Loki stayed long enough to watch one movie. He didn't really pay enough attention to recall anything other than the colorful pictures on the screen seemed to be animated. Other than that he watched The Avengers. He watched as Thor seemed to eat an entire village's stockpile of popped corn. Natasha seemed to have a secret stash of chocolates. One second her hands were empty and the next she was stuffing a bit of chocolate into her mouth. Bruce sipped on his large mug of tea till it seemed uncomfortably cold. In the end he finished it and went up to get another cup full. Loki did what he could to subtly speed up the process and make the tea stay drinkablely warm for longer. Meanwhile, Steve seemed transfixed by the movie. Every so often he would reach out to the bowl of popcorn but more often than not he would miss. Instead of looking away from the movie he just kept blindly reaching till someone, mostly Tony, would take pity on him and would move his hand in the correct position.
As the final credits started rising up the screen, Loki stood up with a quick stretch. "Thank you for…" He tried to find the right word or words. He settled for, "Thank you for this." Loki walked away before Thor could try and call him brother. He put his long empty cup of tea in the sink before anything else could be said by anyone. Retreating to the elevator he hoped that this time Jarvis would allow the doors to open. He didn't even have to hit the button to go down. The doors simply opened on their own and closed quickly once he was safely inside.
Once the doors opened with a ding and Loki walked out onto his floor Jarvis finally spoke up, "I am sorry Mr. Friggason, I acted in the way I thought would best serve all the people in this tower. That includes you."
"Don't try and sound apologetic as if you actually care!" Loki didn't want to hear falsities from Jarvis, especially not right now.
"Please, just let me finish. Stark shouldn't have brought you upstairs for movie night without warning the others. It was a poor attempt to integrate you into a comfortable place with the other residence of this tower. But if you had just left and came back here then it would have set a precedence which would have been harder to break later on. Now all of The Avengers have seen and heard what happened to you and can understand why Tony would have brought you to live here."
With a sigh Loki looked at one of Jarvis's camera's attached to the ceiling, "I don't like being forced…"
"I know. And it was out of my purview, technically, to do what I did. I won't try anything like that again."
Loki walked toward his bedroom. "My thanks." All he wanted to do now was curl up with a book and fall asleep. He was still half convinced that at any moment one of The Avengers, most likely Barton, would come to eviscerate him. At least he would be able to read and become partially comfortable before that happened.
As Jarvis tried to make up to Loki by playing his favorite instrumental songs. Loki curled up on top of the sheets on his unmade bed. Eventually he moved so his feet and lower legs were covered with the blanket. He slowly turned the pages of whatever book he was reading. Every twenty or so pages he would set the book down and pick up a different one. He couldn't seem to stick with one story anymore but the pile of books beside him was comfortable. The pile of books kept his mind busy and the blanket around his legs kept him snug and aware of his surroundings.
Meanwhile, Clint went down a handful of floors from the Media Center to his own floor. He walked down the stairs that no one other than himself seemed to use. He walked, slower than normal, till he reached floor 81. He reached under his shirt, pulled up on a string, which caused his key to fall into his hand. He carefully slid the key into the lock and twisted till he heard each tumbler move into position. The key had been a must when he moved in. No matter how much he trusted Jarvis, he felt better knowing he was the only one with the key to this door.
The door swung open silently and Clint walked in. The door swung shut with a soft click, locked and safe. He walked past his kitchen and tv room. Clint practically shuffled into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. Leaning back he wondered if he would be able to get the sight of all those scars out of his head. "Probably not," he said under his breath.
Jarvis pretended not to hear Clint. Most times, with most of the residences of the tower, he found it best to pretend he didn't hear anything.
Clint leaned with his back against the door. He felt...he wasn't quite sure how he felt actually. A part of him was glad that Loki seemed to have learned his lesson, payed for what he did. But the matter of fact way all of the marks had been explained away made him sick. Clint couldn't help but think in that in that moment he had almost sounded like mom.
