"I'm going back to New York," Steve Rogers announced, and started to get up. "I'm taking the jet."
"No, you're not," Tony said sternly, while Romanoff muttered something about her dead body at the same time.
Rogers stopped halfway through the motion. "You can't expect me to sit and watch, while Bucky is somewhere out there."
"This is exactly what I expect you to do," Tony reasoned. "No one here is sitting and watching. We are eighteen hours from carrying out an open attack on the Triskelion and stealing some of the best guarded secrets in the history of this country and a magic stick from outer space. There's not a lot of redundancy here, Rogers."
"I'll be back in time."
Tony swallowed a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was why he had spent the whole night deliberating on whether he should tell Rogers or not, after Barnes popped up in Jarvis' daily sweep. He knew that not telling Cap would come back to bite them in the ass somehow, but this outcome was exactly why he hesitated in the first place. He would prefer to stall for another day and wait for after the attack, if not for Bruce and his pesky empathy, convincing him that "Steve deserves to know." Romanoff's slanted, angry eyes were a good indication she didn't appreciate Tony's honesty in that regard in the slightest.
"And what if something happens and you're not?" Tony asked, "We need you and we need Mommy to get our asses to DC. There're too many things that can go wrong. You have no way to tell if your buddy will even recognize you."
"I can take Natasha with me. Bucky knows her."
"Oh, so I get no say in this?" Romanoff scoffed.
"This is important!" Rogers exclaimed.
"So is this!" Clint interjected with a broad gesture.
"Guys, perhaps this is not the..." Sam started, just to get cut off by some biting remark by Romanoff.
Tony rubbed his eyes, wondering idly whether there was mind control involved in their quarrel on the Helicarrier last year after all. They seemed to be doing just fine being at each other's throats without Loki's – Thanos' – scepter around.
Loki clapped his hands, once, then again, and the argument slowly subsided.
[New York is on the way to Washington, is it not?]
Tony nodded. He wasn't surprised Loki knew that. He seemed to soak in every piece of info like a sponge, no matter how small or supposedly insignificant and – with the amount of time he spent on research on the internet – his grip on Earth's politics, history and geography must've been better than that of an average college freshman.
[Why not head out earlier, make a stop to find the Captain's friend and continue on our way to take on Hydra? To my understanding, the man is a trained warrior and would make a worthy ally. We shouldn't disregard the opportunity.]
"He's been also mind-controlled and we have no idea…" Tony started, and Loki's hands moved just as he got the first part of the sentence out.
[So was Clint. So was I. We are both here, are we not?]
"Well, I didn't think I was ever going to say it," Clint mused, "but Loki's got a point."
"It would be a tight schedule," Tony protested, "and we would need a place to lie low in New York. The tower is under surveillance, they will know we're there before we set our feet inside."
"I'm still a spy," Barton said, "It's not beyond my abilities to find a place to crash for one night yet."
Tony took a single look at Cap's face and capitulated. "Okay then. Let's go tonight."
They went through the strategy once again and Tony dismissed the meeting, for now. Even with the new bullet point on the to-do list they still had a few hours left.
People slowly flocked out of the room.
"Loki, can you stay for a moment?"
The god narrowed his eyes at Tony but didn't leave.
"I need to talk to you," Tony explained and waved his hand at the recently vacated chair, then clapped back down to his seat.
[I got the notion, yes. Is this about my morning… trespass?]
"What? No," Tony said then reconsidered. "Wait, should I be worried?"
[Didn't Jarvis relay my excursion to you?]
"Now you're making me anxious. And no, I don't have Jarvis peach on you. What is it?"
Loki visibly hesitated before he moved his hands. [I left your property. It breached your rules. It's your right to reprimand me or withdraw your graces.]
"Did you murder anyone when you were away?"
Loki blinked at him. [No. We just went to the lake.]
"There's a lake around? I had no idea. Then again, it's Maine, so I shouldn't really be surprised…" Tony let the rest of the line fade away, unspoken. The diversion wasn't working.
The god's face was blank.
He could understand complex concepts that should be entirely alien to him in a matter of minutes – if not seconds – and caught up to social cues and convoluted hints like a champ, yet he simply refused to get this into his mind. Why was he so stubborn in this one regard?
