A/N: sorry this is late i got lost in the bathroom
Loki quietly enters his parent's hotel room when allowed, too rigid and too aware of the heavy bandage on his forehead. Frigga's face, ready as always with a welcoming smile, immediately slacks in shock. "What on earth happened to your head?" she gasps.
Loki, not happy to be here let alone to calm her worries, shrugs. "Wrong place wrong time, I guess," he says, probably too flippantly.
"If this is the aftermath of that engagement party," Frigga starts, eyes storming into something terrifying.
"No, no! it was my fault," Loki says quickly, stepping further into the suite. "You know, New York." Her lips tighten, but she doesn't push.
"One day I'll get a straight answer out of you," she mutters, not unlovingly, and leads him into the sitting area. "He's waiting in here for you."
Loki nods nervously and takes one large, final step into the room. Odin stands next to one of the plush armchairs, in the middle of making a cup of tea. Loki stands silently and watches him dunk the teabag three deliberate times before adding milk and turning. When he sees the ugly mess of white gauze that is Loki's forehead, he only raises an eyebrow.
"My son," he says, and as much as Loki wants to keep the fire in his chest blazing, it does smoulder somewhat at that. Odin gently picks up his mug and gestures to the armchair. "Sit."
Loki does, and swallows a punch of intimidation when Odin does not.
"I know…..that I had been….." Odin takes a long pause. "Have been, perhaps, inattentive to you, in your," he gestures vaguely at Loki, "need, to define yourself and your passions. I know I have also, perhaps, been cruel, in my reaction to it. I merely didn't want to nurture anything that might of brought you harm or suffering in your life."
Loki realizes suddenly, hysterically, that this is Odin apologising. The fire returns tenfold. "I'm not suffering because I'm a fag, Odin."
The teacup comes slamming down, hard enough for tea to spill and the lamp shade to rattle. "You see," Odin growls, shaking his wet cuff, "this is what you do, Loki, you have this innate need to antagonize everyone around you!" Loki can't retaliate without lying, so he stays silent. "I am not trying to upset you or bring up past arguments, I am simply trying to explain that my current anger has nothing to do with them. I have no care of how you chose to live your life, or—" a fumbled grunt, "who with."
Jesus fucking christ.
"What does matter is how your actions effect—and reflect—onto others."
"Why does it matter what I do? I'm not an Odinson anymore, you took care of that, so why does it matter?"
"I took away your claim to the inheritance temporarily, Loki, until you straightened yourself out, which obviously has not happened!"
Loki sits back in his chair. "What the hell does that mean?"
"Calm yourself."
"Calm myself?!" Loki shrieks. Odin sighs, rubbing a crease between his eyes.
"This marriage to Stark's boy," Odin says. "It's…..unbecoming, of an Odinson heir. And although you play it very well, I don't think it will make you happy." Loki's throat closes up. "Frigga and I will come to the wedding, of course. But I can promise you I will not entertain many more of these childish, attention seeking spectacles."
Loki stares, turning over each word in his head. "You'll give me my inheritance back if I don't marry Tony."
"It was never your inheritance, and don't twist my words. A person's spouse is a reflection of their character, and Stark's boy lacks in anything that I would call productive, or worthy. It's exactly the kind of thing I'd hoped you'd maybe grown out of. I ask only for you to reflect on your character, and make your decision based on that. And yes, in this we might see whether you have grown."
Loki walks out of that hotel positively shaking with rage. How dare he. How dare he take even this, this stupid, silly joke meant to be a few weeks of amusement and turn it into proving his very worth. How dare he force him into a choice, even if this isn't real, how dare he take that away from him, snatch his cards from his hands and tuck them away and lock them in a drawer and then tut at him for daring to play. How dare he.
When Loki gets home it's straight passed Darcy, straight passed Tony who's blathering on about something and into his room with the slam of a door.
—
Tony knew that any conversation between Loki and his father wouldn't go well, but he wasn't expecting the absolute force of hurt anger that barrelled through the apartment door.
