A/N: Another chapter for you. This fic is slowly extending itself in my head, much like Golden did, to my complete and utter terror. But you don't need to worry about that. Hope you like this one. Let me know what you think!
Turn
by Flaignhan
She's getting sick of the snow. She longs for the days when she could feel the heat of the sun on her skin as she strolled through the city, the chill of the shadows of the skyscrapers, and even the humidity that would leave her sweating ten times more after a workout. She's not particularly vulnerable to the cold – she's the hardiest of all of them, actually, when it comes to outerwear, favouring a light jacket, a scarf, and a pair of fingerless gloves on particularly cold days. Clint bundles himself up in a huge insulating jacket that makes him look like the Michelin man, Tony refuses to go anywhere on foot, and Bruce has a thick woollen pea coat, which he often accompanies with a chunky scarf that he wraps round his neck several times. Because she's the Russian, they expect her to be in her element, but really, she just wants Christmas to come and go, and spring to slowly creep into existence.
The lights of the festive window displays glare at her from behind their glass, luminous signs flashing offensively without mercy. There are glowing plastic figures with empty smiles painted on their round faces, ribbons and tinsel and fake snow covering every surface. She rolls her eyes at it all, the towering stacks of presents, the blatant emotional blackmail on advertising campaign posters, but then, just as she's about to hail a cab to cut short her journey, she spies something a little more appealing. Her feet seem to make the decision for her, because suddenly, she's walking away from the curb, her hand reaching out to push open the door of the department store. The warm blast of air that hits her from overhead upon entering is more than welcome, and she feels as though she's been suitably defrosted. The display that caught her eye isn't particularly loud or garish, or even decorative. It casts a lonely figure amongst all the other gift stands, its dark, sleek construction easy to miss amongst the explosion of colour and noise.
She doesn't have a particularly sweet tooth. She will enjoy the occasional pastry, but beyond that, it's never really been her thing. She didn't enjoy many desserts as a child, so perhaps the notion of it being a treat was never instilled in her. What was instilled in her was the concept of fuel, of protein and carbohydrates and nothing wasted. No overindulgence either. That simply would not do.
However, the neatly wrapped packages of chocolate, with their thick shiny paper and fine silver lettering, are rather appealing. There is a wide variety of flavours too, from simple mint, or orange, to the slightly more adventurous ginger, or chilli, and then to the rather bizarre lime and sea salt, or caramelised sesame seed. Natasha doesn't know which to choose, and in the end opts for the plain, dark chocolate, imagining that the high cocoa percentage will meet Loki's approval. She's not even sure if they have chocolate on Asgard; she's yet to be sent down anything sweet with the platters of food that get delivered to the dungeon, but she's unsure of whether that's due to the fact that prisoners ought not to have desserts, or if it's because Asgard is in the same mindset of food being fuel, though the extravagant feasts would suggest otherwise.
As she waits in line at the cash desk, she wonders why in hell she's bothering to pick up gifts for a guy who a while back would have quite happily killed her without batting an eyelid. When she can't come up with a decent answer, or at least one that doesn't try and grasp at some well concealed streak of humanity that Loki surely must possess, she gives up, and taps her fingers against the rail impatiently as the line shuffles forward at a snail's pace.
Thor is anxious. It's quite made quite plain by his twitchy fingers, the regular, deep breaths he keeps taking in order to try and calm himself down. The set of manacles in Thor's right hand jangles at his side as he walks, his heavy footfalls more purposeful than on her previous visits. The muscles in his jaw are tense, his teeth gritted, and she wants to say something to appease him, but the words don't come. Her stomach is churning anyway, so anything she does say will be completely false. She knows the manacles are going to cause an argument, but she doesn't know just how much trouble this whole idea is going to cause her. She's beginning to regret her concern for Loki's well being, and makes a mental note to separate her own experiences from Loki's in the future. They are not one and the same, and giving him the things she wished someone had given her will do no good to anybody.