Tony took in a long breath. "Listen. I thought we are past this already, but apparently not. You can go wherever the fuck you like. I just want you – and everyone here – to stay safe. That's why it's mostly Happy or Sam who show their mugs in town, that's why I warned everybody to stay more or less within the secured perimeter. This is the only way I can try to protect you all.
"You're not under any more surveillance than me or Bruce or any other person in the house. Jarvis was designed to be on a constant lookout and to keep the records, that's true, but he is not there to act as your watchdog. If you feel like you need more privacy, just tell him to turn the camera off. He will listen and the logs won't be stored. I do it all the time, especially when Pepper's not around." He flashed a sly smile.
The masturbation joke flew safely over Loki's head with quite a bit of clearance and the god looked at him with incredulity.
"I feel bad just having to say it again, but I will. You're not my subordinate, or worse, a prisoner or a hostage. I don't intend to control your actions. Sure, I would try to stop you if you went off your rocker and started doing villainy again, but that goes for everyone here and – hopefully – it works the other way around too, because I made a fair share of questionable calls in my past. Besides, you know just as well as I do that it's not going to happen."
[I understand that,] Loki showed carefully, [but I live in your house and it's your rules that I must follow.]
"This isn't an authoritarian regime," Tony laughed. "I like to think this is more like a democracy with one extra vote for me, since I'm paying for the whole circus, but we've all seen how well that turned out lately."
Loki gave him a slow, very unconvincing nod. It seemed like all Tony could get at this moment.
"Which brings us to the actual reason why I asked you to stay. I gave some consideration to the thing we talked about. More than that, because I've discussed it with Bruce too. Also, I might have heard a thing or two about Romanoff being informed already… Either way, we talked about this and we think it's doable."
The god's expression changed in an instant and there was something truly unsettling about the level of enthusiasm on display. One should not be, under any circumstances, so vividly interested in the prospect of one's death, as non-permanent as they hoped it was going to be.
[You found a way?]
"I think so," Tony said and relayed their findings and speculations to Loki. He went deeper into details and technicalities that he did with Romanoff, both because Loki deserved to know exactly what he was stepping into and that he would understand, if not right away, then with minimal elaboration.
[I see. If she agrees, I would still like Natasha to be present. Just as a precaution.]
"She already did and yes, there's no being 'too safe' in cases like this."
[When can we start?]
"The moment we're off the hook with Hydra and I have access to my main lab again. I spoke to my lawyers, at length; we should have plausible deniability the moment the files drop, and their grand plan is foiled and publicly available. There will still be a long process to clear our names fully, a senate commission – or a couple – and more interviews and questions that any of us would be comfortable with, but we should have enough credibility to keep us all safely out of prison. You'll have to make a public statement at one point or another, some plea bargain would most likely be involved too, more likely than not. I can't see a way to avoid it, but…" Tony paused, seeing Loki's shocked glare. "I know it's hard for you to talk about what happened before the Battle of New York and – maybe even more so – later, but it's unavoidable if we want to make it right."
[You really think I could… evade penalty for my crimes?]
"I wouldn't necessarily call the things you've been through 'evading penalty' but yeah, that's what clearing one's name generally means. The main objective – besides the obvious, of course – is for all of us to walk away, free of charges. Yourself included," Tony said, mentally telling himself off for not making it abundantly clear earlier. He thought it should be as self-evident for Loki just as it was for the rest of them, but apparently it wasn't, far from it.
[Would that be possible? For me to… live among the humans, without having to hide?]
"I don't see why not."
Loki's brows furrowed and he flexed his fingers but kept his hands down. He shook his head in disbelief.
"Clint is right, I suck at the whole motivational speech bullshit. But I'm still going to say it. Everyone here is more than willing to give you a second chance, because it's the least you deserve. It won't be any different with the public if we get people to understand what went down. It's high time for you to grant yourself some indulgence as well."
Loki's eyelids fluttered and he turned away with a sigh. Tony allowed him a moment to ponder before he reached under his desktop and produced a small package, wrapped in plain brown paper, and secured with a piece of string. He placed it in front of Loki and patted it with his hand.
"I've got something for you," he said.
[Is it another piece of garment you think I'm missing?] Loki asked and, damn, it was really something to see him go from woeful contemplation to jaunty quips in a matter of milliseconds. It made Tony wonder how much of the composure the god was displaying on a daily basis was just a pose as well. A lot of it, most likely, considering how insecure he felt about his position.