"Hey, Loki-pokě, you want some…?" Darcy trails off and lowers the slice of pizza she was offering as Loki storms passed her.
"Lokes, hey," Tony greets from his sprawl on the couch, laptop on his stomach. "I got some research done and I think I've got a good recommendation for a…." He too is only answered with a whip of air and then a door slam.
Dejected, Tony climbs off the couch and walks towards the hall. He stops when Darcy coughs. "I wouldn't," she says.
"But I did work!" Tony whines. And he did, really. He's been emailing people all day trying to find a publicist insane enough to take on their little mix-up. They had to be credible, they had to be confidential, they had to have the patience of a saint and Tony thinks he might've just found the one. He was excited to show Loki, to prove to him he can clean up his messes and now he just feels stupid.
"It's not you, don't worry," Darcy says, leaving her pizza slice on the kitchen counter. "Welp, I'm gonna hit the hay." She does a little stretch. She sees Tony standing there holding the laptop, looking at the hall with puppy eyes, and exhales with a slump. "You wanna bunk with me?"
Tony's head swings around. "Really?" After throwing her best friend across the apartment a day ago, it's the least Tony was expecting from her.
"Yeah, might as well let you sleep on something other than a two-seater for once," she yawns, leading the way into her bedroom. Tony smiles and follows. They fumble around sleepwear for a minute before nestling down under the purple quilt, head to tail.
"Thank you," Tony says earnestly, snuggling into his pillow, trying not to spoon the Astro Boy plushie next to him.
Darcy shoots him lazy finger guns. "Pew pew."
Tony snorts. "Hey, so, what's your deal? Like, do you go to school, or…..?"
Thankfully Darcy doesn't sound annoyed with talking instead of sleeping. "Ehhhhh. I'm doing night classes at the community college. I dunno. I think I might want to be a scientist, or a journalist, or a policeman."
"Police officer."
"What?"
"Officer. It's police officer, now."
"Oh, yeah."
"You're welcome."
"'You're welcome'? Welcome for what, equality?" Tony laughs and Darcy kicks him. "Huh? Huh?"
"You're funny," Tony smiles. "So a scientist or a police officer. What classes are you taking?"
"Physics or something."
Tony lifts his head. "Wow."
"Yeah! Right? I'm fuckin smart, man." Her voice starts to drawl. Tony feels his eyelids get heavy himself. "I dunno," she mumbles. "Life's hard. Figuring out life's hard. You're never where you're supposed to be."
Tony hums, either in agreement or just to support the end of the conversation. He soon drifts off into a mindless sleep.
—
As soon as Loki opens his eyes he knows it's a Bad Day.
He stares at his cream wall. He shuffles his legs under the teal comforter and winces as his bony knees knock against each other. He reaches down and pinches his hips, both too wide and too narrow at the same time and a wave of violent displeasure wades through him. He pinches harder, intending to hurt instead of inspect. It does nothing but make tears bloom in his eyes and cause another wave of sick. His hair feels greasy from not washing it the night before.
Arms, horrible. Stomach, ugly. Chest, disgusting.
He's suddenly so overwhelmed that he sobs. He cups a hand over his mouth, lest anyone in the apartment hears him. He doesn't want to bother anyone with this silly shit. Or maybe he does. He doesn't know.
What do you want, you stupid thing?
He's crying now, snot and tears running down his face as he shudders and gasps into the palm of his hand.
Stupid and ugly. Stupid and ugly. Deformed looking, skinny, queer, overdramatic repulsive loser—
Stop crying.
Stopcrying.
He even fails at that.
Then his bedroom door opens with a soft squeak and Loki's efforts to stop shaking only increase the tremors. He quickly wipes the snot from his face, making everything sticky and gross and tries to get his breathing under control because if Stark sees him like this….
"Hey," Darcy's voice is soft as she makes her way over to where he's flat on his side against the wall. "Hey, hey…one of those days or just shitty?"