"Be nice," Natasha says quietly as they descend the steps to the dungeons. "You know how sensitive he is."
"He stabbed me in New York," Thor says flatly. "I have very little nice left."
Natasha cannot argue with that, and so she waits while Thor unlocks the door, sliding the bolts across before pushing it open. The guards inside take one look at Thor's expression, give a courteous nod, and then disappear quickly, almost running up the stairs. Loki looks up, his eyes meeting Natasha's and holding her gaze for a moment, before he looks to Thor, and then down at the manacles in his hands.
"No," he says plainly, then turns his attention to the glass ahead of him. Thor's knuckles ripple under his skin as he tightens his grip on the manacles, and Natasha steps forward to mediate.
"You surely weren't expecting to be allowed to roam wild and free, were you?" she asks.
"I will not be led about like a dog," Loki replies, refusing to meet her eye.
"They go around your wrists, not your neck," Natasha tells him. He doesn't answer, and so she steps into the cell, with the large coat Thor had given her upon her arrival, and holds it out to Loki.
He shakes his head.
"No one will even see the cuffs under this," she says exasperatedly.
"I don't care."
"Brother, Natasha tells me that you are unwell. You need air." Thor's tone is patient, and Natasha's body releases a little of the tension it had been hoarding, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly in relief.
"There's air in here," Loki says sulkily, his jaw jutting forward as he scowls. Natasha drops to her knees in front of him, and finally, he looks her in the eye. From the folds of the coat, she shows him the rectangular parcel of chocolate, hidden from Thor's view (though he naturally knows of its existence).
"Please," Natasha says. "Just put the damn coat on." She slips the chocolate into the largest pocket of the coat, then stands, holding out a hand to pull Loki to his feet.
"I'd rather stay inside," he says carefully, picking at his shirt.
"What if I wore one, and you wore the other?" Natasha asks, grasping at straws. If Thor's gone to all this effort to get approval from his father, to get special manacles made solely so Loki can go for a walk, and Loki refuses to cooperate now, she's going to feel like an idiot. Her powers of persuasion worked on Thor, but Loki is so much trickier, so much more volatile, and so much more stubborn.
"What d'you mean?" Loki asks, his voice soft, as though he might, might just be considering it.
"One around your wrist, and one around mine." She holds her arm aloft and Loki's eyes track it.
"Natasha..."
She turns to face Thor and raises an eyebrow. "What? It's not like he'll be able to go anywhere, is it?"
"You'd be putting yourself at risk, I can't let you -"
"More at risk than I am now?" she asks, gesturing towards Loki. "Seriously, it's what we call a compromise on Earth, I don't know if you have them here but they come in pretty handy sometimes."
Thor sighs, chewing the inside of his cheek. He clearly hadn't anticipated Natasha offering herself up as the proverbial dog walker, but she has no qualms about this. She's seen the intermittent tremble of his legs when he does his laps around his cell; he's in no fit shape to take her on, especially not if Thor is in the vicinity.
"I agree to the compromise," Loki says quietly.
Thor blinks, as though he has misheard, and then looks down at the manacles in his hand. "Really?"
"Yes," Loki says, pushing himself up and steadying himself against the wall. He takes the coat from Natasha and pulls it on. It's far too big for him, despite it having been taken from the wardrobe in his own, uninhabited quarters in the depths of the palace.
"Very well," Thor says stiffly. He hesitates for a moment, and then approaches the glass, stepping through with ease. Natasha holds out her right arm, and Loki holds out his left. Thor snaps the manacles into place quickly, before anybody can change their mind, presumably himself included, then, in the blink of an eye, the glass around them vanishes.
"Ready?" Natasha asks, turning to look at Loki, who, for the first time, looks uncertain. His eyes are a little wider than usual and he stands stock still, as though frozen in position. "Loki?"