"Kinda? Go on, open it," Tony urged and rubbed his palms together.
When Tony was a kid – too old for a nanny but too young to be sent to a boarding school – he had a governess, an old, strict lady with a heavy Eastern European accent. Tony found out, years later, that she was a former USSR spy who was recruited by SHIELD and the position at Howard's household was providing her with a long-term disguise. It explained why she terrified him so, at least.
She always scowled at the way Tony opened the occasional gifts his father brought him from his travels – tearing and biting through the wrappings until he got inside – saying that it told a lot about the person and showed off Tony's lack of patience. Tony didn't heed her words back then and even later, when the warning returned to him on occasion as a loose thought, it didn't make much sense to him. After all, she seemed offended by an awful lot of things Tony considered entirely normal, like eating one's dinner in bed, still covered in grease and smelling of fumes from an experiment that went wrong. But now, in a sudden moment of clarity, he finally understood what she meant.
Loki's slender fingers fumbled with the tie for a moment, then he methodically unraveled the sting and unfolded the paper. He picked the blade and studied it for a long while, running his fingers along the edge and exploring the intricate engravings on the composite hilt. He put it back down, so delicately it didn't even make a sound, and eyed Tony questioningly.
"It's made of the vibranium I got from melting down the shackles and separating the metals. I also added some platinum to make the alloy a bit easier to work with," Tony explained with a smile. "I figured you could use something fancier than a kitchen knife."
[You made it for me?]
Tony chuckled. "Yeah? Well, I never worked with vibranium before beyond the theoretics, and wanted to find out where the line between energy retention and just regular heating up lies – in the heat exchange rate, it turns out – and when I finally did, it would be a waste to just leave it unused. I can't take the full credit though, it was Romanoff's idea, and the design is something Jarvis found in an ancient Norse book, but I did the menial part. You like it?"
Loki picked the dagger once more and weighed it in his hand. [It's exquisite. Thank you, Tony.]
The dagger slipped into Loki's palm. He flung it up, caught it mid-air and slid it back into his sleeve in one smooth motion. He kept on doing that every couple of minutes since he came back from the workshop with it, claiming it was to get used to the balance of the weapon, but Natasha was almost sure that it was because he just liked it, a lot.
"If you're done playing with your new toy, you could help me pack, you know," she suggested, half-heartedly.
[I'm already packed,] he said, pointed at a small bag in the corner and retrieved the blade again.
"I know, but we are a team," she said, tossing another piece of clothing onto the bed, "and team members help each other in need."
[You seem to be doing just fine,] he pointed out. [Why do you need so much stuff anyway?]
"Your criteria for 'much stuff' are drastically different than mine. It's just my gear and a change of clothes. And perhaps you should consider packing some more stuff as well. If everything goes smoothly, we are not coming back here. Banner will probably want his peace and quiet back."
Loki's brows furrowed.
"This is not a permanent solution, you know. Once we are done with Hydra and we are in the clear I don't want to keep on relying on Stark for everything." A stray thought hit her, and she let out a groan. "I'll have to find a new job. And rent a new place," she said, dejected.
He looked down at his hands, running a finger along the edge of his sleeve.
"What is it?"
[Even if I can truly walk away free, I have nowhere to go.]
She tilted her head and looked at him for a moment. "You'll have your mojo back and you can go and do wherever you want."
Loki shrugged. [I don't have a life to return to.]
"I'm sure Stark would be delighted to have you close by if you decided to stick around, if just for the informational purposes," she said, then forced herself to smile. Just imagining going back to waking up in an empty apartment, without Loki around, created a gaping hole in her stomach and squeezed her throat. "Or you can… move in with me, if you want."
His eyes snapped to her. [You'd share your home with me?]
I'd share everything with you. "Isn't that basically what we've been doing these past few weeks anyway? It seems to be working out pretty well so far. Besides, it's just a loose suggestion, you don't have to make up your mind right away. Just think about it, okay?"
[I will.]
Stark was on pilot duty and he didn't even complain as much as Natasha expected him to. Clint volunteered to co-pilot, which left her, Loki, Banner, Wilson, and Rogers in the hold.
