"You'll have to call me 'boss' now, I hope you realize that," she smirked as they were walking to the quarters.
"I will certainly do no such thing."
"I have my ways to make people do what I want them to do," she said with a pleasant smile.
"That, I can believe."
She didn't have to pack, as she didn't unpack her small bag in the first place, and it took as long as swinging by her cabin and grabbing it. Loki didn't need to go back to his room at all. He had no personal belongings there. Or elsewhere, apparently, as SHIELD wouldn't return his armor either. He admitted he requested it and the request was shut down by Fury immediately under some extraordinarily flimsy excuse that involved space bacteria of all things.
"The R&D division is probably taking it apart to atoms as we speak, looking for all the awesome alien tech."
"It's just leather and steel," he said with a shrug.
She was almost certain that wasn't the whole truth, as she had seen bullets bounce off it in no way they would off just regular metal, let alone leather. But that could be some spells or some shit like that and the SHIELD science team was not all that well-versed in that particular area. She didn't comment though.
The next stop was the main security lab where Loki had to fulfill another stipulation of Fury's deal. He didn't even flinch as the officer on duty snapped a tracking bracelet around his ankle. It wasn't one of those bulky, cumbersome devices the other agencies and penitentiary facilities used, SHIELD was too fancy for that. Just a thin band of brushed metal no one could even suspect was there if the wearer didn't leave his ankle exposed and even then, it could pass as a fashion accessory to someone unfamiliar with the purpose. Still, it looked wrong against Loki's bruised, scraped skin and for a second, she wished they could skip that step, before she realized how ridiculous that idea was. It wasn't there to restrict Loki to any particular area, so it shouldn't be any sort of hindrance if he behaved but it would allow them to find him, hopefully before it was too late, if he did not.
Loki just pulled the leg of his pants down and didn't say a word till they left the lab.
The jet was waiting for them on the tarmac with its hatch open and the cabin light on, dispersing the growing darkness and luring them in invitingly.
That was about the last thing that felt inviting about the whole thing. It was obvious the others weren't happy about Loki's presence and the sounds of a sparkling conversation that carried in the night air over the howls of the wind as they neared the plane suddenly cut off the moment they boarded.
Rogers and Banner offered awkward nods and Clint turned away with a scoff. Stark just stared and the corners of his mouth rode up.
Natasha decided not to think too much into that. It was natural they were wary. She should be more wary than she was.
At least it was that – wariness, not outright hate or fear, and perhaps it wasn't even that for Stark, whose vehement gaze held open curiosity rather than distrust. He wasn't one to harp onto details and his natural inquisitiveness often overtook his other character traits or even survival instinct. And she understood the reason well enough, at least in this case.
The flight didn't take long, they were close to the shore and the jet was fast, so it was maybe ten minutes later when the first lights of the city started popping up on the horizon and soon, they were staring at the lit-up beacons of the Manhattan skyscrapers lighting up the darkness and turning the night back into day, their inhabitants completely unaware their city almost was a ground zero for a battle with an alien army.
Almost. Yeah, that made quite a difference.
"Take us down in Central Park," Stark yelled, picking up the headset from the copilot's seat. It was empty, there was no need for employing a second pilot just for a short passenger flight.
The pilot protested, which led to a call to Fury, which ended with Fury ordering the pilot to land in Central Park, just like Stark had requested. Fury must have been really fed up with the events of the day to decide arguing with Stark wasn't worth it.
Soon, the jet settled down on a patch of meadow, empty at this hour. The plane settled with a pneumatic hiss and the hatch opened.
"Ah, home sweet home," Stark said, stepping out and taking in the lungful of the New York air, which in this particular corner of the city consisted more of dog piss and old grease from the nearby hotdog stands rather than the usual fuel fumes and rotting garbage. His armored feet were leaving deep marks on the soft ground of the grassy field.
"Didn't you live in California till like two months ago?" Clint remarked, stepping out of the plane.
Stark laughed and threw his metal-clad hands to the sides. She knew the answer he wasn't providing, of course, she had done homework properly before Fury had sent her to recruit him two years ago. Stark was born here and lived in the family mansion on Fifth Avenue until the death of his parents. At least on paper – the youngest Stark spent most of his adolescence in a super-fancy boarding school in the UK and moved out to college at sixteen.