"Yes," he says automatically, blinking then stepping towards the edge of the cell, Natasha quickly moving to fall into step with him. Thor leads the way ahead, constantly throwing glances over his shoulder, as though expecting to turn around and find Loki gone, or Natasha dead, or both. He settles down a little when they reach the main halls of the palace, and soon he opens a set of double doors leading out into a courtyard. Beyond the high stone walls, Natasha can see treetops in the distance, and wonders whether a trip into the woods is beyond reason today.
At the sight of Loki, the few people in the courtyard scatter, heading inside without an ounce of discretion. From the corner of Natasha's eye, she catches him smirking. Thor slows, waiting for the two of them to catch up, and Natasha feels Loki tense beside her when they reach him.
"Are you all right?" Thor asks quietly, not looking at Loki. "Do you need to rest?"
Loki glances at Natasha, and doesn't say anything.
"He's talking to you," Natasha informs him with a roll of her eyes. Loki scowls, apparently the automatic response for any words Thor directs towards him.
"I'm fine," he says haughtily, and he speeds up his pace, the chain linking him and Natasha, jerking her forwards so she stumbles. She catches up with a few hurried steps and Thor strides past, storming ahead to the gate on the other side of the courtyard, gesturing for the two guards stationed either side to open it.
"Are you fine?" Natasha asks quietly.
"Yes," Loki replies through gritted teeth.
"I overdid it my first time out, spent days recovering afterwards. Just take it easy, all right?"
Loki ignores her and glares at the guards as they pass through the gates. Thor is already heading towards the dense trees in the distance, and the path narrows until it is only just wide enough for two.
"Did you play out here as a kid?"
"Yes."
"It's pretty cool," Natasha says, taking in the surroundings. She's never really seen this side of Asgard before - only the gleaming, opalescent palaces and slender towers, continuously cloaked in a golden, ethereal glow. The rocky path to the woods, however, weaves through dark green countryside, the air somehow cooler out here than it was in the courtyard. Perhaps there is a warmth to the palace that halts at the boundaries, or maybe it's just her imagination, but just by stepping beyond the palace walls, it feels like they've entered a wilderness far beyond the civility and luxury of what she's experienced of Asgard so far.
Beside her, Loki takes deep breaths as they walk, and occasionally he stumbles on a jutting rock or a dip in the path, but Natasha does him the decency of pretending she's admiring the scenery, and that she doesn't notice the sudden jerk of the chain that links them. Eventually they reach the damp, chilly shade of the woods, and Loki breaks away from the path as soon as possible, Thor keeping an eye on the pair of them as they overtake him and walk ahead, Natasha hopping over large, gnarled tree roots and side stepping low hanging branches. The twigs and bark crunch underfoot, and coupled with the sound of nearby running water, it's actually quite relaxing.
Loki leads her along the edge of a small, clear stream, and after a few minutes it starts to widen, until they come to a clearing in the trees and it opens out into a small lagoon, lit by the small circle of light that manages to break through the gap in the treetops high above them. Loki heads over to the nearest tree and slumps down onto the roots, resting his back against the trunk. Natasha follows suit, trying to ignore the rapid pulse she can see in his neck, and the way he's wheezing just a little as he tries to catch his breath.
Thor catches her eye, and they exchange a grim look, but neither say anything. He takes his rest at a tree a little further along, giving the pair of them some space. Natasha rests her head against the bark behind her and looks around. Clearly, Loki knows these woods like the back of his hand, and Thor apparently knows this place too. She wonders if they used to come here as children together, perhaps swim in the lagoon or play amongst the trees. Whatever significance this place holds for them, she is quite sure that the both of them, silent and sombre, are recalling days gone by, and refusing to acknowledge any sense of nostalgia for them.
Natasha raises her knees and leans them towards Loki, hiding her hand from view as she slips it into his coat pocket and removes the bar of chocolate, placing it on the ground between them and opening it carefully with one hand. She breaks off a piece and hands it to Loki, whose eyes flick up to check that Thor isn't watching, and then he pops the square of chocolate into his mouth. Natasha takes a piece for herself and waits for it to melt in her mouth, knowing that if she dares crunch it, the sound will catch Thor's attention and Loki's mood will take a nosedive.