"I dig the new hairdo," Wilson commented with a smirk and Loki shot him a sideways glance, unsure if he was being made fun of or not and – if someone asked Natasha – she wouldn't be able to clarify the issue. The braid looked more than fine to her, even if she could now see why Loki usually kept his hair down – it covered the metal at least a bit like that. The new hairstyle also highlighted the sharp lines of his cheek, jaw, and orbital bones, which, along with close-fitting, dark clothes he was wearing, did little to hide the full extent of the toll the hell he went through took on his body. It wasn't that she didn't see all the excruciating details already, but at least with the loose clothing he usually wore she could avoid having that thought being pushed to the foreground of her mind each time she looked at him.
"Thank you for doing this, Natasha," Steve said. His eyes were on her and it seemed to cost him a significant effort.
"Yeah, yeah," she scoffed. "You'll thank me if we find him."
Rogers could have all the well-meant intentions in the world, but it still wasn't certain. James – or Bucky, although the nickname sounded silly to Natasha and she decided to use it at her own discretion – was good at hiding his tracks. He popped up on one of the city monitoring cameras only once and – since it all went through Stark's servers, because he was the one to write the software that the whole system operated on and just incidentally left himself a convenient backdoor access – it triggered Jarvis' face recognition program. Stark got a notification, and that was the only reason they even knew James was in New York. The rest was just pure conjecture. He was wearing a shirt with a shipping company logo and that gave them an idea that's where he might work. Only an idea because it was the sort of enterprise that didn't keep employee records online. Or at all, because it looked like a shady type of business that hired illegal immigrants, paid in cash and didn't ask too many questions.
That left them with two options: ask around or raid the office and look for a paper trail, if any existed. And, as the time was not a resource they had in abundance, they decided to try biting it on both ends at the same time.
Steve wanted to come, but she managed to explain how much of a tremendously bad idea it was in the end. Captain America making rounds, asking questions about a weird dude who might work in a warehouse of questionable provenience would end up with everyone growing tight-lipped, best case scenario. And his face was on the news even more often than hers or Stark's.
Rogers wasn't happy, but he listened to reason and it was quickly decided that she would go in and go through the office and Wilson would be the one to do the talking. She probably wouldn't hear the end of it if it turns out to be a dud, but so far, it seemed to settle the matters somewhat, even if Cap was as calm as a cat with its tail on fire.
[Be safe,] Loki said, and his fingers touched her forearm, just briefly.
"I will," she said, smiled, and jumped out of the hoovering jet.
Wilson landed next to her a moment later. He didn't look happy with the fact that he had to leave his fancy suit behind, but it was too bulky to hide, and they were supposed to be inconspicuous.
She activated the HUD on the glasses Stark gave her and swept the junkyard. "All clear here. You can go, see you later."
Stark barked out an affirmation and Mommy's engines whined, raising a cloud of dust, then the jet took off. The cloaking made it hard to discern from the environment after just a couple hundred yards, even when she knew it was there.
"You want to walk or are we getting ourselves a ride?" she asked, readjusting the strap of her bag. She really missed her uniform right about now.
"You want to steal a car?"
"If we find a working one somewhere," she said, looking around. "We will need something to get to the hideout anyway."
"Yeah," Wilson sighed.
They walked through the junkyard, trailing around piles of discarded scrap.
"I grew up next to a fishing pier," Sam said after a while, his nose wrinkled in disgust, "and I thought I'm used to all sorts of nastiness, but this place reeks."
Indeed, the air was filled with a smell of gasoline and burned rubber and something that must've crawled into one of the piles to die.
She chuckled. "Where are you from anyway? No, don't tell me, I want to guess. Mississippi?"
"Close. Louisiana," he laughed. "I haven't been home for a long while. Perhaps too long."
"Must be nice," she said, "to have a place to come back to like that."
He looked at her with his brows pulled tight. "What about you?"
She shrugged.
"Any family?"
She shook her head. "They must all be dead by now."
"I'm sorry."
"It's all old history. All I got now is…this." She let out a sigh.
"Loki is lucky to have you. To have all of you guys, but you especially. It's important that he doesn't have to go through this alone."
She huffed out dismissively. It was all her fault anyway. She could've acted sooner, she could've reached out to Stark sooner, but she was too proud. Too paranoid. And Loki paid the price. Someone always did.