He shut that thought off as he pushed off from the door, turned back to it, opened the door, and walked out of the room. Clint went to his bathroom and turned on the shower. He turned the knob and waited. He quickly stripped once the water was just slightly too warm. Eyes closed he tried to think about nothing. He scrubbed. He washed. He even picked at the grime that had been accumulating under his nails.
A little while after his skin started to shrivel up Clint finally stepped out of the shower. Ignoring the clothing on the floor he only grabbed his towel. Drying quickly he threw the towel on top of the clothing and walked out of the room. He went back to his bedroom and threw on the first comfy pajama like thing he could find. Tonight his choice was oversized purple sweatpants and a pink shirt. For once he ignored his beloved hammock. Instead Clint went to the bed that was too big for one person alone but that's what he was, alone. Reaching to his ear he undid his left then right almost invisible ear hook. With a bit of a wiggle and a slight pop each of his hearing aids came out and then were placed on the table. Clint turned up the corner of his covers and climbed up into the bed. He curled up as small as he could and covered himself in sheets and blankets till practically only his nose and mouth peaked out from under them.
Jarvis dimmed the lights in Clint's bedroom. When he didn't complain or indicate he would need the light, Jarvis turned them off completely.
Clint nestled into his pillow. He burrowed into the sheets. And when Jarvis turned out the lights he wanted to say thank you but once again he waited too long. It felt like saying something after a few seconds passed was too delayed an action. So instead, Clint said nothing to Jarvis for turning off the lights when he was too caught up in thoughts he was trying to ignore. He curled in on himself impossible more as if that could hold him or his thoughts together.
Soon enough Clint closed his eyes. The room was dark. The bed comfortably warm and almost too soft. Tonight he fell asleep quickly as if only in sleep he could truly escape his problems.
He was running. He was running on the wooden floor of his childhood home. His bare feet were slapping against the wood. He could hear everything. He was running and he was a child and Harold was chasing him. Harold was yelling. Harold was angry, fists ready. All Clint could do was keep running but his legs were too small and Harold's were too long. Barney tried talking sense into the monster, "Dad he didn't do anything." Barney was pushed aside with a fist. Harold was a giant and Clint couldn't run anymore. Then all he could see were fists and blood. Rings caught on his cheek. He couldn't hear anyone anymore. He could only see Harold's hands hitting him till they broke. They bent at odd angles. Each and every bone was shattering. And Clint could hear them shattering. He could hear again. Harold screamed. Except that voice, that scream which was fraying at the edges, couldn't be Harold. Harold never screamed, not like this. He only yelled in anger. And the fingers were too long and thin to be his. Clint watched as this man of rage shifted to some broken and cowering thing. Clint tried to walk to the man but he man only flinched. He cried out, begged for it to stop. But Clint didn't know what it was. He tried to walk to the man again. He thought it was a man. Maybe it was a monster. Maybe it was meant to be so twisted and burnt. Maybe-the man was curled up on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. Clint ran to his side. He found a bleeding wound, pressed his hand on it, but then the wound would move. Suddenly the man started talking. And once he started it didn't seem like he could stop, "I'm sure I deserve everything. I did not enjoy what I did. cannot change. I was meant to die." Clint realized it was Loki. He was holding Loki, his master, his tormentor, this broken and dying thing was a man who wasn't even a man. Yet he could seem to let go. Clint had to keep trying to stop the bleeding. The body under his hands shifted. It was no longer Loki. Clint was now holding himself. He could still feel the wooden floors under his feet. COuld hear all the screaming. "Dad he didn't do anything." Clint let go of the now indistinguishable body. He ran. He ran from his father. He ran from Loki. He ran from his family, and himself. He could still hear the screaming and the excuses. "Does it please you," Loki's voice. "Are you happy," his mom. "You know what sets me off. This is your fault," Howard. "You can't change," his voice, no Howard's voice. "I'm sorry. I'll do better." Loki's voice, no his voice.
Clint sat up and could still hear all those voices echoing in his head. He could still feel the blood on his hands and didn't know who it was even meant to belong to. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to figure that one out. Instead he climbed out of bed and all he could concentrate on was the fact that he couldn't clearly hear when his feet hit the floor.