"This is odd," Loki says softly, breaking off a new piece quietly, his gaze fixed on Thor, who is looking out across the lagoon, his chin resting on top of his knees.
"In what way?" Natasha asks.
"It's sweet, and yet it's bitter," Loki muses, holding the fresh piece up to his nose and inhaling deeply. "We don't have anything like this here."
"I didn't think you would," Natasha replies. "It's pretty common on Earth."
"Lots of things are common in your world," he says, his speech slightly impaired by the chocolate now melting on his tongue. "You seem to have everything you wish for."
"In New York, yeah." Natasha takes another piece of chocolate for herself, wincing as the foil rustles noisily. "But the joke is we have enough food to feed everybody on the planet, but there are still millions of people that go hungry. Don't think we've got it made down there. We're a very selfish world."
"You could say the same of Asgard," Loki tells her, stretching his legs out in front of him and rubbing his thighs, as though trying to ease strained muscles. "Of all worlds, I imagine."
"Yeah," Natasha sighs. "I guess it's not just humans who are selfish."
Loki smirks and takes another piece of chocolate, his cheeks narrowing as he sucks all the flavour out of it. The conversation lulls as they finish the chocolate, and when they're done, Natasha carefully folds the paper and the foil into a small neat square and slips it into the pocket of her jacket, Thor still completely oblivious (or not, as the case may be, but that's not for Loki to know) of their little forest feast.
"Have you used it yet?" Loki asks, breaking the silence.
"I'm sorry?" Natasha replies, turning to face him.
He reaches up a hand and touches the twisted piece of silver in Natasha's hair, which she's taken to wearing regularly, still rather unsure of when, or even if, it might come in handy.
"Oh," Natasha says, "No, I haven't."
His lips twist into a smirk and he turns to look out across the lagoon. "All quiet on Midgard then."
"Yeah..." Natasha says slowly, frowning as she touches the hair decoration, her curiosity about its uses reignited. For the first day or so, she'd been obsessed with finding out its true purpose, but when it never presented itself in any remotely difficult situation, she decided that she ought to forget about it. After all, if a watched pot never boils, perhaps an enchanted hair clip will never work its magic if you wait with bated breath.
"I could always come down and liven things up for you," he says smoothly, a small smile playing at his lips.
"I think we're good," Natasha says, resting her chin on her palm. "We're still cleaning up after last time."
"Really?" There is a hint of pride to his tone and Natasha can't help but smile. She doesn't know why, because she was there, and the damage was devastating. Insurance companies refused to pay out to the small businesses, claiming it as an act of terrorism, or else an act of God, depending on the views of their CEOs, while the large corporations were up and running as usual within days. Some people gave up and walked away, leaving the mess for someone else, others scraped together enough money to get themselves tentatively back on their feet, and Natasha knows that Tony paid well over the odds for a ten percent share in his favourite pizza joint, just because he had a hankering for a deep pan.
"Yeah," Natasha says, picking at a loose bit of bark on a nearby tree root. "It's still a bit of a mess in some places."
"So I made my mark then?" Loki asks, and Natasha doesn't even have to look to know that he's grinning. She can hear it in his voice, in the measured way in which he speaks, glee carefully contained.
"You made sure you wouldn't be welcomed back," Natasha says stiffly.
Loki turns to look at her, considering her for a moment, but she doesn't hold his gaze, instead choosing to focus on the loose bark, her fingers picking at the edge of it.
"Sorry," he says gently, turning away from her.
"What?"
"It's your home. I shouldn't...I mean it's not..."
Natasha opens her mouth to speak, but no words come. It's not remorse, not for what he did, but perhaps for displaying such open delight at the idea of her home still being in ruins after his antics, it just might be. She had no idea he was capable of such things, and she doesn't want to push the matter, for fear of discouraging future exhibitions of the same, but that does nothing to end her current bout of speechlessness. Eventually she finds words, and they come out before she can consider them.
