for himself…" Loki peeled off the top slice of blackened bread and took a look. Steve might have said something to defend himself if he hadn't been rendered useless with shock at the sight of Loki wandering around the kitchen as easily as if it was his own, removing more bread and meat and cheese and mustard and making a sandwich of his own, this time with one extra.

The fact that the entire while he was grumbling under to his breath to himself about how they were all infants and how in Valhalla had they gotten past childhood didn't help the matter.

At all.

The answer these days was take-out, a lot of take-out, because everyone knew that Tony could only make omelets and other egg-related dishes and to not let Thor near a heating element of any kind, Steve was nigh useless with anything other than a standard oven and Clint was keeping any knowledge he possessed to himself. And god only help you if you so much as asked Natasha because the last time Thor had asked (in retrospect he really ought to have thought You are a woman and therefore must be versed in the culinary arts through a little better, even to Steve's sensibilities), she'd tossed him a cabbage and a carrot and informed him that she hoped he'd choke on them.

That had been the last time, really. Personally, Steve preferred to keep burning things than go through that.

The lid of the press came down and Loki made a show of very slowly and deliberately choosing a setting and pressing the on button, making sure to meet Steve's eyes the entire time.

Smug, insufferable asshole.

But nevertheless a smug, insufferable asshole who was either annoyed or exasperated enough to make an extra sandwich without even being asked. If Steve had ever once doubted that growing up, Loki had been the responsible one who apparently ought to have been awarded a medal for keeping Thor alive this long, this would have sealed the deal for him. The attitude, the eye-rolling, the perfectly articulated, quiet words meant to be heard but not shouted... they all screamed that no, this wasn't any sort of new experience and yes, Loki was accordingly used to it.

It wasn't until Loki turned to him and snipped at him to quit hovering and make himself useful by getting plates or quit hovering and sit down, damnit that Steve realized that he'd been staring.

He did get the plates but sat down at the table in the end, figuring that out of all of them, Loki could probably handle a sandwich press if the way he was keeping a critical eye on it was any indication. For a little bit he just sat and watched, wondering when Loki had gotten so used to the kitchen, only to realize belatedly that he'd been taking care of himself this whole time anyway. It was no wonder, now that he thought about it.

"Hey," Steve spoke up when the silence got too heavy, "Question for you."

"Hmm?" Loki asked distractedly.

"How much older than you is Thor?"

Loki stilled entirely and cocked his head, looking for all of the world as if that was the absolute last thing he'd expected to be asked.

"Unless I'm mistaken and I rarely am-"

Steve snorted.

"Thor is approximately two-hundred-and-seventy-three years my senior. And a few months."

Steve stared at him blankly and Loki fought the urge to slap his palm to his forehead.

"In Midgardian terms, that equates to a difference of about three, four years for you. Not enough for the different play group, mind, but too many to escape," Loki continued, voice dry and almost amused. The press didn't buzz but he suddenly turned around and lifted the lid to slide off two perfectly toasted panini. "A word of advice, Rogers. This machine's crap and if you wait for the buzzer to go off, you'll be too late. Take them out about a minute before you think they're done."

Steve crunched through bread and soft meat and melted cheese and figured that he'd dance a hula if he had to if that meant that he never burned another sandwich again.

Surprisingly, Loki sat down at the other end of the table and took a bite, chewing with contemplation. Finally, he spoke.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you ask?" Loki elaborated. Steve shrugged.

"I dunno, you're just…you act like you're used to taking care of people. Like, you grouch and crank about it but you still do it, even if you don't have to. Trust me, in this house? It's everyone for themselves in the kitchen." And if that wasn't the most absolutely flummoxed Steve thought Loki had ever looked, he didn't even know. For a few seconds, that increasingly familiar stare that made Steve feel like there was nothing to him hidden was fixed on him, and finally, the sides of Loki's lips quirked upwards. He was all angles, long and sharp and unerringly deadly but somehow the smile softened him just a little. Steve couldn't help smiling back.

"Let me tell you a story," the dark-haired man informed him in between bites, "It's to my advantage too because I'll be making sure that Thor knows that you know and he'll be so embarrassed. He doesn't like to think about it, you see."