Loki takes a breath that turns into a wet mouthful of salt. Don't bother her, it's nothing, don't inconvenience her, stop crying, it's childish, it's weak, it's girlish, it's unbecoming of an Odinson—
"I-I don't t-think," Loki punches out, digging his nails into his shoulders in a cruel hug, "t-that I can go t-to class today."
"That's okay." The small bedframe dips when Darcy sits down. "With your stiches I think they would've sent you home anyway."
It's a tiny comfort. Loki tries to calm down but is hit with another wave of someone is here, someone is seeing this, and gets overwhelmed again. He squeezes his eyes shut and when that doesn't cut it he covers his face.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry, this is so stupid, I'm sorry."
"Shhh, it's not, it's not," Darcy says. Suddenly there are fingers in his hair, stroking softly and he jumps at the contact. "Is this making things better or worse?" she asks when he does.
Loki takes a few shuddering breaths. "B-better," he says, although he's not sure himself.
The stroking continues. "Do you want some of my depression pills?" Darcy whispers. Loki shakes his head. "Anti-anxiety?"
"M-maybe." What, you can't stop crying on your own?
"Do you want some toast?"
So your hips can be even wider? (Do I want them wider?)
Shut up. Shut up.
His crying must have returned tenfold because Darcy is hushing him again, running smooth fingers through his horrible greasy hair. He's already embarrassed himself this much, and it's not like it's something Darcy hasn't witnessed before, so Loki allows himself to cry, to weep at his discomfort and self-loathing and at the fact that this isn't normal, that this is a problem, and at the fact that he knows his father's opinions don't matter, that the world's opinions don't matter, and that in his very core Loki knows all this and it doesn't help. Running away didn't help.
Darcy stays with him until he's cried his tears and talked his agony down into a dull throb. He's left exhausted, a whole new depression taking him over as he stares at the wall and rides out the last few shakes.
Darcy still strokes his hair. "I'm going to make you some toast, okay? I know it doesn't feel like it will help, but it will." Loki doesn't have any fight in him so he nods numbly. He feels her pull away and hears the door squeak again and then he is alone.
I hate myself, he thinks without passion. It always comes down to this. The worst part is he doesn't even know what would make him better. He knows he hates how he is but he can never pin-point exactly what about being Loki that makes him so repulsed. After all these years, he still finds himself a problem with no answers. Sometimes the thought of living as himself is so demanding, so tiring.
The door opens again and either Darcy has made the quickest slice of toast in human history or Tony has found him. He really hopes it's the toast.
"Heyyyyy," Tony says, trying to sound breezy and failing. Loki hears two footfalls approach and stop in the centre of the room. "Darcy said you were having a bad day…..did you want some company? A…..frappuccino or something?"
Loki's nose makes an embarrassingly loud sniffle. He hugs himself and presses against the wall, wishing Tony away. Tony does the opposite and walks right up to the bed and lays down next to him, the tiny cot just barely leaving a slither of room between them. Loki feels the heat on his back and the tremors start up again. Tony rubs his shoulder and the shock of it is enough to startle words from him.
"I j-just sometimes…get overwhelmed, I guess—" another loud sniffle, "—with…..I don't know, existing, body-stuff, I guess, I don't know." And what the fuck was that? His face burns bright red.
"Body-stuff?" Tony asks.
Loki covers his eyes again because god, he's really going to have this conversation. "I don't know," he says miserably. He exhales sharply in a mockery of a laugh, "I think that's the problem. I don't know."
Tony rubs his shoulder again. "Do you…" A very long pause. "Want to become a girl?"
Loki chokes on a breath at just hearing it and the crying starts up again. "I don't know," he says, panicked at the thought that this is the first time he's really admitted it. "I just feel different, I've always been different, fundamentally, I just feel—wrong."
Tony takes a long while to answer and Loki is surprised he's even bothered to try and figure out this fuckery, to figure out him.
"I'm sorry that I don't understand what you're going through," he starts. "But you're not wrong. There's no such thing as a wrong person."
"Normal people don't feel these things," Loki says bitterly. "Normal people aren't supposed to be this confused."
"What are you confused about?"