"I don't really have a home, so you know, it's not..." she trails off, annoyed with herself for giving him something of an excuse, or just an easy ride. It's true, what she's saying, but by lessening the effect of his words on her, she lessens the effect of his actions on the people of the city, those who were born there, who have built lives based around that ridiculous grid of city blocks. Just because she finds it straight and dull and characterless, it doesn't mean the rest of the city does, and it certainly doesn't excuse him.
"Do you not?"
Natasha shakes her head. "Born in Russia...only ever go back home to screw people over." She smiles, laughing softly to herself. "Never really settled anywhere."
"I wasn't born in Asgard," Loki murmurs.
"I know," Natasha replies, watching his reaction carefully. "I've read your file. Explained a lot."
Loki's eyes flash, but Natasha stands her ground, not reacting, not even a little, and as soon as the anger flares, it's gone, replaced with the same melancholic expression that she's used to.
"Did it really?" he asks bitterly, picking up a pebble and launching it towards the lagoon. It lands with a small plop, a few large droplets of water splashing outwards. Thor looks up, holds Loki's gaze for a few seconds, then resumes his staring out across the lagoon.
"Yeah. It did."
Loki stands, and Natasha follows suit, keeping a close eye on him as he grips the tree trunk behind in order to keep his balance until he finds sure footing. She skews her lips to the side, wondering whether she ought to say anything, or let him just get on with it. If it's the first time he's been out in months then he's bound to be a little shaky. Before she can ponder his health any further, he's leading her down to the bank of the lagoon, and when they reach it he leans forward, grabbing a handful of smooth, flat pebbles. He takes one with his free hand, and skims it across the water. It skips across the surface once, twice, three times, before disappearing into the pool, and he takes another one, huffing impatiently when it only manages to skip twice before giving up.
After a few more goes, he's into the swing of it a little more, managing to get a good four or five skips before the pebbles run out of steam. Thor tentatively makes his way down to the bank, standing a few feet to Natasha's left, watching the progress of the stones across the lake. When Loki runs out of pebbles and bends down to pick up more, Thor also grabs a handful, chooses the flattest one resting in his large palm, then tosses it to the water. It makes a thunk and a splash as it lands, not managing to skim even once.
"Ignore Thor," Loki mutters. "He's always lacked finesse."
Natasha glances over at Thor, who's frowning while he chooses his next stone. He tries again, but doesn't have any more luck than on the previous attempt. Loki takes the opportunity to make his best skim yet, managing a total of seven skips across the crystal clear surface.
"He always claimed that I cheated by using my magic," Loki continues in a clearer voice. "But I think we can all see that he's just a sore loser. There's nothing special about me now, and still I'm better at it than he is."
Natasha frowns. "What do you mean there's nothing special about you?"
The stone in Loki's hand doesn't get quite the right trajectory when he releases it, and drops to the bottom of the lagoon with a disappointing splash.
"My father has seen to it that I am no longer in possession of my talent," he says his voice dropping back down in volume, now that he's no longer bragging.
"But you said to me last time I was here that your mind and your magic set you apart. You still have your mind."
"And what use is it without the skills to do anything worthwhile?"
"What do you consider to be worthwhile? Invading cities?"
Loki ignores her, and casts his next stone with a little more force than necessary, resulting in a singular disappointing skip. Natasha glances at Thor, who momentarily looks up to meet her eye before returning to choosing his next stone. She knows she won't get any more out of Loki today, that his lips are sealed on all matters regarding himself from now on, but it's interesting to know that he considers his magic to be his most valuable skill not as warrior but as a person. She learned long ago that skill does not define worth, mostly from the fact that some of the most skilled men she's met in her life have been complete and utter assholes, while some of the most useless, clumsy boneheads she's met have been the kindest. She knows which one she'd rather have by her side in a fight, and it's not the one she'd choose to spend an evening at a bar with. Maybe she'll broach the subject again one day, but for now, she knows it's best for her to leave it be.