"If it's that embarrassing, then maybe you shouldn't tell me—"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry," Loki told him loftily, "It shall only be his pride to sting. You'll enjoy it, I promise. And really, it's harmless." He dangled the last sentence tantalizingly until finally Steve took the bait and nodded, encouraging him to continue. "We were quite young then, even he about thirty years too young to so much as enter the training yards with a stick and extra padding. We had a nanny then to take care of our every whim. You'd think me to be the fussy one in terms of food, would you not?"

Steve have never really thought about it but once he did he admitted that if he had to guess, that was about what he would have assumed, and told him so. Loki smiled at him indulgently and continued.

"You'd have been right for the most part, I'll admit. Getting me to try new things was a veritable nightmare; glaring, sulking, the occasional and at that point accidental spell, it was awful until I realized that the only thing that really tasted like mud was mud." Loki scowled at nothing as if remembering something very unpleasant, "Point is though, I liked what I liked and if people got desperate enough to stop fighting with me about it, they knew what I'd eat. Thor, on the other hand… some days he'd be a vacuum who'd consume everything in sight and some days, he'd decide that he liked nothing at all and not a thing in the Nine Realms would change his mind."

Suddenly, Steve realized the direction that this story might have been going and began to grin.

Harmless indeed.

Legitimately harmless and guaranteed to be funny as hell if the look of unholy glee on Loki's face was anything to go by and Steve had the sneaking suspicion that in this case, it most definitely was.

As if on cue, Loki waggled a brow at him and rested his chin in his hand on the table.

"Well, one day, Thor decided he'd made life too easy and that he was due to hate everything, that everything tasted awful, that everything tasted like broccoli, that even the grapes were going to poison him. The nannies, the cooks, even the Queen tried to get him to eat but he wasn't going to budge. Stubborn from the very beginning, you see. Screamed and hollered and kicked his feet and threw plates and I swear to you, it was a scene. The Allfather had meat in his hair and the Allmother had sauce all down her dress and it was an absolute wreck. There's Thor, throwing the mother of all tantrums on the floor and sitting at the table like a civilized creature was me, calmly eating and ignoring everyone. It was embarrassing."

Steve stifled a snicker because oh, he could picture it perfectly. He'd never met Thor and Loki's parents but the mental image, oh the mental image…it was beautiful and amazing. Loki apparently agreed with him because it looked as if it was everything he could do to hold back his own laughter. Something about that was also strangely beautiful. To see him this relaxed and amused due to something completely unrelated to making anyone unhappy or bad television…well. It was new and not at all unwelcome.

"So I'm sitting there, trying to read and not know any of them when Thor throws a bowl of tomato sauce right on my head. I must have been some vision of terrifying because for a few seconds, everything just stops," Loki recounted with relish, "Not only is it all over me but it's all over my clothes and worse than anything, my book. And Thor's staring at me like he has no idea what I'm going to do."

Oh, this was going to be good.

"So I put my book down and stand up and walk over to a fruit bowl and grab an apple, and walk over to where Thor's still sitting on the floor. I admit, it did briefly cross my mind to pelt him with it but I ended up shoving it into his mouth instead, and informed him (apparently quite calmly according to court stories) while holding him by the lapels that if he didn't sit down, shut up, and quit acting like a juvenile right that very second, that I would make it my personal mission to keep track of everything he ate. Ever. For the rest of his natural life. The most glorious part is that apparently, it was a horrifying enough threat to actually work."

And Steve lost it.

He wasn't sure whether it was the droll, matter-of-fact storytelling or the fact that he knew both of the main players but he burst into near hysterical laughter right there at the table, startling Loki into wide-eyed silence. It didn't matter that the other man was staring at him like he was a crazy person, Steve laughed until he had to wipe his eyes, until he couldn't breathe and his diaphragm hurt and he was sure that any second someone was going to come running in and be very confused.

Loki just watched him, a strange, pleased little smile playing on his face.

"That cemented it, then?" Steve asked when he could breathe again.