Rogers exchanged a few words with the pilot – which looked like it involved him signing his helmet with a sharpie that the man conveniently just had on him – then walked out. Bruce quickly followed, because the pilot's gaze fell on him now. He might not be Iron Man or Captain America, but he was still famous enough for his autograph to sell online, probably. There was Banner's photo in the science classroom of the Georgian school she had been playing a role of an English teacher in last year. That was fun, at least until it wasn't.
Loki didn't move from his seat, his gaze firmly on the outside. "Come on, we have to go," she said and urged him on with a tilt of her head.
He got up and there was just a hint of instability to his pose until he gritted his teeth and caught his balance. Was it just tiredness or were his injuries finally taking their toll? She had to watch him more closely from now on, because he didn't look like the type who would complain until it got really serious.
"All clear, thanks for the ride," she yelled and clapped the hull of the aircraft. The hatch closed, the engines ruffled the grass, and the plane took off.
When she turned back to the group, Stark was halfway through stepping out of his armor. "Jarvis, take the boy home," he said, addressing his AI assistant, more likely than not. "Try not to smash any more windows, please."
The armor folded back into a human shape, the boosters fired, and it flew off towards Stark's grisly home that was glinting in the distance.
Banner bestowed Stark with a meaningful glare. "Right," Stark muttered. "Uhm, so, me and Bruce are going to get something to eat. Anyone wants to join?"
"Sure," said Clint, "being mind-controlled by an alien who keeps on forgetting that food is a thing for days does amazing things to your appetite."
"Cap?"
"I should probably…"
"Oh, don't give me that, you've got to pay me back with listening to my awesome jokes for all the dinner conversations about you Howard graced us with."
"Mr. Stark…"
"Call me Tony. And I won't accept any other answer than a 'yes'. I mean it, I've heard so much about you growing up that you feel like the brother that I never had. The one who is better at everything and whom my father would rather have at the table instead of me."
Off to the side, Loki let out a heavy sigh and it wasn't hard to guess what caused that reaction.
"If you insist, Tony," Rogers said and tipped his head in approval with a placating smile.
Stark turned to her then.
"I have other obligations," she said, before he even started talking. "But thanks."
"Space Invader can come too," he added, a bit less enthusiastically, "if he promises to behave. No killing or maiming other patrons? That sorta thing?"
If looks could kill, Stark would be dead in an instant. But as that rule of reality was still in place, they could not, so Stark only laughed at Loki's angry expression. "Oh, come on, you tried to take over our world a couple of hours ago and got away with it scot-free! Are a few stupid jibes really too bad of a payback?"
Loki's nostrils flared, but he shook his head, slowly.
"So, decision time?" Stark prompted.
It was a disastrously idiotic idea, but also one that allowed her to postpone figuring out what exactly to do with Loki for another hour or something. Taking him to her single bedroom apartment and letting him crash on her sofa was the most viable option she came up with so far and it was as unalluring as it sounded. Sure, he was allowed the free roam of the Helicarrier, and he didn't cause any more untimely deaths that they knew of, but that was a heavily protected and closely monitored military aircraft, miles away from the closest settlement. Her Hoboken flat was neither of those things.
What the hell was Fury even thinking, dumping him on her like that? Did he really expect her to leave him on the streets until the other side of the weekend?
"Yeah, sure, why not," she said and turned to Loki. "Wanna come?"
Loki hesitated and his hands pulled into fists before he stashed them into his pockets. He figured out that use somewhere in the meantime.
She knew he didn't have many options. He could either stay here, wander off and walk through the streets aimlessly until she called, run off to do something shady and get SHIELD on his ass immediately, or go with them.
"I'll come," he said with a small, courteous bow that he somehow managed to make fit into the scene seamlessly.
"Any ideas where we should go, Stark?" she asked.
"Hmm," he hummed. "I always wanted to try shawarma."
The place Stark picked was, well, distinctively unremarkable, one of those one passed every day without really noticing. They had food and it smelled rather fine. It also featured an interior design that screamed early nineties, greasy floors, rickety chairs and tables covered with checkered oilcloth. They were also closing by the time they arrived, but one swipe of Stark's credit card fixed that in a flash. It wasn't even golden – or black with golden letters, like some of the fancier ones – just a regular yellow and blue Visa. The credit card issuing rules must have wrapped around and bitten their own tail at some point.