"So d'you know what this does?" she asks, gesturing towards her hair.
Loki pauses in his skimming long enough to see that she's pointing to her hair clip, and the stony expression on his face softens, just a little.
"I might," he says coyly.
"Are you gonna tell me?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you'll find out in your own time," he tells her, dropping down to his haunches and sifting through the pebbles at their feet, trying to find the best ones. Once he's picked out a handful, he places his spare hand on his knee, as though bracing himself, then takes a deep breath before standing up straight once more. His knees shake a little as he stands, but Natasha doesn't draw attention to it. She does wonder if it might be time to head back, however.
"I think you don't know, and that's why you won't say."
"My mother's magic is very subtle," Loki says, turning over the stones in his hand before picking one out and skimming it. Natasha loses count of the skips, but it does make it to the far bank, and it's this that washes away the last of Loki's sour expression, replacing it with a gentle, slightly triumphant smile. "It barely leaves a trace, unlike most enchantments. I have an idea, but her magic is such that I can never be sure."
"What's your idea?" Natasha presses, her patience dwindling as he rubs his thumb over a smooth grey pebble, his attention far more focused on his skimming than it is on her questions.
"That you should forget about it, and the magic will present itself when required."
"That's it?"
"That's all I'm going to tell you. She's done a very good job with the emeralds though, they rather suit you."
Natasha blinks, unsure of how to respond to what sounds like a compliment coming from him. She's still not quite used to the idea that underneath the crazed, power hungry lunatic she met on the helicarrier there is a rather sane, rather civil and very intelligent man. It just doesn't add up. In her experience, crazy is usually crazy right through to the core, but Loki's different. Whether his jail time has given him a few things to think about, or whether he was really crazy in the first place, she doesn't know. What she does know is that she's quite sure that the deranged villain who attacked New York is long gone, and unless something terrible happens, she'd be happy to bet they won't be seeing him again.
Loki skims the last of his stones, putting Thor's own efforts to shame each and every time. When the pile in his hand runs out, he turns away from the lagoon.
"I want to go back," he says plainly.
Thor looks surprised, but Natasha isn't. If anything, she's surprised he lasted this long. Going outside for the first time in months, after only having one constant square of space in which to live, in her experience is a little overwhelming. Not just because of the physical consequences, but also because of the sheer scale of the outside world, and on Asgard, everything is about scale.
They head back towards the path, Loki leading the way, Thor trundling along about ten yards behind them.
"You okay?" Natasha asks.
"Fine."
"I'm sure you'll be able to come out again, if you wanted to. It's not been disastrous, has it?"
Loki ignores her, and they start making their way down the uneven path, Natasha's careful footing turning into something of a dance as she avoids the large rocks peeking through the crust of the mud, the sudden dips and the soft, slippy mush that never quite dries out after rainfall. Loki, on the other hand, as careful as he is, is far too stubborn. He strides back towards the palace, despite the fact that his even more pallid than usual complexion suggests that he might need to slow it down, just a little. Natasha has to speed up to remain at his side, and it's gotten to the point where she knows that it is gravity and motion pulling him forward, and his feet aren't taking the steps, but merely ensuring he doesn't fall flat on his face. That is until Natasha feels the jerk of the chain and can't stop herself from falling on top of Loki. They skid down the path a short distance, and Natasha feels the knee of her jeans rip, and the familiar feeling of skin being split. She hears Thor yell in the background, and when they slow, his thundering footsteps approach. Before she knows what's happening, she's been picked up by the back of her jacket and placed on her feet once more, while Thor leans over Loki, whose teeth are gritted in pain as he pushes himself up into a sitting position.
"Where are you hurt?" Thor demands.
"I'm fine," Loki snaps. His lie is obvious - he's shaking, his hands are covered in blood and he closes his eyes, taking deep steadying breaths while Thor grips his shoulder.
"What happened?" Natasha asks.