"Indeed. For a good, long while, I was the primary threat. Thor, eat your vegetables or we're going to get Loki. Thor, stop playing with your food or we'll have to get your brother in here," Loki mimicked, "I might have been offended if it hadn't been so funny."

And still was, apparently.

"The entire court of Asgard, cowed by a little boy, with the only viable threat being yours truly. It was glorious."

And then for a split second, Loki's voice stuttered and his face shut down and Steve remembered all too late that they weren't just two people sitting in the kitchen exchanging stories that anyone might have told with a few facts changed. Loki was a supervillain god with a boatload of issues and Steve was a guy from the 40s who'd been turned into a super soldier and then frozen for almost seventy years with plenty of issues of his own. That was a rather intense experience gap. And yet…Steve couldn't quite shake the feeling that at least for a little while, they were just two people sitting at the table, eating sandwiches, and telling embarrassing stories about their siblings.

He was surprised at how intense the desire was to keep it that way.

Steve's train of thought was derailed when he realized that once again, Loki was watching him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," the other man replied, "Just marveling at the way you eat like a horse."

"Well, if mythology's to be believed, you gave birth to one," Steve shot back before it dawned on him, seconds too late, that that might have actually been rather offensive. Until he noticed that Loki's disconcertingly intense stare had fled and he was staring in an entirely different fashion, eyes boggling and jaw slack. "Uh, sorry," he tried, "Forget I said anything—"

No such luck.

Steve was sure that Loki might actually throw something at him until he leaned forward with his hands flat on the surface of the table, looking for all the world that he'd just been told that the inside of Midgard was in all actuality made of cake.

"...wait, wait. You mortals believe that?" There was something odd in his voice, like a sort of amazed horror.

"No reason not to."

"Thor and I made those up because we thought it'd be funny." Loki sputtered, properly scandalized, "Have you ever met me? Even after meeting me, you think that I would let myself get raped by a magic horse? That was Thor at his most depraved. Sleipnir is an intelligent creature and a valiant horse, but most definitely not my child."

"Thor being ginger and the magic goats?" Steve guessed, wracking his brain for all the Norse mythology he could remember. Now that he was thinking about it, a lot of those stories seemed…well. Like something twelve year olds might make up as payback on each other.

"Oh, that was definitely me."

"...Lokasenna?"

Loki examined his fingernails.

"I may or may not have indulged in a bit of childish tomfoolery that may or may not have gotten out of my hands. The bit with the entrails was a bit much, I think. Still, I can appreciate the drama of it."

"What about getting your lips sewn shut?"

"..." For a split second, Loki tensed and his response was a hairsbreadth delayed, just a heartbeat off, "Folly, of course."

And Steve thought, just for a moment before he forced himself to not dwell on it, that out of all of them, that one might have had an uncomfortable bit of truth to it. He'd think about it later, definitely. Might ask Thor about it and judge his reaction to see, but that was something for another time.

"I wish I had a sibling to tell stories about."

"Thor's not actually my—"

"Don't give me that crap," Steve shot back, furrowing his eyebrows. "Just…don't. Not after a story like that. You're either oblivious or purposefully obtuse and I'd like to keep thinking you're pretty smart."

"And you are either very brave or very foolish."

"Honestly? At this point, I think I'll take my chances."

And Steve might have been mistaken, it might have been a trick of the light or his brain making him see things that weren't there, but in the silence that followed, he could have sworn that Loki looked rather pleased at the idea.

"We've done word associations before, yes?" Doctor Moran asked from her chair, watching Loki. He'd migrated from sitting on the bed to sitting cross-legged on the floor, spine as straight as if someone had inserted a steel rod into it. The position was a little too relaxed and purposeful to be accidental and he breathed deeply in response to her question.

From the outside, in and out, steady as the tides, still as the waters that lay silent and cold in deep sea caves.

Inside, he was roiling with activity.

"We have, yes," he finally answered, "Unsuccessfully, but yes."

He remembered the aforementioned word associations quite well, actually. More importantly, he remembered how much he'd despised them and how he'd ended up shutting down completely not even halfway through. Holding words back had eventually led to faking them, to not saying anything at all, to becoming more frustrated than should be possible.

