Chapter 14: Subtlety
Arghh, can't stop writing this, which is good for you guys, but bad for me…I really need to be studying for my exam.
But what's done is done, so enjoy the chapter!
To Stefan's Girl: Oh dear, the suit. On first impression, I honestly think Loki would dislike Steve's spangle costume. He probably finds the colors clashing and distasteful, and the whole idea too "fuck-yeah-America-in-your-face-I'm the-hero" (which of course, is not Steve at all, but it could give that impression). So for now, I don't think Loki would like the suit, and lucky for him, Steve's not wearing it. But in the future, when the situation does call for the suit, Loki would see Captain America again after getting to know Steve Rogers, and think maybe it's not so bad. Ah well, that's my two cents at least—Steve will definitely get to suit up eventually, so don't worry ;)
The heavy thudding of boots on bare cement echoes thunderously against the unadorned walls, and the soldier sighs in defeat; subtlety is a lost cause at this point.
"You are early, Captain." Loki greets him from within the cell, resting on the bed with his back inclined against a pile of pillows. One of Steve's books lay open on his lap. It's only 7am, and Steve had half-expected to find the god still asleep, but it appears that Loki had long awoken before his arrival.
"Yeah, well, now that you're at the tower." Steve says, approaching the other, "It saves me a trip downtown."
Loki hums noncommittally, but otherwise paying the soldier little attention. He appears to be nearing the end of the book, so Steve allows him a few seconds to finish, before continuing. "Do you want to—" He winces slightly at the lack of better wording. "—freshen up?"
The task of overseeing Loki throughout the most basic of activities has all fallen silently to Steve. The god's relocation had been rushed and unplanned, and a notable void needs to be filled now that the human resources from SHIELD are no longer available for sustaining the god. And Steve doubts that anyone else woke up this morning wondering who would be making Loki breakfast.
"Ah, yes," the god looks at him with vague amusement, swinging his long legs over to the edge, "Will you be my new caretaker now?"
The soldier shrugs. "Something like that."
Steve ends up taking Loki to his personal floor. When Tony designed the layout of their individual living spaces, he incorporated a guest bedroom for each, with it's own private bathroom just in case any of the Avengers have family or friends staying over. The purpose of this room has long been lost to Steve, but Pepper still insisted on equipping it with all the basic necessities—towels, soap, shampoo, toothbrush—just in case. And Steve decides that letting Loki use this unclaimed, untouched bathroom would be the most suitable and professional option, given the circumstances.
Outside in his own kitchen, Steve hears the shower going off and the unmistakable shuffle of Loki stepping inside. He decides to prepare breakfast at that point, just to keep his mind from lingering on that fact.
After 15 minutes or so, Loki emerges from the bedroom, clothes wet and clinging to every line and curve, while Steve, with great self-restraint, does not stare. He had forgotten that Loki couldn't take those clothes off completely because of the chains, and what a pain that must be.
"Are you cold?" He says, feeling pressured.
"I'm never cold," came the impassive response.
Frost giant. Right, Steve thinks grimly, before asking a less stupid question. "Do you want an extra towel?"
"That would be useful."
"I think there's one in the closet, if you look."
Loki disappears and emerges again, toweling his hair by the doorframe. Steve can feel the weight of the other's eyes bearing down on him.
"I'm almost done here," the soldier says as he takes out two plates from the cabinet, "Why don't you sit down for now."
Loki abides without any vocal response and takes a seat on the edge of the couch, posture perfect and strung like a wire. Steve wishes he would relax, but knows it's much easier said than done, even if the setting is awfully domestic.
After awhile, Loki grows visibly bored, peering curiously to the picture frames on the coffee table. He tilts his head—his body angling slightly—to get a better view without actually having to disturb anything, and Steve thinks musingly that Loki can be a surprisingly polite houseguest when he wants to be. The god looks at the photos for a long time but doesn't say anything.
They eat mostly in silence, and Steve once again gives his best effort not to stare, as Loki takes infuriatingly small bites at his eggs and toast, licks jelly off his fingertips, and sips coffee with soft presses of those paper thin lips. Steve swallows his own meal with difficulty, wondering if Loki is doing this on purpose—and oh, what a terrifying prospect that would be, because then it would mean Loki knows. But much to the soldier's momentary relief, the god seems completely engrossed in his own thoughts, that any reaction he manages to elicit from the other man appears lost entirely. Maybe this is just the way Loki eats, Steve inwardly grimaces, or maybe he's slowly losing his mind.