Loki sucks in a breath. "Just…me. I've never known what…..what I was, or who I was and then I wasn't even my father's son and—" He feels the sob coming so he holds his breath.
Tony gives his shoulder a squeeze this time. "Hey now, those are some lies. You are the most driven, ambitious person I've ever met. Of course you know who you are! You're fucking Loki, star of the stars! So driven to be exactly what you want and nothing less that you've put up with me for weeks. And if being you involves a dress now and then, who gives a fuck? It's the twenty-first-century. It's New York!"
"T-that's not me, it's a tick, a bad habit, a gross habit—"
Tony leans up until Loki looks at him with red, puffy eyes. "You are not a problem." He says it so confidently and so assuredly that Loki is without words. Then he repeats it, "you are not a problem. Everything about you is beautiful."
Loki stares. And stares and stares and stares. Time is meaningless. He blinks away water and stares some more.
"I…." he swallows. "You don't mean that." Can't mean that.
"I have never meant anything more in my life," Tony says easily. Loki can't look at that face anymore. He hiccups and blinks away more tears, but they're better tears, softer, cathartic. He rolls over and buries his head under Tony's chin, wanting to feel another body that isn't his. Tony complies, snuffling and closing his arms around Loki until he's wrapped in a warm cocoon of safe. They lay there in silence until Loki stops shaking.
He doesn't believe him. But maybe it's a start. A start of what, he's not sure. But it's got to be worth it.
"You feeling better?" Tony asks into his hair (still greasy, still horrible). Loki shrugs in his embrace. "Do you have any idea what will might make you feel better? No suggestion is stupid."
Loki swallows again. "I don't know."
"What bad things are you feeling?"
Loki wiggles a little and tries not to think about Tony's arms feeling his horrible waist. "….ugly, mostly, I guess." He burns with embarrassment.
Tony squeezes him a little tighter. "What would make you feel pretty?"
Loki knows, but it's still a bad thought, still years and years of repented anger and humiliation and this one conversation just can't undo all that. Still…..
You are not a problem.
"I guess cleaning this snot off of my face would be a start."
Tony grins and nods.
Loki slowly follows Tony out of bed and into the tiny hall. Darcy apparently thought toast wasn't enough and Loki sees her struggling with flipping several eggs in a frypan as he passes the kitchen. It's strange. He doesn't leave his room on Bad Days. He usually cries and sleeps and waits for tomorrow to begin. Walking feels brand new.
He follows Tony into the cool bathroom and a spike of discomfort shoots through him. He stands facing the shower, wringing his hands together. When Tony turns to him with a handful of tissues he frowns.
"I can't handle the mirror right now," Loki explains quickly. Tony nods without a word and gets to cleaning his face. Loki tries to help but finds himself still too shaky. A dose of self-loathing punches him at being babied like this, but he has a handle on it now and pushes it down.
"Do you want to take a shower?"
Loki shakes his head. If he catches even a glimpse of his naked body he might just vomit.
"Okay. There! All better," Tony smiles, wiping the last bit of crust from Loki's nose. "Never would guess it's a bad day. You've got a good day glow."
Loki, standing in his pyjamas with a stuffy nose and red-rimmed eyes at twelve in the afternoon, knows he looks anything but. Yet he smiles, even rolls his eyes.
"Hey!" Darcy's voice calls from Loki's room. "I went overboard and made the best fucking breakfast, you're not gonna believe this shit—" She cuts off, and after a bit of shuffling her head sticks into the bathroom. "Oh hey! You're out of bed!" She sounds stupidly proud and Loki is unwillingly reminded of his current mental state.
"We're making him pretty for you," Tony says, waving his handful of soiled tissues. Loki groans and buries his face.
"Oh right on," Darcy grins, skipping into the room and pulling open her drawer. Loki's face goes white.
"Darcy, I really don't think—"
"Shush, spazz pants, I'm doing me." She pulls out her makeup bag. "We're all going to be pretty today. For nobody but us." She pops the cap off of her foundation and starts applying a base layer.