"I fell," he replies irritably. "Your powers of observation really are unrivalled, aren't they?"
"Do you need me to carry you back?" Thor asks, so quietly that Natasha's not sure she's heard him right at all. When Loki's eyes snap open, however, she knows she has, and Loki pushes himself unsteadily to his feet, his legs wobbling under his weight. He wipes his bloodied hands on his coat and turns away from Thor. Natasha falls into step with him, trying not to pay too much attention to his limp. It's not difficult, because her own knee is smarting nastily and is taking up a fair amount of her focus anyway. Hers is just a surface wound however. She can tell by Loki's uneasy gait that he's twisted something, and his grimace suggests that it's not something he can simply walk off. Thor follows them much more closely now, and Natasha doesn't even bother to make conversation. Loki's foul mood will give her nothing but venomous retorts, and even if he were in the mood for talking, he wouldn't do so with Thor in earshot.
While they wait for Thor to unlock the gates to the courtyard, Loki leans against the wall, his chest heaving as he inhales huge gulps of air, his fingers still trembling despite his attempts to calm them by clenching and unclenching his fists.
It's something of a relief when they make it back to the cell. The glass springs back into existence upon Thor's silent command, and he unlocks the manacles, Natasha's wrist feeling a thousand times lighter for their absence. Loki lowers himself to his usual spot, resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes, and before Thor can even think about cleaning Loki's hands with a bowl of water and a cloth, he's fallen asleep, his head lolling gently to one side.
"Will you fix his hands?" Thor asks quietly. "I fear if I wake him he'll panic and...well...I feel he would be more at ease to wake to the sight of you." He smiles softly, but behind the forced humour, Natasha can quite clearly see the heartache of a man who wants to help his brother but knows he will only make things worse.
"Yeah," Natasha answers. "And if you send down some food I'll...well, I'll appreciate it. I'm starving."
Thor nods, glancing down at Loki, and gives her a faint, knowing smile. "Consider it done," he replies. "Do you need anything for your knee?"
Natasha shakes her head. "It's just a scratch, don't worry."
"Very well, I'll send down some food and come to collect you later. Thank you, for today."
Natasha offers a small smile and Thor leaves, closing the dungeon door behind him. She doesn't hear him secure the chains on the other side, nor does she even hear him slide the bolts across. What she does hear is the sound of weary footsteps climbing the stairs beyond, and disappearing into the distance.
Natasha takes the bowl of water and the cloth, then sits on the floor beside Loki. She takes his hand in his, wets the cloth and squeezes out the excess water, then gently wipes away the blood, grit, and dirt covering his palms. He starts awake, but Natasha shushes him gently, and says softly, "It's just me, I'm just cleaning your hands."
He lets out a small breath of relief and closes his eyes again, his hand relaxing slightly in hers. They're just scrapes, but he's caught a couple of blood vessels, making it all look far worse than it truly is.
"How's your leg?"
"Painful."
"You need anything for it? Or just rest?"
"Rest."
"Okay." She moves onto his other hand, and he allows her to clean without complaint or fuss. "You hurt anywhere else?"
He shakes his head.
"You need to tell me if you are. It doesn't make you weak."
"I'm fine."
Natasha wrings out the cloth and pushes the bowl away from her, then makes herself comfortable next to him. "Thor's going to send down some food in a little while. You gonna eat?"
He nods.
"Good," she says.
"Tell me about the first time you went outside," he says, opening his eyes blearily to meet her gaze.
Natasha raises her eyebrows, then as she starts to speak, he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall once more. She can tell he's drinking in every detail - how the quiet of a small town wasn't particularly taxing, but the first time she got to the city, the sheer volume of people and traffic and noise left her on her knees in an alleyway, refusing to acknowledge a panic attack while she threw up all over a discarded pizza box. By the time she's telling him about the week and a half that followed, where she spent the entire time locked in her apartment with the curtains shut and the TV on constantly to block out the noise of other people, he's fast asleep, his head resting against her shoulder.