With a wave of his hand Loki lowered the volume of the music he had been listening to. He sat up, let his feet fall and touch the ground. He took in a deep breath. Stairing Clint straight in the eyes he said, "May I have my book back?"
Clint almost laughed. He had imagined this conversation over and over in his head since the first day he woke back up and was in control of his own body. He had reworked the scene each day. Sometimes the first face to face with his captor was in the middle of a battlefield in which neither got a chance to say much of anything, before Clint let an arrow fly into Loki's neck. Sometimes he shot at Loki's right eye. Sometimes it didn't matter and Clint missed the shot just as he had done the first time. Other times he imagined seeing Loki in dark alleyways. The darkness used as a clear backdrop for what would happen whether it was Loki or Clint begging seemed to change each day. He would watch as Loki begged for forgiveness as he normally said nothing and could walk away leaving Loki to whatever fate was left for him. Late at night when Clint couldn't sleep this first face to face was just a conversation. Sometimes they each played the part of almost friends or at the very least coworkers sharing a moment of peace. Though just as often it was a chance for Clint to lash out at any and all things that he deemed fit to lash out at.
Heartbeat after heartbeat passed. Loki could feel his heart picking up speed as each beat sent the blood circulating through his body. He took in breath after breath hoping that he would be able to postpone any ill timed panic attacks. He wondered if Clint stabbed him now how long it would take him to bleed out with the rate his heart was beginning to speed up. He knew it wouldn't take too long.
The imagined conversations had almost completely stopped once the team had been told Loki was dead. There was little point in preparing for a speech that would never happen. Of course Clint had never tried to imagine Loki coming back from the dead. He had never thought he would play out any of the situations he had come up with. So this one, this moment, was something he could never truly have prepared for even after all the imagined conversations from before. And even before Loki's "death" Clint had never pictured Loki sitting before of him in Clint's own personal nest and asking for a book back.
Loki held his hand out as if silently restating the question from moments before. He was almost proud of himself when his hand didn't shake.
The pages fluttered softly as Clint flipped through the book, "What language is this even written in?"
"Several," Loki answered before he could stop himself, "though most of it is written in old norse." He jabbed his hand a bit closer to Clint. "May I have it back now."
Clint looked back up when he heard the rather desperate note in Loki's voice. He paused, letting the pages stop fluttering and asked, "Why do you care so much? You probably care more about this book then all the lives that were lost when you attacked. As if this matters more than the mothers and friends, children and families that were lost." He slammed the book closed and watched as Loki fliched his way further back into the chair. "You might have fooled Tony or Steve. You might be able to convince this whole damn building that you've changed but I know you haven't. I know how you enjoyed killing those people with your own two hands. I know how you think, how you act, as if you're above everyone else. So what!?" Clint leaned forward. "You might be able to bribe Tony with a couple of cups of cheap coffee but you were in my head-"
"They weren't cheap." Loki didn't bother trying to sit back up. If anything he shifted so he was further away from Barton's rage.
"Does it really matter what you used to convince him you're something you're not. You haven't changed. You can't change. You-" Clint knew he was spiraling. This was how he imagined the conversation when he had first started playing with the scenarios. Maybe not these exact words but the way he way he couldn't stop and think for a moment was the exact same. "You made me kill people. And I get that that sums up my job but you made me kill people I knew. Some of those people that I killed, that you killed, were my friends. And I'm supposed to get over it. I'm supposed to move on and what, forget what you did. Forget what you had me do. Forget how you threatened Natasha. As if because you make coffee and snacks everything is okay? You need to pay for what you did." Clint realized that he had nearly dropped Loki's book in his anger. His left hand already a fist and his right just barely holding the book. He forced his fingers to unclench themselves. Took the book in both hands and a part of him wanted to see if he could rip it in half. He wanted to see if destroying something of Loki's would make up for everything Loki himself had destroyed.
Loki closed his eyes and let his illusion fall once he didn't know which was worse, having to bare his scars time and time again or the fact that the act was becoming more normal and less anxiety inducing than it once had been. Sure he couldn't stand to look at the scars himself but at least he could settle with the fact that they were there all across his body. It still felt completely wrong to catch a stray glimpse of what remained behind the illusion. When he opened his eyes somehow everything felt heavier but his heart, for the moment, almost seemed calm. "I did pay. I payed time and time again for the damage and pain I brought upon Midgard. I was locked away. I was burned, whipped, nearly blinded." Loki finally let his right hand drop onto his lap instead of letting it hang, waiting for a book that would probably never be handed back. "I...despite what you believe, did not enjoy what I did to Midgard. If I could I would take it all back. I would pay for it all tenfold with my own body and soul. However, I cannot change my actions just as you cannot change what happened when you were under my control. I payed for what I did. I'm sure it's not enough and it might never be enough. I payed, Asgard thinks I'm dead, I wish-" Loki cut himself off. He shook his head and continued on a slightly different thought. "I assure you I wish no more harm to come to Midgard. All I want is to exist and maybe find a way to live with what I did."
Clint stared. He couldn't seem to turn away. He just took it all in; the bent fingers, cracked bones, dulled eyes, and charred skin. He could see how many sleepless nights that Loki must have endured from the bags under his eyes alone. The clothing seemed to hang from his body as if Loki hadn't eaten in some time. And of course Clint noticed the markings that looked tribal in nature, lines so deliberate, so clear cut. He wondered how long it took to carve them.
"Does it please you?" Loki shifted so he was on the edge of his seat. He could hear the sharp intake of breath from the man sitting before him. Years ago he might even have taken pleasure in that reaction. Instead he focused his energy on getting out of the chair, standing straight and tall without flinching. He bent down as if he was bowing to some master but it wasn't quite low enough to be confused for such an act. Holding his right hand out once more he asked, "May I please have my book back? I wasn't finished rereading it. I highly doubt that you would have any proper use for it."
He didn't know how to answer Loki's question and he wasn't sure if he even wanted to. Instead Clint stayed silent, watched as Loki stood up, and shook his head at how thin the god's skin was. He shrugged a shoulder and handed the book back to Loki still without saying a word.
"My thanks," Loki said as he took the book from Clint's hand. He made sure not to touch him nor to linger. He backed away, picked up the other books he had brought and looked to the ceiling for a mere heartbeat. "Jarvis, I would like to go back to my rooms."
The elevator door opened with a soft ding, "Of course, Mr. Friggason."
Clint stayed in his chair long after Loki was gone. After awhile he looked to Jarvis's camera just above the elevator doors. "I assume you've either told Tony about this already or you are figuring out if you should. If you haven't and he doesn't know yet I'd like to ask that you keep this between you, me, and Loki. Tony doesn't need to know. Nothing happened."
Nothing happened, yet. Jarvis knew it might not be the same the next time Mr. Friggason and Mr. Barton were in the same room. He justified what he was planning to do because Mr. Barton was right, this time nothing happened. "I will not tell Stark about this meeting but I will not hesitate to inform him if I deem it necessary to do so in the future."
"Thank you, Jarvis." Clint and Loki said the same sentiment roughly at the same time.
By the time Loki reached his apartment he realized he needed to bake something. Not because he was particularly hungry but because he hoped it would stop any panic attacks from taking over. A way to calm his nerves. As the elevator doors opened on the 77th floor Loki let a green light seep across his body to hide all that was wrong with it. He stepped out into the living room and set his books down on an end table. Ignoring his shaking hands, and body, as he made his way into the kitchen. Looking to the ceiling he said, "Please." He looked down at his hands, uncertain if he would be able to hold anything to be able to cook. "Please, inform me next time Barton is close by. I don't wish to speak with him unless it is by my own terms."