He'd hoped to see the last of them but clearly, it was not to be.

"I suppose it's a little pointless for me to request we not do them?" he asked, receiving a smile in return.

"Loki, you know full well that I can't force you into anything. If you don't want to do it, there's nothing in this world that I can do to make you. I don't want to make you. All I'd like is for you to try your best and if it gets to be too much like last time, we'll stop and talk about something else. Alright? You have the power here; my job is simply to light the way."

Loki breathed and finally graced her with a nod, her words mollifying him and soothing ruffled feathers before they happened, the way few things could.

It was the last bit that did it, he knew.

There was no magic here, no spells. No coercion or threats and Loki knew, knew, that he held the power that he needed. The power to speak or the power of silence, Doctor Moran couldn't take that from him.

More importantly, she wouldn't, and that more than anything was what helped to quell some of the panic that threatened to scrabble its way to the surface.

"Okay," he breathed, staying where he was on the floor, "Let's do this, then."

The doctor smiled at him and in order to meet his eyes more easily, slid off of her chair and settled on the floor as well, crossing her legs.

"Comfy?" she asked, and pantomimed overstretching and throwing out her back. Dramatic and possibly a bit silly, but it drew a shy, tentative smile from Loki. If it could make him smile, the silliness was more than worth it. The man nodded again.

"Quite."

"Alright then," she replied, "Griffin,"

"Fletching," the reply came back instantly and Loki had to force himself to not think about what he was saying, forcing down those barriers that screamed at him to keep it all to himself, keep it all. That was the hardest part because it was a conscious effort to not restrain his mouth. He knew where the mention of griffins had come from, quite clearly from months back. Loki remembered those feathers and remembered how true they'd flown, a bright, fearless shot.

He could do it too.

"Fear."

"Snow."

The word slipped out of him before he could stop it, in fact, even before he could remember that he wasn't supposed to hold them back.

"Tree."

"Pathways."

That was an easy one, Loki thought belatedly. He was intimately familiar with Yggdrasil's branches and twining vines, all the little places to slip into, where to hold back and where to press forward. Where the shadows were darkest and where he could start to smell sunshine. His answer received no more than a pleasantly placid look from his doctor and Loki shrugged. He'd make no excuses nor would he apologize for being cryptic and better yet, she wouldn't ask him to.

"Sleep."

"Insufficient."

That warranted an extra note being put down in Doctor Moran's notebook apparently, judging by the way she spent more time writing than before. Inwardly, Loki groaned. He had no doubts that at some point, they'd be talking about those little issues and he wasn't looking forward to it. He pulled a face and the woman across from him smiled knowingly, tsking a little between her teeth.

"Bright."

"Blind."

The word tore itself from his throat and Loki hated it instantly because he knew exactly what it meant even if it was abstract, metaphorical, and painful in the all the ways he hated most. Asgard, Thor…bright things made him hurt. The shadows were worse.

"Touch."

"Hands."

Loki instantly thought of what seemed like so very long ago, of walking into a polished salon and holding out his hands, feeling unflinching fingers on his and a kind of smothering that he didn't mind in broken English and chiding advice. Norns, it had been far too long. Phantom hands ghosted over his skin and joints and Loki shivered.

And then for a second, Doctor Moran looked just the tiniest bit nervous. Someone who lacked the kind of observational skill that Loki had honed would never have noticed it but she twitched and clenched her jaw before the next word came out.

"Loki."

No.

Loki choked it all back, breath stuttering in his heart and in his head. His calm had fled and he was left trembling on the floor through the effort of not choosing because somehow along the line, somehow, somehow, Caroline Moran had become someone he wanted to please. And he couldn't do this.

"Loki…" he flinched and she continued, "Loki, please. This is hard. I know it's hard. It's supposed to be hard. Please."

"No."

Silence reigned until, finally,

"Alright. Do you want to stop? This is your power, Loki. You can always, always say no to me if it's too much."

"…monster."

The word came out in a whisper, a hiss of air against a blank backdrop, a stain on a white silence. Loki watched, morbidly transfixed and curious as to what was going to happen next? Would she look horrified? Angry? Hurt? Would she be upset that despite everything, despite that he was doing his best to give her the honesty she needed from him, that she hadn't fixed him? That months of treatment couldn't erase the bone-deep belief that he was disgusting?