He wonders what he could've done differently. Fury—despite the pettiness of his actions—did warn him beforehand not to grow attached. Yes, the director had purposely given him this mismatched assignment, and yes, he had tried to exploit the soldier's decency, but for Steve to develop such unintentional, unprofessional, not to mention reckless feelings towards the god—it's probably the last thing Fury would have expected. There's no one to blame but himself, Steve realizes, and there is very little he can do about it at this point. He'll just have to wait it out, focus on the job at hand, and maybe once Loki is safely returned to Asgard, Steve will finally comprehend how incredibly insane this all is, and have a good laugh—or shudder—to himself.
He returns Loki to the cell after breakfast, frowning once again at the uncanny atmosphere of the unfurnished floor that no one else, not even the god, seems to mind. He fumbles with the new security system and manages to get the glass doors to open on his second try.
Loki takes one step inside and lingers, before turning to Steve. "Will you be coming in?"
The sudden inquiry catches Steve off guard, and his expression must have revealed exactly that. Loki tilts his head to the side, a playful glimmer dancing fleetingly in his eyes. "Now that I have not only one chair, but two," he teases, "I can assume that I am allowed visitors."
Steve reddens at that, although he should have anticipated as much. Very little gets by Loki, especially when intentions are so poorly disguised—or in Steve's case, not disguised at all.
"Will you come in?" Loki repeats, the inflection in the end sounding almost—strangely—hopeful.
"Do you want me to—I mean, if it's aright with you?" Steve says politely, although the well-meant courtesy is not as well received as he had expected.
"Why should that matter?" Loki frowns, voice suddenly clipped, and Steve frowns, confused, because he thought they were past this stage, past the god's constant need for self-preservation, to dehumanize—maybe not himself—but the nature of their relationship, at least.
"I'm not here to make enemies," Steve says cautiously.
"Then I suppose you are here for fence-mending." Loki's tone is sardonic, almost snappish. Steve looks at the other with questioning concern, before something finally clicks in his head, his eyes widening involuntarily.
Loki wants him to stay—obviously, he's the one who brought it up—and Steve in his hesitation has upset him. Why? Because Loki doesn't want to overcommit himself, or appear so at least, and the soldier's constant need for clarification is embarrassing him. It's actually really childish now that he's realized it, and Steve makes a mental side note to always appreciate the subtlety when dealing with Loki. Not everything can be clear-cut or spoken, even if every mundane experience, every flicker of emotion is profoundly significant. Loki isn't looking at him anymore, but somewhere in the direction of the lower right corner of the cinderblock room. His brows are pinched, lips flatted in a thin frown, appearing almost as if he wished to take back his words.
Steve decides the best way to salvage the situation is to step inside without another word, and hope that Loki indeed wants company, rather than to kill him in some not-so-subtle way later on. The door closes immediately behind him, and he takes the chair closest to him, before waiting for the god to follow.
Once they're seated face-to-face, Loki asks rather blandly, "What do you wish to talk about today?" as if this was entirely Steve's idea in the first place.
"I don't know." The soldier can honestly say.
"Have I answered all of your questions regarding Thanos? The Chitauri? The Bifrost?"
"I guess." Steve rubs at the hair at the nape of his neck. "Unless there's something you want to tell me."
Loki stares at him with no readable emotion, which the soldier can only interpret as a no. Feeling pressured to change the course of this terribly strained conversation, Steve opts to go with, "So did you finish all the books?"
"Yes, I have." Loki says, more easily.
"Even Darwin?"
"The notion of speciation over time. Yes."
"So what did you think?" Steve asks, remembering Dr. Selvig's earlier curiosity, and Loki arches an elegant brow.
"Would you like me to attest to his theory?"
"I don't know. Can you?"
The god leans backwards into his chair and laughs, sharp and open—the rare kind that reaches his eyes, which Steve can listen to all day even at his own expense, it seems. "Exactly how old do you think I am?"
"Well, how old are you?"
"Roughly a thousand in Midgardian years, so no, Captain, I cannot confirm what common ancestors you share with the rest of Midgard's beasts. I cannot even verify whether your savior actually walked the earth."
"You know about that?" Steve's surprise is perhaps too obvious. He had purposely avoided giving Loki religious texts, or works with strong religious implications, to lessen the likelihood of mass brainwashing. But his precautions must have been in vain; Loki appears well aware of the prominence of faith in their society.
"The most prolific of Midgardian literature. Yes, I have come across your holy book, long ago before our first meeting. So tell me, Captain, do you follow its teachings?"
"Yes." Steve says without hesitation, and the god grins, showing all of his teeth, although without the usual malice.
"How can you believe in only one god, when you've met at least two?"
"You're a god. You're not God. There's a difference." Steve tries to think of a better way of explaining this notion, but Loki doesn't seem particularly interested, as if he already knows and is just teasing.
"I rather like the idea of evolution," the god continues, returning to all seriousness, "I found it fitting to Midgard in many ways. Even in your holy book, the portrayal of your God evolves over time. Mortals are an interesting spectacle—a rapid, relentless cycle of birth and death, constantly changing, never the same—while gods, we are trapped in time in comparison."