"I mean it," Wilson said.
"I know you do," she evaded, and Wilson had enough decency to not push the subject further.
They jumped the fence, away from the main gate. There was an old Ford pickup parked on the street. The hood was rusted and there was a hole in the rear fender where rot ate the metal all the way through. She aimed her steps towards it.
"This is going to be our ride?"
"Yep. It's just what we deserve."
The drive took only a few minutes. She parked on the other side of the street and assessed the building. It looked like any other warehouse in the docks, with brick walls, a flat tin roof, and a flimsy fence around. A couple of guys were loading crates into a parked semi under a light of a lonely streetlamp.
She turned on magnification on Stark's glasses and studied the group.
"The office is probably at the back. Cutting through the fence on the waterfront side shouldn't be a problem," Wilson suggested.
"I don't have to. It looks like we were lucky for once. Look." She handed him the glasses. "The guy on the left, next to the forklift. That's Barnes."
"Hmm," he murmured. "What makes you so sure?"
"It's him, believe me." He had a beard now and his hair looked like it was buzzed off to the bare skull not so long ago and only started to grow back, but other than that there was no mistaking the way he moved and the way he prioritized his mechanical arm when he did the lifting. "I'm going to say hello, stay here and secure the exit."
Wilson nodded and didn't comment, then moved to the driver's seat as she got off the car and headed for the main gate.
"Are you lost, Miss?" the guard asked, peeking out of his booth.
"I'm here to meet a friend."
"This is not a hangout spot," he said in a disinterested tone. "You can meet your man when he finishes work."
"It's only going to take a moment," she smiled and batted her eyelashes at him.
The man scoffed and urged her on with a handwave, then returned to his newspaper.
"Hi, James," she said, approaching him from behind.
He whipped around, still holding the box he was carrying and stared at her for a second, like a deer in the headlights. Then his foot twitched nervously.
"Hey, hey, hey," she placated, her tone calm and even, "it's me. You remember me, right?"
"Natasha," he said with a nod and some tension drew away from his frame. He put the box down. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"
"It's good to see you too. You look fine."
He glowered at her.
"I made some new allies. With resources," she said and then amended, immediately after realizing how it must've sounded, "not the kind you may be thinking about. This is a friendly visit."
"What do you want?" he asked and crossed his arms on his chest in a traditional "standing one's ground" posture.
She smiled at him. "There's someone who really wants to meet you."
"Who is it?"
"Have you been watching the news lately?"
He shrugged. "I don't have a TV," he said. Just looking at him made her suspect he didn't have much of anything, be it a second set of clothing, a place to sleep, a shower, or a decent meal in the last few weeks.
"Hey, Jimmy," yelled one of the men that passed them, "we're not paid to stand around!"
There was a veiled threat in the shout-out, so James set his shoulders and picked the box back up. "I can't just leave. It took me a long time to find a place that would hire me." He turned around and proceeded to put the box onto the truck, then went to grab another.
She trudged behind.
"Name's Rogers. Rings a bell?"
James stopped and turned; his eyes wide. So, he was aware that Cap was alive and that there was some sort of connection between them. That was good news.
"I can take you to him," she offered.
James still hesitated, uncertainty painted on his face, plain as a day. "He used to be a friend, once," he said and scratched his chin, "I think."
Natasha laughed. "Well, he still seems to see you as one. Come on, we don't have much time."
"Why?" he asked, but still moved. The box dropped to the ground. One of the men yelled something about clumsy fucks.
"I'll tell you on the way."
James nodded and followed her to the car.
He hesitated before entering the vehicle, eyeing Wilson with suspicion.
"He is on our side," she said and got inside, to sit in the middle of the couch and create at least a bit of a physical barrier between the men if the situation went sour. She held the door open. "Hop in."
He did, then closed the door behind with so much force the entire truck shook.
"Hi," said Wilson and introduced himself. "You must be Bucky."
James watched him through half-closed eyelids for a moment then his eyes dashed to Natasha. "Was that really what people called me before?"
She chortled. "Apparently."
James sighed and muttered something under his breath, but the words got drowned by the cough of the engine, which was perhaps for the best.
"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Wilson asked, eyeing the derelict building with distrust.