Would she finally realize what everyone else knew, that there was something wrong in him?

Would she leave and walk out the door, letting everyone say I told you so all along the way?

Doctor Moran reached out a hand and wrapped her fingers around his, squeezing firmly. Not hard, not like she wanted to hold him still, just… holding. Loki tensed for a moment before realizing that that was truly all she was going to do and relaxing. Phantom hands solidified and turned real.

Maybe a little too real.

Still, it wasn't…objectionable.

"What do you want to do?" she asked with another squeeze. Loki steadied himself and adjusted his posture, accounting this time for an unfamiliar hand in his personal space. He could break the grip if he wanted, he knew that much. He could. He really could.

"I can continue," he said eventually, keeping his voice forcibly even.

It was a dare, almost. Would she dare to push him? Dare to give him his way? Dare to let him make the decisions?

"Okay," she told him, "I'm so proud of you." Before he could respond properly, she continued with, "Alcohol."

Oh, oh, damn her. Why had he even told her about that in the first place, seriously? There had to be a rule about that somewhere.

"Stark," Loki informed her with a frown. "You'd certainly better not be making fun of me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, wouldn't dream of it." Doctor Moran's voice said otherwise, tinged with laughter that coming from anyone else might have made him bristle. But if that was her objective, she had much better ammunition than some drunken escapades and they both knew it. "Mirror."

"Heart."

"Frustration."

"The inability of everyone in this cursed house to so much as press a button on a kitchen appliance."

Okay, so it wasn't quite a one-word answer. Whatever, it got the job done and gave Loki the leeway to smile the slightest bit because it didn't matter what was happening, he would never stop enjoying being better than someone at something. And it made Doctor Moran laugh outright, which didn't make him unhappy in the slightest.

"Love."

Loki froze. There was nothing to hold back because all of his words froze and withered in his lungs.

"…I changed my mind," he said after a moment of deliberation to pull himself together, "Can we stop?"

"Alright. You did very well. We'll try this again another time."

Loki breathed a sigh of relief. He was more relieved than he thought he'd be and even though he'd cut it short, the desperation and frenetic need to get away, get away were suspiciously absent. Last time, it had been everything he could do to not bolt out the door. He wondered if it had more to do with him or with the warm hand still gripping his own.

He decided it didn't matter.

Letting out a deep breath, Loki pulled away and stretched. It was a needless motion; he'd essentially been stretching this whole time, but it made him feel better to do it. Productive or something. Like he hadn't been sitting on the floor this whole time getting his subconscious picked.

"I do have some news for you, though," Doctor Moran said, stretching because she did need it, "I talked to Nick Fury and he said that he'd have Tony extend the wards farther than the house."

Loki didn't quite follow and it showed on his face.

"You can go outside. Just to the grounds and the beach, but it's more than now—"

Doctor Moran trailed off when the words visibly dawned on the man in front of her. His tensed jaw relaxed and his eyes went wide and so very green and all of a sudden, he looked more like a flabbergasted college kid than the two thousand or so years she guessed he was. The surprise and dawning delight made him look so much younger than the anger or despair.

The newborn happiness was tentative at first until Loki realized that she was completely serious, even though she made a criss-crossing motion against her chest anyway just to prove a point.

"It should be done by tomorrow. Starting then, as long as you have two people with you, you're free to leave the house as you please."

Loki was fighting the sudden and altogether shocking urge to throw his arms around her. He didn't notice when he'd begun to laugh, a beaming grin beginning to stretch across his features like it belonged there.

Doctor Caroline Moran thought that seeing such an honest, bright smile start to form on Loki's face would turn her world upside down. Instead, it felt like a congratulations, a job well done, fingers lacing in hers and finding the last gift on Christmas that somehow ended up behind the couch.

God of mischief, indeed.

The smile suited him so.

AN: Thank you for all the feedback on the last chapter! I really appreciate it. As always if you have anything to say, please leave it to me in a review, I love to hear what everyone thinks about my work!