"Exactly how old are you, in your terms?" Steve asks, purely out of curiosity.
"For a god, I am young."
"Are your life stages the same as ours?"
"Like mortals, we are born, we age, and we die. We do not metamorphose to a butterfly in the middle." Loki's lips curve almost impishly. "But unlike mortals, our timescale rivals that of eternity."
"So on a scale of one to—let's say 80 being eternity—how old are you?"
"On your Midgardian scale—" Loki rolls his eyes, drawling "—I would be around 25."
"Oh, so am I." Steve says with perhaps too much enthusiasm. "25—that is if you take away the 70 years in the ice."
"This means nothing." Loki furrows his brows and frowns, tone insistent as if it's all a completion. "I am still several lifetimes older than you, even considering your years in the ice."
"I know, Loki." Steve couldn't help but smile discreetly at that. A brief lapse of silence follows before he continues, "So you liked Darwin?"
Loki waves a regal hand. "No more than the others."
"Do you have a favorite?"
The god doesn't answer him, and instead, picks up The Sun Also Rises, which sits on top of a neatly stacked pile. "I know this is your favorite. Or at least you enjoy it very much."
"How do you know?"
"The pages are worn."
"I could've gotten a used book."
Loki grins, eyes hard and resolute, as if something menacing was unleashed within him. "Your preferable movement is easily recognized, the generation of writers who emerged from your first great war—warriors whom you presumably admired in your youth. This era is wholly represented by the literature you have given me, compared to the more fleeting glances into the other periods before and after."
"Not all of those books are mine." Steve arches a brow. "Some are Pepper's."
"Only amongst those you had brought the second day." Loki says confidently before searching the soldier for an affirmative reaction. Steve sighs.
"Alright fine, how do you know that?"
"You have a few peculiar reading habits," the god continues, "Most notably the folding of the top corner when marking the page, as opposed to the lower corner preferred by Ms. Potts. And when writing utensils are unavailable, you have the nerve-wracking tendency to use the edge of your fingernail, to indicate at least the first word of a phrase you would like to remember."
Steve ducks his head, embarrassed by the meticulousness of Loki's insight into something he had never even considered himself, but nonetheless, opts to challenge the god further, since Loki appears to enjoy flaunting his knowledge, anyway. "So why this book specifically? Why not Dos Passos or Fitzgerald?"
"The markings are more frequent," the god says, browns drawing slightly, a frown tugging at his lips, "And when you first brought the books to me, you lingered on this one." Loki runs an elegant finger along the binding, his expression more thoughtful than self-satisfied as if he's not completely pleased with his own response.
But Steve, on the other hand, finds his deductions convincing enough. After all, there's only so much you can learn about a man from the physical state of his books, and Loki probably have covered more bases than the soldier could ever hope.
"Alright, you win, it's my favorite," he says, which earns a smile from the god—smug, but genuine nonetheless. "But I know you like it too. You've read it at least twice."
"Care to explain?" The smile falters immediately, which Steve finds almost comical in its blatancy. Of course, Loki would indulge in unraveling others, but when the tables are turned, he'd act as if he's been personally fouled.
"Well, it's one of the books I gave you the first day," Steve continues despite the indignant glare, "Which you claimed to have all finished, but you had it in your hands again this morning, which I can only assume is your second reading. Otherwise…"
He trails off, suppressing the urge to smile at the god's speechlessness for once. At this point, Loki can admit to one of two things, that he liked the book—at least enough to warrant a second reading—or that he lied about finishing them all in the first place. Steve hopes it's the former, but doubts that Loki would confess to either.
"I read it a second time because I failed to understand why you would prefer this to the others," The god says stiffly after a brief moment of consideration. Steve admits he did not expect this alternative.
"I did not find any of these characters particularly appealing," Loki states, "Flawed like all humans are, but also lacking in anything redeeming. Perhaps you are able to relate to them, soldiers who survived the war—wounded, displaced, aimless."
Loki studies him with unrelenting eyes, and Steve isn't sure if his face is betraying him, because he honestly doesn't know how he should react to these sudden accusations.
"But you are not like them," Loki continues, "You do not live in false extravagance or vanity. The war has not stripped away morals."
"Yeah, well—it's not really—" Steve begins, but the god promptly interjects, obviously still unsatisfied with his current lack of understanding.