"Yep," she confirmed, "Clint knows his latitudes and longitudes, he wouldn't fuck it up." Besides, it looked just perfect for the purpose, away from anything important and abandoned for years. If they didn't draw unneeded attention, the only potential trouble would be an occasional bum.
"I was just making sure."
They parked behind some rusted storage containers, then headed for the main gate, James dragging two steps behind. The old truck looked like it belonged there, so she didn't bother with trying to hide it further.
They were still a couple dozen of feet away when one of the flaps of the gate opened and Clint walked out.
"Took you long enough," he said and turned on his heel, without acknowledging James in any way. They were still out in the open and it wouldn't be wise to draw eyes to themselves, which could happen if it turned to any sort of verbal sparring. Or worse. "Come on, it's still some way to go."
Clint led them through the building – the leftover elements of infrastructure made it look like it could've been a car repair shop, a long time ago – then out through an overgrown yard and into a smaller, two-story outbuilding in the back. The door hung open on one hinge, the windows were boarded up and the staircase was missing a railing.
The room they occupied was most likely an office, once upon a time. The ceiling lamps were long gone, but Stark set up a series of smaller lights, powered from some sort of portable generator box, the same that provided juice for the equipment they had set around.
Loki and Stark were sharing a desk, or – more precisely – what was left of one, a desktop propped up on a stack of bricks on one side, right smack in the middle of the room. Loki looked up from his laptop the moment they came through the door and relief painted on his face the moment his eyes landed on her, making her feel warm inside. She smiled back.
"Look who the cat dragged in," Stark remarked idly, his eyes still firmly on his screen.
James stepped inside and Clint secured the door behind him by dragging a heavy-looking filing cabinet over. It wasn't the most advanced security measure, but it would still give them a few extra seconds if the place were to be raided. Besides, the roof was the most likely point of entry anyway.
"Welcome to the den of fallen heroes," Stark said with a smirk, finally peeling his gaze from the screen and locking it on James, who murmured noncommittally in return. Stark's leg tapped nervously, but the smirk didn't waver. "Make yourself comfortable."
The door to the back room opened and Rogers burst into the room. His eyes locked on James immediately.
"Bucky," he mouthed, breathlessly.
"Steve," James said, and his face was a mix of disbelief, sorrow and relief. Then a quick, muffled yelp escaped his lips, as Rogers came at him and pulled him into an embrace.
"Well, I hope it's not the only happy ending for the week," Stark snarked and Wilson threw an old newspaper at him.
It took a while for Steve to let go of his long-lost friend. They left together, heading for the back room and everyone knew better than to follow or ask for reasons. The two had a lot catching up to do and Natasha could only guess the kind.
Clint went to sit in the corner. He had his weapons taken apart and set out on a piece of cardboard there and he was apparently in the middle of cleaning them, as was his pre-battle ritual for as long as Natasha could remember. He didn't have his bow and arrows, he had time to grab them when they evacuated DC in a hurry, so he was at his task with extra devotion.
"Where's Banner?" she asked.
"He went to grab some food," Stark said, then frowned. "It was a while ago, actually. He should be back by now… I'll better call him."
Just as he reached for the phone, there was a knock on the door, in a two-three-two pattern.
"Speak of the devil," Stark said, then inclined his head at the door. "Would you be so kind?"
She pushed the cabinet away and Banner barged in, looking like a drowned rat. It started raining in the meantime. He tossed the four plastic bags on the desk, then flopped down on a chair with a heavy sigh.
Stark tore one of the bags apart and opened the first box. "Chinese, yay," he said unenthusiastically and moved on to the next box, "I hope there's something with meat in it at least."
"It's a three-mile walk to the closest open restaurant and they didn't even do takeaways," Banner said. "It's still warm and it's food, stop complaining."
Stark pouted but refrained from further whining. He understood the realities of being on the run well enough, Natasha guessed, but wouldn't be himself if he didn't put on a show.
Loki closed his laptop and got up, then wandered off to sit on a windowsill in a corner, as far away from the rest as possible without leaving the room. She suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. She went to sit by his side, urging him to scuttle over, which he did, with an annoyed huff.
[You should eat something,] he said.