They took the biggest table and an older, smiling lady brought the menus. Or rather just laminated pieces of cardboard, almost as greasy as the floor.
Loki picked his using just two fingers, then studied it with intent, one side, then the other. His brows pulled into a frown.
She skimmed over the bill of fare and chortled. The main positions were written in Arabic script, with English translations in smaller letters – and with rather eccentric grammar – below, that didn't provide much in terms of clarification.
The woman returned to gather the orders, starting at her.
"I'll have whatever is your specialty," she said. One could rarely go wrong with that.
The woman smiled, noted it down on her pad and moved on to Loki. "How about you, sweetheart?"
Stark hooded his eyes with his hand and stifled a laugh.
"I'll have the same," he said and put down the card, just as carefully as he was holding it up.
"Wait," she interjected, before the woman wrote the order down. "Do you have anything vegetarian?"
"Yes, number seven, Shakshuka, it's poached eggs in sauce, with…"
"Sounds good, we will have that then."
She scratched her order and replaced it with a new one, then moved on to Rogers.
Loki glared at her.
"What? I've noticed you're not a fan of meat, right?"
He glared some more, then dropped his gaze to his hands. "Yes," he said and there was dejection in his voice as if he was admitting to some dark, sinful secret.
"Is it like a conviction or a preference thing? Or are you doing it just for the bragging rights?"
His confusion was a palpable thing. "I don't think I follow. What does having a weak stomach have with boasting?"
So, it was some sort of dietary issue then, she noted and filed accordingly. More of those and she would have to start an actual file, since she was now apparently responsible for his wellbeing.
On the other side of the table, Banner murmured something unintelligible, and he too ordered number seven. "I don't know how it's done in Asgard, but here on Earth some people won't eat meat – or sometimes even any animal produce – because of respect for other living creatures, even lesser," he explained after the waiter moved away, in a low voice.
"Or because they think it makes them cool," Stark added. Bruce's lips thinned in annoyance. "Touchy subject?"
Bruce shook his head in disbelief and his shoulders slumped.
"Hey, that was a joke! You can eat all the grass you want; I don't care."
Rogers turned his gaze away with a heavy sigh. Yeah, it was going just perfect. Fighting over food preferences, that was exactly what they needed right now.
Loki's eyes were dashing around during Banner's and Stark's little exchange and his frown deepened as they went. "I see," he said. "This is… a different approach than how it's perceived on Asgard."
Bruce leaned forward and rested his chin on his palms, perhaps expecting Loki to say more, but he did not.
She had it at the tip of the tongue to ask for details, then abandoned the idea. It wasn't that hard to guess. A warrior race, focused on individual strength and physical might. She could easily see how every sign of frailty could be considered a fatal flaw in a society like this. And it looked like Loki got the short end of that stick. And a couple of others.
"So, how do you find the future?" Stark asked Rogers, changing the subject. "On a scale from zero to ten, how disappointed are you that we have no flying cars yet?"
"We did have them in the forties. Well, at least the one Howard has built."
"They never caught on. The idea went down the drain the moment people realized how unfun it would be to crash a car fueled by a nuclear reactor. Howard destroyed all the prototypes."
Well, all besides the one Coulson secured, but Stark might not know that, and it was best if it stayed that way.
The food arrived rather quickly, as they were the only patrons and this type of dish looked like something that was prepared beforehand and left on a hot plate to simmer.
The shawarmas came in paper wraps, but the stew was served in bowls. Natasha's one was chipped on the edge.
"Believe it or not, this is not the fanciest establishment on Earth," Stark supplied and bit into his meal.
"I've had worse," Loki said without looking up.
"Ha, true that. I once ate chocolate-covered bugs on a dare."
Clint answered with a horror story of his own and the men went on to outbid one another on the grossest things they had to consume.
She fixed her eyes down on her meal and watched Loki with the corner of her eyes. He was eating slowly and methodically but the persistence was back in his gestures and this time she was able to identify it for what it really was. The bleak resolution of someone who went without food way too often in the past, someone who didn't know if the current meal wasn't going to be the last one in the immediate future.
Between his injuries, his words, and this, it created a rather somber sense of how the last months of his life went.
Don't fuck this up, she said to herself. Whatever you do, do not fuck this up.