"Perhaps on a more deep-seated level of self-worth then, like the narrator with his observer mentality—the curse of being able to recognize problems but lacking the ability to solve them, his human desires incompatible with his inhuman limitations, his castration, and his failure to satisfy the woman he loves. This can all—"
"Alright, stop—" Steve, surprisingly for the first time when speaking with Loki, feels his patience winding thin. "—Maybe I just like the way Hemingway writes, ever considered that? Maybe I like reading about Paris, and Spain, and bullfights—and people of that time, after the war—how they lived and dealt with all this uncertainty about the present and the future. This is fiction. It's outdated. And maybe I like it because I just do. It doesn't have to relate to me personally in anyway."
He breathes once he stops, surprised at how strong his reaction had been and wonders if he had spoken too harshly. Loki withdraws, eyes downcast to the book in his hands, which is definitely a change since it's usually Steve who does the tiptoeing when they speak. The resulting silence hangs heavily between then, before the churning guilt in his stomach urges Steve to say something nice in compensation. He opens his mouth, but Loki beats him to it.
"That was rude of me," Loki says quietly, and all thoughts are suddenly vaporized from Steve's head. It isn't quite an apology, but close enough for him.
"I—No, it's fine," the soldier reassures in a haste, "I just—I guess I had my hopes up that you actually liked the book to read it twice, rather than trying to figure out why I liked it—" Steve ducks his head and laughs a little at the ridiculousness, what little displeasure he felt before long dissipated.
"I enjoyed Hemingway's attention to detail." Loki carefully says, although he's fooling no one, not even Steve.
"Well, thanks for trying," Steve sighs, but smiles nonetheless, "Honestly, if you find anything at all that you like—it could be Pepper's, or Darwin, doesn't have to be mine—just tell me, and I'll get you a copy. You know, so you can keep it, and bring it back if you want." There are probably plenty of stuff to read on Asgard, Steve thinks, so who is he kidding. But it's a nice thought at least, that Loki might leave Earth with something other than awful reminders of helplessness and failed conquests—which of course, sounds suspiciously like Fury's intention all along. This grim realization clouds some of Steve's previous wishful thinking.
"Thank you, Captain, but that is unnecessary," Loki says, bringing Steve back to the present. His smile is thin, and his eyes are sad, and Steve suddenly realizes that maybe Loki isn't allowed to have books back in Asgard—which might very well be the least of his worries.
"What's it like over there?" He asks against his better judgment, and Loki's eyes meet his, not one readable emotion in them.
"Are you asking for the details of my punishment?"
"Yeah, I guess." Steve nods, feeling doubtful of his position to make such daring inquiry, but Loki's expression seem to soften, his voice airy and without malice, but not exactly sincere either.
"Nothing too different than my imprisonment here." He waves a dismissive hand. "Glass cages, bland food, and boredom enough to drive me insane—perhaps for the next century—until I have learned my lesson, which of course, might even warrant a longer time."
"Is that all?" Steve says with a touch of skepticism, and Loki's mouth suddenly contorts to a vicious frown, features darkening dangerously, and reminding Steve of how mercurial the god can be—fickle like midsummer storms.
"Where you hoping for my lips to be sewn shut?" Loki practically hisses, "Perhaps for snake venom to drip into my eyes? Maybe my skin and muscle be torn from my bones."
"No!" Steve protests, appalled and horrified that Loki would even suggest it, let alone accuse him of wishing for it. "I was actually worried—" He sighs, hoping his honesty would at least mollify the god. "—it might be that."
"Do I not deserve it?" Loki looks at him defiantly—eyes narrowed and jaws clenched; Steve shakes his head.
"No one deserves it."
"Some deserve far worse."
And the soldier decides that now would be a good opportunity to steer the conversation to less dangerous waters, although he wonders if it could be considered cowardly, turning a blind eye to such unsettling words. But there's a right time and place for everything, and now certainly isn't the right time. Steve will remember this day, keep everything he had learned keenly in his mind, until they reach a point—hopefully soon and before Thor's arrival—where Loki is willing to reveal more.
"Do you really think the food here is that bad?" He asks somewhat stupidly, after failing to think of anything else.
"Dreadful." Loki responds tersely, although accepting the digression.
"What do you like to eat then?"
"Nothing here."
"Well, I'm going to order us Italian." Steve takes out the phone Tony had given him and fumbles with it, before realizing he can simply ask Jarvis and save himself the embarrassment. He knows Loki is being difficult; there's no way he could have tried all the different food Earth has to offer, so they might as well get started on that since lunchtime is drawing near, and the topic of food seems safe enough. "And if you still hate it, then it's your problem, not ours."
"And I suppose you are the embodiment of good Midgardian taste." The god deadpans, and Steve actually laughs at the dryness of the attempted insult.
"Hey, watch it. If you haven't noticed by now, unless you eat with me, you're not eating at all."
Alrighty, this chapter is slightly longer than the rest, which is my way of apologizing for how painfully slow updates will be for the next month. But after my exam at the end of July, updates will be very regular again. Thank you all for the support so far!