"I will, later," she promised and ran her fingers down his arm discreetly. With other people around, she was holding back the displays of affection, as hard as it got sometimes. She was almost certain at that point that Loki didn't mind, but that was when they were alone, and she couldn't say how he would react to it with an audience. Still, Clint gave them a meaningful glare and got up from his spot. The guns were done, he was now in the middle of sharpening his throwing knives.
"I'll call Cap and his mate over," he explained, half-heartedly, and went over to knock on the door. "Hey, the food's here if you're hungry."
A moment later the door opened, revealing Cap's flushed face, his eyes framed in red. "Thank you, Clint," Rogers said, "We will join you in a moment."
She wondered if there was truly something more than just friendship between the men, back in the day. What she said to Steve in the forest house was just a jeer and only later she realized what someone growing up in the climate of pre-war US must've taken it for: either an offence to their masculinity or being called out on a sinful secret. Then again, he's been living in the twenty first century long enough to catch up to the social changes.
James might not be so lucky though, if he even remembered it at all.
She ran her hand through her hair. It was all just one big clusterfuck and there was no single person among them who wouldn't need years of therapy to get their shit together after it was done and over with. She knew for sure that the first thing she would do once she is no longer running from law was make an appointment, stretch out in one of those cozy armchairs and just talk until her throat gets hoarse. Maybe she'd be even able to find the right arguments to drag Loki over? He got used to talking to her, but she had a creeping suspicion it wouldn't extend to strangers.
A few minutes passed and the door opened again. Rogers got his face in order and James looked as lost as he ever did, perhaps even more. Sam moved, making a space for the men at the makeshift table, then turned to Natasha. "You sure you don't want to join us?"
"There's not enough space for us all," she evaded.
"Come on, there's space for everyone," he said then kicked Clint under the table to make him move over. "See?"
[Go,] Loki said with a small smile pulling the corners of his eyes, [he won't leave you alone.]
"I said 'for everyone'."
Clint grunted and his chair screeched on the floor again as he moved it even closer to Banner.
She pulled on Loki's sleeve. "You said it, he won't leave us alone," she laughed. Loki rolled his eyes in exasperation but surrendered and allowed her to drag him to the table.
They were now eight people seated around the small desk and they all sat so close their shoulders touched. She grabbed the closest box and scraped some of the rice onto a paper plate, then fumbled with the chopsticks. She never bothered to learn to use them properly, but there was no other cutlery available, and she wasn't ready to resort to eating with her fingers like Stark did. He knew how, she witnessed him operate chopsticks expertly in the past, he just didn't seem to give a fuck at this moment in time.
Loki sat hunched over, his hands in his lap, his head down.
The silence – interlaced with sounds of chewing – was beyond awkward.
"I know you," James said suddenly. His tone was empty, unlike his mouth, so it came out a little slurry.
Stark's head bounced up immediately and he opened his mouth to say something – probably a witty retort about being a super famous vigilante superhero – then closed it shut the moment he realized James wasn't talking to him and his eyes were focused on Loki.
She nudged Loki with her elbow. He looked up then moved his hands to sign.
James had no Jarvis-powered comm-link to provide a translation. "Loki says that if it's revenge you seek, it will have to wait until we deal with Hydra," Natasha supplied. She was pretty sure that was not what James meant, which made the comment all that more ominous.
"You were there…" James said. "Pierce made me tie you to a chair, then he asked you questions."
Shit.
Loki's eyes studied James for a while, then he shrugged. [Many people did many things to me,] he said dispassionately, [I wouldn't be able to remember them all even if I focused only on those who did so on their own volition.]
Natasha translated and Loki returned to the engaging activity of staring at his hands, his face a perfect image of indifference. She knew it was not entirely sincere but was glad that he was making an effort to put that behind him, if just to focus on the bigger threat for now. Maybe Wilson's inept attempts at counseling amounted to something. Or maybe she wasn't giving Loki enough credit, again.
"I'm sorry," James said, so quietly that Loki could convincingly pretend he didn't hear it.
Wilson's hand clapped down on James' shoulder. He jerked away, knocking the chair he was sitting on over and falling into a fighting stance.
"Hey, it's all right, you're among friends here," Sam said, in a calm, collected tone. "Why don't you sit back down?"
James did, holding himself stiffly and pulling the sleeve on his metal arm down. "I'm sorry," he muttered again.
She couldn't take it anymore and started laughing.
Gods, they were all such a goddamned mess.