Tony chuckles and makes grabby hands. "Hey. Hey. Hook me up." Darcy passes him the eyeliner and Loki blushes furiously at the situation.
"Oh my god," he mumbles into his hands.
"What, I can't have a Look? Because this is my Look now." Loki forces himself to watch as Tony draws a crude line across his top eyelid.
"What, Loki? Aren't we sexy?" Darcy spins around, halfway through her third player of foundation that's making her left cheek look like a lumpy blob. "On a scale of fuckable to fuckable, which Jeff Goldblum are we?"
"I hate both of you. So, so fucking much."
When Tony sees the disaster Darcy's painting he laughs, long and from the belly. "That is incredible."
"Thank you. Nice cat-eye. Singular." Tony winks. "Okay, okay. Let's be serious. For Loki."
Loki knows it's all for him, to distract him, but his heart is swelling so much that he doesn't mind.
Darcy and Tony continue to pamper and preen at each other. Darcy is done with her face quickly enough and is now tasked with making Tony look presentable, trying to keep up with his ridiculous suggestions. They ask Loki for opinions that he isn't ready to give and don't say anything when he becomes too overwhelmed and needs to step out to collect himself. When he comes back Tony has a dusting of blue on his eyes and a thick layer of eyeliner that actually looks quite fetching.
He grins. "I thought green at first but I didn't want to steal your colour."
Loki smiles shyly. He appreciates all of this. But this is a joke to them. Meaningless. Not real. Loki wants to pretend too, but for once, he wouldn't be acting. It wouldn't be a costume. Loki's not afraid of wearing a character, he's afraid he'll be stripped bare.
Darcy looks at him with her own purple lidded eyes. She holds up her makeup brush. "You?"
Loki swallows. Tony jokes that he has to if they want to match and it helps calm his gut a little, so Loki nods and walks over, head firmly set on the wall of tiles. Darcy scrubs the brush in a pale dish of foundation and begins dusting Loki's face. "Just—a little bit," Loki says. Darcy smiles and nods. Somewhere behind him he hears Tony quietly leave the room.
When the foundation is done Darcy searches through her makeup strewn across the vanity. "Do you want pink blush?"
"I—I don't know." Stage makeup is different. He has to wear it, or else he'll glisten like a sweaty fish up on that stage. Darcy makes up his decision for him and brushes his cheeks firmly and surely that's too much? She even adds some to his bandages.
"For the eyes?"
"I don't—I don't know."
Darcy gives him a look. "What do you usually put on when you use my makeup?"
A bolt of panic thrills him. He's caught off guard. "What?"
"It's fine, I literally don't care." She leans in. "I actually bought a bunch of it for you, I only use like three of these colour tones and a lip gloss." Loki's mouth drops open. "So," Darcy says, picking up an eye shadow pallet. "Yellow or green?"
Fighting seems pointless when there's obviously no-one to fight against, so Loki quickly says green and closes his eyes.
After a while Tony knocks on the door frame and holds something up in his hand. It's the Audrey Hepburn dress Loki eventually thanked him for and before Loki can argue Tony stops him. "—and! And!" He holds up a grey zipper jacket in the other hand. "A very manly jacket. Perfect combo."
Loki stares in startled silence. Maybe this isn't a joke.
"Sexy dress," Darcy coos appreciatively.
"Oh yeah. Total wet dream material."
Loki splutters. "You're disgusting."
"And you're not." Tony slides up to him and holds the garments out. Loki looks them over with his newly painted eyes and without thinking looks up at the mirror. His cheeks don't seem as sunken as he thought they would be, his face full and handsome. He looks at the makeup on the vanity and the dress in Tony's hand and doesn't feel as scared as he was a moment ago. Maybe this is okay. Maybe this is fine.
And so now he's here, sitting on the couch with his (his) black dress awkwardly pulled over his sleep shirt and boxers, all enveloped in that massive grey jacket and squeezed between Darcy and Tony as they watch some action movie one of them suggested and eating afternoon breakfast meats.
And it is okay. And it is fine.
